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“La Famiglia,” I murmured.
Johnny’s laugh was a low and pleasured growl. “Yep. La Famiglia. I know the owner. That’s how Izzy got her first job there. She was only fourteen.”
An immense pressure swamped my head, and my vision tunneled. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
“Johnny, did Isabelle send me that video?”
“Who knows?Iwouldn’t know. No one tells meanything, apparently. Not my daughter, not my wife, and not even my best friend. I’m just sitting here, connecting the dots, like I always have to do. But maybe you should ask her?” He shrugged, sneering. “Things are starting to make a lot of sense now, though. Aren’t they, big fella?”
“Fuck off,” I snarled.
I backed out of the family room and hurried back to the locker room.
* * *
My heart drummed a nervous beat as I pulled into my driveway. I was torn. Part of me hoped I’d see Isabelle’s car parked in my garage. That was the part of me that had fallen for Isabelle; the side that wanted nothing more, no, thatneededto walk in that door, see her lovely smile, and discover that this was all a misunderstanding; that her dad was making shit up and trying to split us apart.
There was a darker, more cynical part of myself, though, that wanted some time alone. That was the part of me that had been hurt before, that hadwarnedme not to trust anybody ever again, lest I get hurt again. That side of me was so sick and damaged, itwantedme to get hurt again. It possessed me to dig deep for answers. Answers I may not like. Answers that could change everything.
When the garage door opened, the spot where Isabelle normally parked was empty.
Okay,I thought as I eased the car into the garage.That settles that.
I killed the engine and went inside. Minka instantly sensed something was wrong. Instead of rushing towards me, she approached cautiously, her hackles raised. The half-hearted pets I gave her didn’t ease her mind. She backed off, putting a few feet between us, and began to howl, disturbed.
“Not tonight, Mink,” I grumbled, testy.
I trudged downstairs and into the basement, where most of my things were still packed in moving boxes. I grabbed a box knife and started tearing through boxes.
After an hour of frantic searching, I came across a box labeled “Closet – miscellaneous.” My heart raced with a mix of excitement and dread—I knew this was the one. I sliced through the packing tape and tore the flaps open. I dumped the box upside down and rooted through the contents. Then I spotted it—my old phone.
“Ah-ha!” I shouted. I snatched the phone off the floor and pressed the power button.
I let out a breath of relief—it still worked. The screen glowed white as it powered up.
I opened my messages and hastily scrolled through them. The text from the unknown Minnesota number was still there.
I opened it and read it again:
“Hey man. From one bro to another, I’m sorry. But if I were in your shoes, I’d want to know, too.”
Funny. That one little bit about “from one bro to another” totally sold me. Hook, line, and sinker. I was totally convinced some guy out there had my back. I never would’ve even entertained the idea that agirlmight’ve sent it.
It wasbrilliant,actually.
Hold up,the optimistic part of me insisted.You don’t know a girl sent that. It could still be some good Samaritan bro.
The other side of me needed to watch the video again. I pressed play. The pain was lessened—it didn’t come like a knife in the heart anymore—but seeing my wife happy with another man still hurt, even after all these years.
I just hoped there wasn’t anewbetrayal lurking in this video.
The video ended. I whipped out my current phone and looked up Isabelle’s contact to compare. I breathed a sigh of relief—the numbers weren’t the same.
There was still a chance Johnny was wrong.
With my working phone in hand, I dialed the unknown Minnesota number. It began to ring.
This is stupid,I thought, as the phone continued to ring without answer.It’s been five years. Do you really think this person still has the same number, whoever they are? Do you really think they’ll answer your callsnow,when they never answered before?
