Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“She ate her dinner like a good girl.” We fall into a comfortable silence watching TV. The type old friends might share. But we’re not old friends. We’re not even new friends. We’re two people thrown together by circumstance, by a strange twist of fate.
“Jordan…,” I say, taking a chance now that he’s left his armor by the door.
“Hmm…” He frowns at the television. Mr. Warren, the elderly home owner, is crying after seeing the renovations to his house.
“Why is Maisie living with you? Where’s Eli? What happened to her mother?”
He turns to look at me, as stoic as I’ve ever seen him.
“Lainey died seven months ago…Eli showed up at my office a few days after you and I met and left her there.”
“Left her there?”
“He was in bad shape. He looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks. Talking about the past and…just a bunch of nonsense.
“I stepped away for a minute––to deal with a work issue––and when I returned to my office the baby was there, sleeping in the car seat, and Eli was gone.”
The ache under my breastbone is familiar. A bittersweet pain. Like an old friend you’ve had a falling out with. I know what it’s like to lose a parent when you’re a kid. I know what it does to a person and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone let alone Maisie.
“I don’t know what to say. Sorry doesn’t seem enough…poor Maisie…” I stall, choosing my next words carefully. “I know you were all very close. I’m sorry about your friend, Jordan.”
He stares back at me. Then in the quietest voice possible, “Yeah, me too.” He rises from the couch. For a second he pauses, looks at me. Then I hear him murmur, “Good night Immi.”
It takes me a minute to figure it out. Then I recall the night we met. I guess new friendships have to start somewhere. Maybe ours began tonight.
Tommy looks around the bar like he’s waiting on someone. He’s jumpy, pushing the drink coaster back and forth on the bar with his index finger. The swishing sound gets under my skin.
So does this place. It’s a dump. It’s dark and smells like skunky beer and mold. The guy and an older woman playing pool at the far end of the bar look equally sketchy. Why Tommy had to pick this place in Staten Island to meet up is beyond me.
“Gary, can I get another beer?” he shouts at the bartender. It’s freaking four in the afternoon and he’s on his third one already. I’m about to lose my patience with him.
I had to ask Jordan for the day off to do this. Check on Bonnie, put a For Sale sign on my old pickup truck, take care of a leaky pipe in Mrs. Argento’s unit. And to give Tommy the money for Ivan.
“I haven’t seen you in three weeks. Can I get your attention for one minute?”
“Yeah, sure.” He smiles that smile that could be worth a million dollars if he wasn’t the person he is.
The envelope full of cash sits in my bag burning a hole in it. I take it out and slowly slide it down the bar to him. “Here’s the next payment.”
He takes in and stuffs it inside the waistband of his jeans, pulls his T-shirt down over it. “Ivan is gettin’ antsy.”
“Antsy? Why? I’ve been making steady payments.”
“He says it isn’t enough.”
My stomach immediately reacts––gets queasy. And I thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse. “That’s two thousand dollars in cash stuffed in your underwear. I can’t give him more at a time,” I whisper hiss. “I have to pay taxes on that money.”
“What about the guy you’re working for? He’s loaded, right? He got anything we can fence?”
The blood drains out of my head. “No. And don’t bring it up again.”
Tommy looks down, shoulders hunched in shame and embarrassment. He wipes the condensation on the beer mug away with his thumb. “Ivan said he needs more…I’ll talk to him again.”
My stomach goes into full rebellion mode. I can’t spare another dime. I will literally not have enough to pay taxes if I give him more. Then what? I’m broke and owe the government? No.
“I’m doing the best I can T. Are you working? What have you been doing?”
Guilt blankets his face. He looks so pathetic I’m sorry I even asked. “I’ve been working for Ivan a little.”
You have got to be kidding me.
Elbows resting on the bar, I bury my face in my hands. “What are you doing for him?”
“Shaking some people down that owe him money.”
“You mean like us?”
He swallows, his expression telling me he hadn’t considered it. “Nothing bad. I just…show up at their place of business and remind them to make the payment.”
If I had any hope that this time he would learn his lesson and wise up, that hope is dead. He killed it for good today. Tears of frustration well in my eyes. Watching Tommy destroy his life is like watching my father slowly die. I know what’s coming. I know how the story ends. And I’m powerless to do anything to stop it.