Nothing Else But You

by Elle Wright

  I’m at a loss about your sleeping habits. I don’t know much about PTSD, but I’ve heard it manifests differently in everybody, and, of course, the nature of it depends on the trauma. Just know you can tell me anything and it stays in the vault. (See. Seinfeld fan too.)

  By the time you get this, you’ll be on summer break. Are you surfing all summer, or is there employment/internship happening? I’m sure you killed it on all your exams. Mine went well enough. I’ll get my grades in mid-July and I’ll let you know.

  Your turn.

  Ace

  Last day of the semester

  Twenty minutes after the chem final

  Gio

  Gio was so tired he wasn’t walking across campus so much as dragging his feet over the grass and sidewalks. The only reason he kept going was because he saw his pillow in his mind’s eye and he knew in a few hours he’d feel better. Then he’d get shitfaced with his bros, and at five a.m. they were dropping him at the airport in Providence so he could get on a six a.m. plane that would take about an hour and a half to get him to JFK in NYC, where he’d have to do a mad dash to get to his plane to Portland, Oregon.

  He was scheduled to arrive in Portland a little past eleven a.m. west coast time. He’d have about six hours on the plane to catch up on his sleep. Which he’d need since he had a five-and-a-half-hour drive to get to Fiddler’s Rest. He figured he’d get to Gusk’s by 5:30 in the afternoon. M would still be working and he could NOT wait to surprise the hell out of her. And touch her. And kiss her. Aw, hell…he couldn’t wait to bury his dick so far inside her she’d be screaming his name for days.

  His phone rang ten feet away from the entrance to his dorm.

  “Giovanni, you have to come home immediately.”

  “Zio Nick?” Gio’s heart thundered against his ribs. His uncle never called him. And he certainly never told him to get his ass home. “What happened?”

  “Drive carefully, but get home. Now.”

  The line went dead.

  Ace. Something terrible has happened. So, so, so bad.

  More later.

  G

  Seven days later

  Mirabelle

  Mirabelle’s blood froze in her veins. She fucking hated the delay. She hated that she didn’t have his phone number. Muthamuthafucka.

  She grabbed her bag, pulled on her jeans, slipped her feet into her Keds, and ran down the stairs to her car. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She wanted to go eighty mph, but she could not get a ticket. Drawing any attention to herself was forbidden. Especially since she’d been working out her threat elimination plan.

  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. It took fifteen minutes to park outside the library, and she took the steps two at a time. She ran into the computer lab, sat down at the first desk in the first row, and typed in Dutchford, Connecticut.

  Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.

  THERAPIST SHOT TRYING TO SAVE PATIENT

  Theresa Calapiano, a psychiatric social worker with a practice in East Willisford, Connecticut, was shot by eighteen-year-old Walter Randall yesterday at 11:53 a.m. Ms. Calapiano was in session with her patient, Sofia Di Caro, who was Mr. Randall’s ex-girlfriend. Police have determined that Ms. Di Caro was Mr. Randall’s intended target, but when Mr. Randall pointed his gun at Ms. Di Caro, Ms. Calapiano put herself between Mr. Randall and Ms. Di Caro at the moment the gun went off. Ms. Calapiano suffered an injury to her chest, and doctors at Dutchford Memorial Hospital have said Ms. Calapiano is holding her own, but they wouldn’t say more. Ms. Di Caro was uninjured and was released from Dutchford Memorial Hospital after undergoing a thorough examination. Ms. Di Caro is the oldest daughter of noted businessman Alessandro Di Caro, who couldn’t be reached for comment.

  Mirabelle couldn’t breathe. Her G was Giovanni Di Caro. THAT Di Caro family. Holy shit. No wonder he didn’t want to go into the family business. She scrolled down to the latest article, which was from Monday. Four days ago.

