by Nicole Fox
What had I been thinking?
“You promised! You fucking promised me that you’d keep your mouth shut about Evie.”
He pulls a sour face. “I didn’t say a word about the kid.”
“Bullshit!” I yell. “Fucking bullshit. I know you, Xander. You’re a goddamn rat, and I know how you work.”
“Jesus. Why do you even care?” he demands. “She’s no one to you!”
“That’s not true,” I snap. “It’s also beside the point. The point is that I asked you to do something for me and you couldn’t fucking do it.”
“What do you want me to say?” Xander barks back. “Eh? Tell me what you want me to say!”
This son of a bitch—he’s actually got the audacity to be frustrated with me.
And he’s not done yet.
“Kazimierz is a scary fucking dude, okay? I had to give him something. The fact that I’d managed to escape wasn’t exactly a big deal in his books.”
“Managed to escape?” I repeat incredulously. “I’m the one who let you go!”
“Because I convinced you to,” Xander retorts primly. “You don’t get credit for that.”
I look around in fury and my eyes find the one half-decent thing in his shitty apartment. It’s a glass vase with little carvings down the side.
I grab it and fling it at him. He manages to duck out of the way and it shatters against the wall just behind him.
“Jesus!” he screams. “Char, that was my fucking grandma’s!”
“Good. I hope she’s rolling in her goddamn grave.”
“Listen to me,” he pleads, “I tried to keep the girl a secret—”
“Don’t,” I hiss. “Don’t fucking bother. You’re nothing but a liar and I have no reason to believe anything you have or will say to me every again.”
He runs his hand through his hair and roars at the ceiling in wordless frustration.
“Why the fuck are you here then?” he demands, turning his eyes back on me.
“To give you a message,” I tell him. “A message I want delivered straight to Kazimierz.”
Xander tenses immediately, his eyes turning alert. “You have information?” he asks, perking up just a little.
“That’s not what I said,” I snap. “I said I had a message for Kazimierz.”
Xander frowns. “What is it?”
“I’m done.”
He blinks in slow confusion. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m fucking done,” I reiterate. “I don’t want any part of this twisted plot to take down Lucio anymore. I’m not gonna be the double agent for a single second longer. I. Am. Done.”
Xander just stares at me for a second. He looks shocked.
Then he starts to laugh.
I grit my teeth and wait for him to finish. When he finally subsides, I fix him with my most chilling glare.
“Are you done?”
“Here’s a better question,” he counters. “Are you insane?”
“I’m not doing it anymore, Xander.”
“What makes you think you have a choice?” he hisses. “You made this deal. You agreed to do this.”
“Right, and now I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?” Xander growls, getting in my face. “Because you’re in love with that Italian fucker?”
In love?
The words hit me hard.
Harder than I’m expecting.
“I just don’t want to play this game anymore,” I say. But my voice falters and I wince, waiting for him to call me out on my blatant bullshit.
Xander shakes his head like he’s dealing with a moron. “He’s not going to accept that.”
“I don’t give a shit,” I reply. “I’ve made my decision.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“He’ll try.”
Xander shakes his head. “Sure, it’s easy to be brave now. But when you’re face-to-face with a monster, that’s the true test of courage.”
“You read that in a fortune cookie somewhere?” I drawl.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I correct. “I’m undoing it.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me back around to face him. “Char, this is not the kind of man you can say no to,” he says.
I can see actual fear in his eyes.
Is it possible he’s scared for me?
“Well, I just did.”
“No, you’re asking me to do it for you,” he hisses.
Ah. There we go.
He’s not scared for me.
He’s scared for his own pathetic ass.
“You afraid of the ‘true test of courage’?” I taunt. “Worried he’ll kill the messenger?”
“Yes!” Xander yelps. “And… you.”
I snort with derisive laughter. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
Xander’s eyes turn cold. “You think he’ll protect you?” he croaks. “You think that Italian douche bag is going to put himself between you and the Polish?”
“Maybe.”
I want to believe it.
I’m trying to believe it.
But I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
“Maybe?” he scoffs. “He might—if he thought you were some innocent girl he’d picked up off the street. Would he protect you if he knew what you’ve done?”
I try not to let my fears show. Even though Xander is hitting a deep chord.
“Either way, it doesn’t affect you,” I snap. “Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours. I should have cut off ties with you a long time ago.”
He grabs my hand again. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Actually, for the first time in a long time, I am thinking clearly,” I reply. I shake him off with disgust. “I’m not naïve. And I’m not a fool, either. I know what this decision means. But I have to do it anyway. I have to listen to my conscience.”
“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Your conscience?! You willing to die for it?”
“If necessary.”
My face is a mask of cold composure.
My heart is another thing entirely.
Xander squints at me suspiciously. “Have you fucked him?”
