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If there really are sharks in the Mediterranean, they must have a taste for garbage.
When I said this to Haven, she nodded solemnly. “Indeed,” she deadpanned. And nothing more needed to be said.
Micah is healing. He has his quiet moments. He’s entitled to those. I’m glad he decided to work with an occupational therapist after all as he figures out how to navigate life one handed. When I check the time on my phone, I realize he should be at an appointment right now.
Up ahead, the slanted spire of Matilda’s building eats up the sky. I doubt she’s inside. Dani says she’s taken a leave of absence. Alta is running the company for now. Dani is concerned. Lately Matilda spends most of her time in her bedroom, not saying much. It’s difficult to imagine loud, vivacious Matilda being depressed but people are complicated.
The day is beautiful and I’m glad to be out and about. The morning has been productive, between a meeting with my new real estate team and checking out some downtown condo listings for a client.
Uncle Josh has been asking me to meet him for lunch the next time I’m downtown. I’m running a few minutes late so he’s probably already waiting at the Emerald Café. Last week he was sworn in at the city’s new chief of police.
Paused at a crosswalk as I wait for the light to change, I watch a commuter trail roll by and place a hand on my belly. I’m not really showing yet but the waistline of my clothes is becoming a little tighter every day. I can’t wait to buy maternity clothes. It won’t be long.
Not everyone knows about the baby yet. Dani and Gage know. And Conner obviously knows. Micah still hasn’t told his mother. I can’t really lecture him about that when I haven’t told my father. Uncle Josh assured me that he has no intention of spilling the beans unless I give him permission.
All morning I deliberately avoided looking in the direction of the Green Mansion. My father and I haven’t spoken since the hospital press conference. I’m not sure we’ll ever speak again.
The light changes and I take brisk strides across the street in the company of a dozen other working folks on their lunch hour. When I step up on the curb my heel briefly wobbles on a corner of one of the cracked golden cobblestones that pave the sidewalks in this part of the city.
Goddamn yellow bricks.
Not far from here is where I wrenched my ankle last fall.
The memory makes me smile. Micah swept me into his arms and carried me through the busy streets.
Last night at dinner I asked him if he’s made a decision about a prosthetic hand. He joked that he ought to get a hook and look the part of a proper villain.
But Micah Lyonne was never a villain. He was meant to be my hero.
The café is just steps away when my phone rings. By the time I dig it out of my purse I’m standing in front of the huge window facing the sidewalk. Uncle Josh is already seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant. He sees me on the other side of the glass and breaks into an immediate smile.
I hold up one finger and turn away to answer the call from Haven.
“Where are you?” she says instead of a hello. The hard clip in her voice is not unusual, not for her.
“Downtown. Why?”
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. Because if you were, I would tell you to pull the hell over before hearing this.”
Now I’m nervous. Instinctively, my hand goes to my belly. “What’s up?”
She exhales loudly. “Damn. Wish I didn’t have to say this but you need to watch your back. The fifth man.”
“What?”
“The fucker in a skull mask who lived, the one who got away. My father’s boys finally found him holed up on Canal Street.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? But Pierce Carrington is already dead so it’s not like his testimony will be needed.”
“Pierce Carrington didn’t hire him.”
“What does that mean?”
Silence. Haven isn’t a girl who hesitates.