  WALTER RANDALL ARRAIGNED TODAY

  Eighteen-year-old Walter Randall was arraigned today for multiple charges including attempted murder. He is being held without bail in county jail. Theresa Calapiano has been removed from the critical condition list and has been upgraded to serious condition. Numerous attempts to contact the Di Caro family have resulted in this statement being issued by the family’s attorney, Anthony Garibaldi:

  The Di Caro family thanks you for your concern and well wishes. They, along with the entire community, are praying for Ms. Calapiano’s swift recovery. The family asks you to please understand that they wish to comfort their daughter during this difficult time, and they hope that you respect their privacy to do so.

  Now that Walter was behind bars and Don Alessandro had put the kibosh on the press, the only thing left to report was Theresa Calapiano’s condition. And, having seen nothing to the contrary, Mirabelle surmised Theresa was hanging in there. Jesus. Talk about brave. Mirabelle would bet all the money in the Powerball that Don Alessandro was picking up Theresa’s medical bills, and he was going to make sure she received the best care money could buy.

  All right, rozumna divchynka, what are you going to do now?

  Old habits died hard, and when Mirabelle was stressed, she thought in Ukrainian. Whatever she was going to do, she wasn’t going to do it here. She erased her search history and left the library. Bend was the closest metropolitan area, but Boise was twice the size. Though farther away, it put Mirabelle in another state, and to do what she needed to do to find out what she needed to know if the next thing she did was what she wanted to do, she should put herself in a place with a quarter of a million people.

  She went to the hardware store to make her first call: Eddie. Who knew why she didn’t do cell phones.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour.”

  “Please. I’m a dad, not a hundred. Blake and I are watching the new Wanda Sykes special. What’s up?”

  “I might have to go out of town for a couple of days. Three tops. Can you live without me?”

  “Not really, but go. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Stan can hold the fort for a couple of days, and I’ll tell Mom Bao will be coming over earlier for a few mornings. Believe me, I’m not going to hear any complaints from her.”

  “You’re an angel.”

  “I keep telling Blake that.” Blake chuckled in the background.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

  Next call was to Mrs. B. If Mirabelle didn’t tell her directly, the woman would hound Eddie about where Mirabelle went.

  “Hi, Mrs. B. I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “That’s okay, dear. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m going out of town for a few days to visit a friend. Eddie knows, and he said it’s okay. I wanted to tell you myself so you didn’t worry.”

  “You’re so sweet to think of me. I hope you and your friend have a good time.”

  I hope my friend and his father aren’t planning murder. “Thanks, Mrs. B. I’ll see you when I get back. Give Mr. B a hug from me.”

  “Sure will. Take care, dear.”

  My ass, take care. I’m diving off the deep end here.

  Mirabelle went home and the first thing she did was move the refrigerator. She opened the utensils drawer, pulled out a dull knife, then knelt down behind the fridge and pried the baseboard away from the wall. Then she put the knife into the slot in drywall that was six inches from the floor, and wedged the piece away from its snug inset. She stuck her hand in the wall and pulled out a bundle of bills wrapped in cellophane. She put everything back to rights and moved the fridge back in place.

  After she unwrapped the plastic, she fanned the bundle with her thumb. This packet had thirty-five hundred dollars. That should get her a round-trip back east and a return to Boise. She stuffed a pair of jeans, two baseball caps, the requisite underwear for two days, a couple of shirts, and her two burner phones into her backpack. She took her toothbrush and no other toiletries. Everything else was available in
a hotel room.

  She pulled her hair back into a low bun, put on a nondescript blue ball cap, locked up, and headed downstairs. She had over a three-hour drive to Boise. By the time she got there it would be after one in the morning. Best bet, head to a small hotel on the outskirts of town. The bigger the chain, the better the security. She wanted low lights and barely-there security.

  Four hours later, wearing nitrile gloves, she was sitting at the manager’s desk of a barely three-star hotel ten miles outside of Boise. No, she hadn’t been invited. And yes, she’d distracted the front desk clerk so she could sneak into the manager’s office.