I put two hands in his chest and shove him away from me. “This conversation is over. Get out of my way.”
He doesn’t budge. In fact, he takes a step forward and pushes himself into my space. “You fucked him, didn’t you? You idiot. You stupid slut.”
I pull my hand back and slap him hard across the face.
He stumbles back, clearly not having expected that.
“Who I fuck is not your business anymore,” I inform him.
I push past him and get my hand on the doorknob before he speaks again. He stays rooted in place, hand on his cheek, still shocked by the blow.
Good. Maybe he’ll get a bruise to match mine.
“Men like him don’t forgive,” he says in a low, haunted voice without looking at me. “He’ll kill you when he finds out.”
“I can’t control what he does or how he reacts,” I say over my shoulder. “I can only control my actions. Goodbye, Xander. Pass my message along please. And then kindly fuck off forever.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of the frozen seafood section of the grocery store, looking at the sprawling selection of shrimp and mussels on display.
But my mind is numb. Slow. Uncomprehending.
All I can think of is Lucio, and what he’ll do when I tell him the truth.
Because I’ve decided that it can’t wait any longer.
I have to tell him everything—come what may.
That feels good. That feels right.
And then the inevitable thought surfaces, unwelcome and sinister: What will he do to me when I confess?
But I can’t avoid it any longer.
Not with this weight on my chest, threatening to crush me.
Not with these monsters in the shadows, th
reatening to reveal the truth.
Better I do it myself than keep giving them that power over me.
I start to reach for a pack of scallops, but I stop at the last moment.
Something else surfaces. Another urge. One I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
I turn to my empty cart and pull out my cell phone.
It takes me a couple of tries to get her number right, mostly because I haven’t used it in so long.
But when it does finally start ringing, she picks up almost immediately.
“Yeah?”
Her voice is gravelly. Rough. Brusque. It’s not exactly how I remember it from childhood. But memories are unreliable narrators.
“Hi, Mama.”
There’s a long silence. “Charlotte?”
I nod, then remember that she can’t actually see me.
“Yeah,” I reply softly. “It’s me. How are you?”
“You haven’t called in a long time.”
She doesn’t sound accusing. More matter of fact than anything else.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“With a man?”
I bite my bottom lip. “No.”
She laughs. “You learned to lie from me, remember?” she says.
I actually laugh at that, a short bark of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like me. “Well, yes, there is a man.”
I wonder why on earth I’m telling her this.
And then I wonder why I haven’t told her all this long ago.
That’s what mothers are for, right? What they should be for, at least. Helping their daughters navigate love and life and heartbreak.
But Mama has never been that kind of mother to me.
“But we’re not together.”
“You want him, though?”
Want him. It was a strange way to put it.
“I… have feelings for him,” I stumble.
“Quickest way to his heart is to give him exactly what he wants,” she tells me confidently. “Most men want sex.”
I cringe.
So she hasn’t changed. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
Just because I’ve been through a life-changing couple of months doesn’t mean she has.
“Sex is not the answer, mom.”
“Like hell it is!” she chortles. “I’ve been after this one fellow for months now. Didn’t think it was possible. Then last week, he moved in.”
“Why?”
There’s always a catch with my mother.
“His wife kicked him out.”
“Because she found out he was fucking you?” I guess.
“Are you judging me?” she demands, her tone changing instantly.
“No,” I say sadly. I have no right to judge anyone. “No, I’m not. Just asking.”
“We want to get married,” she tells me proudly.
I suppress a sigh. Their relationship will be over long before a ring gets involved. But I keep my thoughts to myself and pretend to be interested.
“Yeah?” I ask. “When?”
“Soon as his divorce is final,” Mama replies. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of months.”
“Right. Are you still living in the same trailer?”
“Yeah. But I got Bill to do some work on it,” she tells me. “It’s got a new paint job and everything.”
“Bill’s still around?”
“Yeah. Got another kid, too. He breeds like a wolf.”
“Rabbit.”
“What?”
“The saying is ‘breeds like a’… You know what? Never mind.”
“Will you come?” she asks. “For my wedding?”
“Uh… Sure, Mama,” I say. I’m fidgeting with the grocery cart in the empty aisle.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” I tell her half-heartedly.
“Good girl. You been taking care of yourself?” she asks. “Working out, keeping your body tight? I sure hope so. Because after thirty, everything starts going downhill. You wanna secure your man before then.”
I can already feel myself disassociating myself from the conversation. “Mama, I’ve gotta go.”
“So soon?” she asks, sounding disappointed. “You just called.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll call again.”
“Okay, Charlie girl. Don’t forget your mama. I know I wasn’t always a good one, but I tried my best.”
I feel a lump form in my throat.
I see Evie’s face in my mind’s eye.
