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“Oh!” came the hue and cry from all assembled.
But it worked. We never talked about it again, at least at the rare Sunday dinners I attended. But the tension in the air? Thicker than Aunt Marie’s gravy. Yeah, Ma didn’t get talked about but what didn’t get said was a lot.
Thing is, I don’t blame Ma.
Much.
I knew the doc. I went down to the clinic for a broken finger once. Nice guy. Had an air about him that just put you a little bit more at ease, even if you were hurting. He had a warm smile, too.
So I don’t blame her. She had her shot at happiness and she took it. She was born into this life. She married a man who was waist deep in it when they met and neck deep by the time he went to prison. But honestly, I don’t think she ever wanted to be a part of it.
Listen, any mafiosa who can fill a journal about love and life, especially in ways pretty much nobody in this family could understand, is not really the best fit for this life. And if leaving it all behind means her and the doc had to go into some kind of self-imposed witness relocation program or something, my bet is that for her, it was worth it. Love was worth it.
But sometimes I feel a little itch to be pissed off at her. I mean, she left me, too, right? And now I get to deal with all of the not talking about it that goes on at family gatherings, and the mild stench of suspicion that her actions draped onto me.
Yeah, sometimes I get a little bitter. But then I say fuck it. What’s the point? She’s gone and life is life.
I realized I was standing at the refrigerator with the door open, lost in thought like some kind of moron. I closed the fridge and walked into the living room. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of home.
It had become a different smell these last few weeks. My apartment was returning to normal, I guess. When a lover moves out, their scents are the last thing to go, hanging on for days and weeks as a reminder. But in this room, at least, all the remnants of Jesse were gone.
I should have known it wouldn’t work. Call Jesse my latest mistake in a long list of them. Usually I figure it out sooner, though. But with Jesse, I thought maybe things were different.
But they weren’t.
As the song says, I guess winter just wasn’t my season.
Or hell, maybe I’m winter and that wasn’t Jesse’s season.
I sighed in frustration. All this bullshit reverie was shaping up for a shitty night of feeling sorry for myself, and that’s a monumental waste of time.
Instead of the past, what I should be thinking about is the future. The contracts Sal was giving me. The chance I had to secure a solid place for myself. Pops and his omerta did plenty to offset Ma’s actions, but for all the talk of famiglia and taking care of people, this business was a whole lot of what-have-you-done-for-me-lately, motherfucker? This was my opportunity.
I couldn’t do anything until Max called, though, I reminded myself. So relax. I needed to get buried in a good book, but the novel I was reading now was mediocre to crap, so I had to hope there was something good on TV.
Yeah, right. That was happening.
The rustling, tapping sound from the bedroom was faint but I still heard it. A spike of adrenaline fired through my chest and into my head. When it cleared a moment later, I was already crouched next to the small couch with my gun out. Thank God for instincts.
I leveled the pistola at the bedroom door. It stood open a few inches, but no light streamed through the crack. Whoever was in there had to know I was here. I’d flipped on lights. Gone into the kitchen.
Jesus, I’d been a sitting duck while I stood at the fridge like a zombie.
I shook away the thought. Slowly, I rose to a low stance and moved toward the bedroom. I kept a sight picture on the door, waiting for it to swing open. I f
ully intended to blast whoever came out.
Wait.
What if it was Jesse?
I clenched my jaw and exhaled slowly.
Okay. Be sure of the target.
But be sure fast.
Wait. Why was the light turned off? If it was Jesse...asleep, maybe?
