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Falynn
PLAYLIST: ? CRUZ - CHRISTINA AGUILERA ?
Seven months later…
“Phew,that workout almost did me in! You always know how to make me sweat off these extra pounds,” Shontelle says, smiling. “Same time Thursday?”
“Ms. Shontelle, you already know about our ’90s Throwback Thursdays! Come hydrated, because we’re going to make yousweat.”
She and the other ladies laugh as they mill toward the exit. I watch them go, mopping sweat from my face with my towel. It doesn’t help that the AC in our dance studio needs some serious repairs, but I wouldn’t dare cancel a class so long as our ladies keep showing up.
I can work with a little extra heat.
“Good one,” says my co-instructor, Claudia. She swallows a large mouthful of water from her Hydro Flask bottle. “I’m actually surprised they don’t look like they’ve got two left feet anymore.”
I snicker. “All it takes is a little practice. You can teach anyone to dance with enough time.”
“Not so sure about that. Have you met my boyfriend, Greg? Anelephanthas more grace.”
“He can’t be that bad.”
“You need to come out with us next time for Ladies’ Night at the Shore Club. A couple drinks in, Greg always tries to hit the dance floor and makes a fool of himself.”
“Maybe next time.”
“You never come out and you’ve lived here how long? One of these nights, we’re going to turn up on your doorstep and drag you with us,” Claudia says, nudging me.
I laugh along as we return the dance studio to its original condition, unplugging the giant fans and dimming the lights. I’m running out of excuses for not hanging out with Claudia and the other dance instructors after work.
The first few months I lived in Santa Cruz, I claimed I was too busy settling in. When that excuse no longer worked, I moved on to other reasons, like being too exhausted or sick, but those are no longer cutting it either. Claudia and the girls want to get to know me more—I’m just not sure I’m ready to trust anyone new.
Life has changed so much over the last year, I’m going at a snail’s pace adjusting. Day by day. Hour to hour.
But things in Santa Cruz have been better than I could’ve hoped for. I’ve slowly begun to feel like myself again. Claudia and the others can’t possibly know just why I feel the way I do. My past is a secret I’ll always have to carry with me.
You don’t speak of the Mafia lifestyle once you’ve been given an out.
After some more teasing, Claudia waves goodbye and goes her way. I head in the opposite direction, my duffle bag slung over my shoulder as I walk the parking lot. Summers in Santa Cruz can sizzle at their peak, but most days it’s sunny warmth and cool breezes from the ocean. Many consider it a perk of living in a beach town.
I unlock my car door and meet the gaze of the man in all black only a few spaces down.
So I’m notcompletelyout of the lifestyle—I still have security. A private firm I’ve hired with some of the money Giovanni left for me in my account. I figure it’s sensible to have security when I’m still technically the wife of the most powerful Mafia kingpin in the world.
Giovanni has kept his promise as far as I can tell; he’s stayed away from me. Both he and his men.
We haven’t spoken in months. It’s been so long, I’ve almost forgotten what his voice sounds like…
I drive home, a few blocks down from the dance studio where I teach contemporary and hip hop classes to women looking for fun and easy ways to exercise. We’re even considering adding a pole-dancing class due to popular demand from some of our ladies.
Everything else—from my little studio apartment to my equally as small used hatchback car—I pay for myself. I don’t make much on my salary from the dance studio, but it’s been enough to scrape by. Giovanni’s left me so many millions I’d never have to work another day and could lap in luxury, but it feels weird using his money when I’ve practically erased him from my life.
Once I make it to my apartment complex, I wave goodbye to the security guy who has escorted me home, and then dash up the steps to the third floor. Most evenings of mine are spent quiet and reclusive, with me curled up in front of the TV or researching schools. In the next few months, I’d like to return to school; I always planned on it, but my marriage and pregnancy struggles took over my existence for so many years, I never had the chance.
Tonight, I warm up some leftovers from a local Indian restaurant and plop down on my sofa. My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Tasha. We talk often these days. At least a couple times a week. I hurry to press accept.
“Hey, girl!” Tasha says. She’s moving around like always when she FaceTimes me. From what I can tell, she’s getting in her car to go somewhere, dressed to the nines in a silk blouse and designer handbag.
I tease a smile. “I see Kilroy is still in the picture.”
