AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"And where does it land?"
"I feel like you want me to say on the walls."
"Yeah," he says. "Hence, we paint houses."
"I dunno," I say. "Feels like a stretch."
Charlie gives me a look.
"Right," I say. "Okay, so what do they do with the ashes?"
"Your father also has a concrete business."
I grimace. That was a little dark to think about, even for the Mob. But I suppose mixing ashes in with concrete was a pretty good way of ensuring they never turn up where you didn't want them.
"Well, thanks for explaining," I say to Charlie. "And for helping out with everything. I'll take you back to the house now."
"We need to make one stop, first," he says.
"Okay, where's that?"
"The damn butcher. You're going to get me that salami."
ChapterNine
It's an odd thing to hang out in a hotel room while a guy you barely know cleans up the fact that you murdered both of your parents.
I alternate between being completely overwhelmed with sadness and feeling strangely calm about the entire thing. On the one hand, I'm wracked with guilt over the fact that my parents are dead. The idea that I will never see them again isn't something I'm having an easy time processing. While they were never as loving as other parents seemed, they were still my parents.
On the other hand, a more logical voice is kicking in and telling me that I don't have to feel sad or sorry for myself. It tells me that I didn't actually kill my parents. They were the ones to fall into the cage. All I did was fail to give them food or water.
"And close the door," a little voice in the back of my head whispers to me.
I flip on the television to try and drown it out, but a tear leaks from my eye and down my cheek. It's getting pretty late into the evening. I had a few fitful naps over the course of the day, but I really hate the feeling of being alone in a strange place.
I flip through the channels, not really committing to anything.
The front door rattles and my heart starts to race. The door opens and I breathe a sigh of relief as I see Teddy on the other side.
He looks bone tired, but as he turns to see me, he smiles. Seeing him look at me like that spreads a feeling of calm through my heart that I'm not used to.
"Hiya," he says. He shuts the door behind him and it's then that I see he's holding a pizza box and a duffle bag under his arm. "I brought us dinner."
"I ate something earlier," I say bashfully. I feel guilty for how much money this man is spending on me.
"Yes, that's called lunch," he says. "Believe it or not, people actually eat more than once per day." He looks me up and down. "And, as nice as you look now, you certainly could eat more."
"What are you talking about?" I say quietly, looking down at my feet. "I don't look nice."
He drops the pizza onto the coffee table and takes three large steps over to me. He holds me by the shoulders and then he's looking into my eyes again.
"I don't want to hear you talk down to yourself," he says.
I can't meet his gaze. It's too intense. He's too sure of himself and I feel like crumbling under the pressure.
"It's not talking down to myself if it's true," I reply. "It's just stating the facts."
He guides me gently into the bathroom and stands me in front of the full length mirror.
