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Busying myself with the new curtains to be hung, I don’t answer right away. I’ve struggled with the decision on whether or not to go to his sentencing and read my victim impact statement. Ultimately, I decided writing the statement was enough. Joan is going to read it on my behalf and I’m able to put that part of the story behind me.
“I know but I’m okay not being there. It was a plea not like a jury decided on the twenty-five years.”
“Minimum,” she reminds me with a pointed finger. “Twenty-five minimum. You could also see Ga—”
“Help me hang these curtains so I can sleep past six tomorrow morning.”
She squints her eyes and doesn’t speak. Morgan always has something to say even if it is difficult to hear. When she’s silent, I worry. We’ve talked about Dillinger and all that happened. She listened when I rambled and held me while I cried. She slept next to me when I was too afraid to close my eyes. Each time, she hit me with the hard truths. The real talk my therapist says I need.
Gage is off limits. I won’t talk about him with her or anyone. She knows a little of what happened and can tell when my thoughts drift to him but I haven’t talked about my feelings. Or the feelings I’m trying to work through.
Morgan grabs the drill from the table and presses the trigger and sways her hips. “I’m using the power tools.”
She’s a nut, but she’s my nut. I gather the curtain rod and hardware while she pretends the drill is some sort of superhero weapon. Together we manage to hang the curtains and unpack a few boxes before she has to leave to meet her boyfriend, Matt, at their place.
Once I’m alone, I stand in the middle of the apartment and look around. This is mine. Just mine. My therapist has been supportive of my choice to live alone and when I found this place, I knew it was the right decision.
Asking the voice assistant to play music, I continue to unpack boxes. I’m wiping down the counter whenBrown Eyed Girlbegins to play. Memories of Gage come to mind and I let myself feel every emotion. Joy. Happiness. Sadness. Loss.
I remember the cop I met at Drummond and smile at how vastly different he is from the man I got to know in Starlight Ridge. How he showered me with affirmation and support. How his arms felt when he held me until I drifted to sleep. The way his scruff tickled me as he kissed every part of my body. How he spoke of his family and the men he worked with undercover. Every story for each tattoo that decorates his body.
The shamrock for luck. The baby Taz for fun. His last name to honor his family. The rosary to keep him safe. And the compass to find his way home.
An idea sparks and I order the voice assistant to stop playing and slip on a pair of sandals before grabbing my things and rushing out the door. When I step out of the building and onto the street, I tap on the screen of my smartphone. How I lived these last three years with only that damn flip phone is beyond me.
Scrolling only takes a quick scan of the screen for me to find what I need. Copying the address, I paste it into the destination for a ride share. I wait less than two minutes before the SUV pulls up to the curb and I climb inside. The driver is kind and makes small talk about the weather and upcoming football season. I engage but if you ask me in an hour what we talked about, I won’t remember. My mind is somewhere else.
I thank Thomas for the ride and wish him good luck in his fantasy football league before stepping out onto the sidewalk. With a deep breath, I pull the glass door open and step inside. Rock music wafts from speakers and people laugh and talk all around the room. Practicing the breathing exercises my therapist taught me, I close my eyes and allow the sounds to settle. It is still difficult for me to be in crowds or large spaces, but she says eventually I’ll adjust and find what works for me.
A young woman with a septum piercing and a tattoo across her chest greets me. “Hi there. How can I help you?”
“Hi. Umm... is Enzo here?”
“He’s in the back. Do you have an appointment?”
Sighing, I frown. “No. This was a bad idea. Thank you for your time.”
“Hey, wait a second.”
She walks away, leaving me in the waiting area. The walls are decorated in photos of people and their tattoos. One catches my attention. Walking closer, I extend my hand to touch the glass.
“That’s one of mine.”
I turn to the voice and find a large man standing behind me. He’s tall like Gage but three times his size. Tattoos cover every inch of his arms and neck.
“I know. It’s even more beautiful in person.”
“Are you Sophia?”
My smile drops and my old friend, dread, settles in my stomach. I can feel my heart racing and look to the door. I can get out of here. Call a ride share and be back at my place in minutes.
“Oh shit. Sorry. Gage told me about you and... I didn’t mean to scare you. Dammit, he’s going to kick my ass. Fuck.”
Just the sound of his name calms me. “He talked about me? Is he here? In Seattle?”
Enzo crosses his arm and widens his stance. “He did. Not sure if he’s still in town though. You looking for some ink?”
“I am.”