She isn’t my kid, but she’s been under my care for the last several months. And I’d put her in danger because I’d been a fucking idiot for too long.
But I need to correct it.
Because I don’t want to be like my mother.
I just needed a reminder of that. Maybe that’s why I’d called her in the first place.
“I know, Mama,” I tell her. “Take care of yourself.”
I cut the line and take a deep, staggering breath.
I feel so drained. Exhausted, in a soul-deep kind of way.
But I’m done putting this off. I’ve made up my mind and I know in my bones that it’s the right decision. No more excuses now.
Time to face Lucio.
Time to come clean.
45
Lucio
The Pool
Evie splashes water into my face.
I jerk back. “Hey!” I shout.
She cackles and swims away. Her laughter fills the air. Makes me feel lighter than I have in days.
Charlotte has been gone for almost two hours. I’m trying not to get worked up about it, but as the second hour comes to a close, I’m starting to feel agitated.
The possibility of her not coming back is real. I knew that when I told her she could leave.
But I let her go anyway.
“Papa?” Evie says.
“Yes, tesoro?”
“What are you thinking about?” she inquires.
I hesitate. “I was thinking how much I like spending time with you,” I tell her. It’s the honest truth.
She beams. “Me too. I like you,” she says, in that blunt, direct way that children have. “But you were really scary at first.”
“Was I?”
“Mhmm. I was super scared,” she replies. “But the man told me to be good and that you wouldn’t hurt me.”
I freeze. The smile falls off my face for a second, before I manage to salvage it.
“Man?” I prod.
“The man who brought me here,” Evie says simply.
It has been months. She’s practically never spoken about the man who delivered her to my front gate.
I’ve asked several times. Charlotte has, too.
But Evie had always shut down. Mostly refused to talk about it.
Until now.
Focus, Lucio. Don’t fuck this up.
“Was he nice to you?” I ask.
“Not really. But he gave me lollipops,” she tells me. “I didn’t like the lime flavor. So he got me strawberry.”
“Do you remember his name?” I ask.
“He told me to call him Goofy,” she says. “He told me it was a pretend name.”
“He gave you a pretend name?”
“Mhmm,” Evie confirms. “He said we were playing a game.”
“How did you meet, uh, Goofy?” I ask. I’m keeping my tone gentle, unruffled.
But inside, my adrenaline is surging.
“Mommy brought me to him.”
It feels as though the temperature’s changed somehow.
Sonya had handed our daughter over to some bastard with a fake name? And that bastard threw her on my doorstep with nothing but a note and a lollipop?
On whose orders?
And why?
Nothing about this story is making me feel any better.
“Your mommy brought you to him?”
Evie nods. She’s fiddling with a pool toy. I’m starting to lose her.
Carefully, even though my insides are r
aging, I ask, “What did she tell you?”
“She told me she had to leave me with Goofy,” Evie says with a shrug. “She said she was very sick. She had to go and get better.”
Fucking Sonya. She had left her daughter with a goddamn stranger to go off somewhere and die?
“Were you alone with Goofy?” I ask, feeling my blood boil with rage.
“No, there were other people.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. I can’t remember all their names. I think they were pretend names too.”
“What were their names?”
“I remember only Daisy and Minnie.”
Daisy fucking Duck.
Minnie fucking Mouse.
All bullshit names, obviously.
Who the hell were these people?
And why had Sonya left Evie with them?
“Were they nice to you?” I ask.
“Kind of,” Evie assures me. “Sometimes, Daisy tucked me in to bed and read me stories. Sometimes Minnie did. I had my own room, but it was small. I wasn’t there for very long.”
I close my eyes and try to get a grip on my fury. My own daughter, left alone with who-the-fuck-knows. And these strangers were the ones tucking her in at night? Singing her lullabies, telling her bedtime stories?
Breathe. Focus. Find the truth.
“I had to play on my own a lot,” Evie continues. “They were always busy on their computers.”
“Do you remember the day they brought you here?”
“Not really,” Evie muses, her smile faltering. “I was really sad because Mommy was still not better. She still hadn’t come to see me. I was crying a lot. Then Goofy told me that he was going to take me to see my papa.”
She looks at me with her big gray eyes. The eyes she inherited from me.
“I didn’t want to go at first,” she tells me. “But now I’m glad I’m here. I like Charlotte. And I like you.”
I smile through anger. “I’m glad.”
“But I still miss Mommy,” Evie admits, and her bottom lip trembles. “Is she still sick?”
All I can feel is rage.
Rage at Sonya for her fucked-up decision to abandon Evie to strangers and just disappear. At least she had told them who Evie’s father was.
Instinct is telling me that it’s not exactly a good thing, however.
“I don’t know, Evie,” I tell her, because I can’t come up with a better answer.