Page 72 of The Man with a Treasure

“Atlas. Yes, that’s it. Does your fancy home have an atlas by chance?”

“On it, bro.”

Heading back to my last pile of clothes, I rolled my eyes. “He’s impossible.”

Scarlett nodded even though I was confident she was clueless to my meaning. Then she shocked me with, “Why do my eyes want to stare at your mouth?”

“W-What?”

It was a tricky balancing act to acknowledge Scarlett for the young-minded person inside a twenty-something-year-old woman her body exhibited.

She rubbed her stomach. “I feel it here.”

“Er, I’m not sure.” I grabbed a stack of clothes and turned away.

“Oh, okay. Um, should I put my gift clothes in my drawers?”

Trying to stop thinking about Scarlett liking my mouth, I walked to the dresser. “Already done. Sal likes order.”

Since Scarlett felt guns were the proper answer to mere misunderstandings, Sal and I felt it was time to give her a few lifesaving tips. By lifesaving, I meant ours. Since we were only at the end of our second week with Scarlett, Sal and I were positive we were bound to make more mistakes and preferred to live through them.

Standing in the slanted driveway surrounded by trees and serene nature, Sal wore his suit, looking totally out of place, holding up his Magnum for Scarlett to see. “As beautiful as she is, Tesla is deadly.”

I rolled my eyes. Naming a gun was ridiculous.

Scarlett, barely needing bandages anymore, questioned, “Deadly?”

Sal cringed while mumbling, “This 101 could’ve been too late for me and the dishwasher.” Shaking off his near-death experience, he straightened his shoulders. “Okay. Yes, deadly.” His shoulders caved again as he asked himself, “How do I explain deadly?”

On the tree next to me, there was a caterpillar crawling upward. I pointed, “Scarlett, see this alive caterpillar?”

Scarlett smiled. “Oh, yes, he is lovely—”

I slammed the bottom of my fist into it. Moving my hand, I showed her the splattered insect. “Now, it is dead.”

Sal stood there, gaping at me. “What is wrong with you? Are you deranged?”

I shrugged. “What?”

“Can you please leave the teaching to me?” He suddenly noticed Scarlett had moved over by the tree. “No! Don’t touch it!”

Smiling, she showed me her finger. “It is gooey.” Then she eyed my fist as if it were magical and inspiring. “Angel, your hands are deadly?” She examined my fingers in awe.

Ego? Check.

As I was being touched, I grinned at Sal. “Deadly. And I smell wonderful.”

Sal’s nostrils flared. “Can we get on with the lesson now?”

I pointed to the captivated woman still caressing my hand. “She’s a little preoccupied with greatness right now.”

After firing off a few rounds, Scarlett seemed to comprehend guns were not the answer to kitchen mishaps. I wasn’t convinced she understood the magnitude of murdering someone or even truly understood death, but it was progress. I decided to accept her not knowing death as a merciful blessing. Maybe that was one crime she didn’t have to witness where she had lived.

No word from Italy during our third week in hiding had me preoccupied with worry. What if they were trying to find us? What if Mr. Rossi needed Sal or me?

Scarlett didn’t mind that I was distracted. She had the atlas Sal had found for her and was glued to the book. Apparently, her mother had taught her to read children’s books, so she knew a select amount of words. Pointing at a page, she asked, “Sal, how do you say this place?”

He peered over the back of the couch where she was snuggled with blankets fresh from the dryer. Okay, we may have been spoiling her a bit, but she was a Giordano. What did it matter? She was soon going to have a full staff to continue doting on her when we were done.