  She’d thought about the best approach on the ride over here. Hacking into whatever security the Di Caros had set up would send red flags in a way that would probably lock up their system. She didn’t have that kind of time to dig. She figured The Letter Club’s system would be easier to hack and wouldn’t fight her as much as whatever Don Alessandro had put together on the “family’s” behalf.

  She’d had to give a phone number to The Letter Club when she signed up – she’d given them her friendly drug dealer, Denny’s number – so she knew Giovanni’s number was in TLC’s system. It took her all of half an hour on a cheap desktop to break into The Letter Club’s database. Damn, they had over one hundred thousand members already. She wondered if they’d go public. She’d buy shares.

  It took the work of a moment to get Giovanni’s phone number and home address. Dingdong. She’d have to warn him about giving out real information. She backed out of the system, leaving mouse-size footprints. If she’d had more time and a better computer, she could have gotten in and out without detection. TLC needed way better security on their system.

  Three a.m. in Boise, five a.m. in Connecticut. Best to get to the airport. It’d be around six his time when she called Gio – she couldn’t imagine anyone called him by his full name except his nonna – and maybe he’d actually answer the phone. She’d lay odds on him not being able to sleep with everything that was going on.

  Damn. Way expensive to fly RT Boise to Boston. But there were seats on the 8:35 a.m. flight that would get her into Logan Airport at 5:35 p.m. Time to call Gio. She went into an empty airport restaurant and sat in the back booth. This could go all kinds of cluster.

  Nothing ventured and all that shit.

  She pulled out her burner and dialed Gio.

  Two rings and holy fuck, he answered in a sleepy, sexy baritone that made her knees slam together to keep her body from quivering like a leaf in a hurricane. “’Lo? Who’s this?”

  “Ace.”

  “Baby. How’d you get my number?” Baby. She was a puddle. “Never mind. You’ll tell me later. Where are you?”

  “Sitting in an airport thinking I should get on a plane and see you tout suite.”

  “Swear to God, you always know what I need to hear.” He sounded so sad she wanted to cry. “When and where?”

  “Five-thirty-five, Logan, United.”

  “How will I…”

  She wanted to tell him she knew exactly what he looked like. Sex on a fuckin’ stick. She couldn’t imagine how much better-looking he was now at twenty compared to his fifteen-year-old self. Should be outlawed how fantastically handsome he was. “Long red ponytail hanging out of a BoSox cap. White button-down. Levis. Keds.”

  “Stop talking so dirty to me.”

  She laughed. “Later.”

  “Later, Ace.”

  Noon

  Fairmont Hotel

  Copley Plaza, Boston

  Gio

  Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it sure as hell could get you into a suite three hours before check-in. Gio wanted to make sure the room was perfect. He wanted to test the bed. He needed to situate himself in this place so he’d appear to be comfortable here when he was anything but. The only place he’d be comfortable was in M’s arms. Shit. He still didn’t know her name. But he knew she had long red hair, wore jeans, and Keds. NO disappointment about the hair color or length. And who cared if she wore DM’s or Keds? As long as her feet were walking to him, that’s all that mattered.

  The past week had redefined his personal hell on earth. He’d thought nothing could or would stress him as much as living through the shooting at his high school. He was wrong.

  After his Uncle Nick had hung up, Gio had checked his phone and saw Nick had called eight times. Gio had turned off his phone when he’d walked into the chem lab, and he didn’t turn it on until he’d walked out. But he hadn’t looked at it until after speaking to his uncle.

  He’d run up the stairs to his quad, grabbed his car keys, and ran all the way to his car, which had been parked about a half mile away from his dorm. He’d been so wiped from all the studying and the exams, he hadn’t thought he’d have the energy to do anything more than sleep. The adrenaline rush from the fear that had coursed through his body had flipped his I’m awake switch, and he’d driven home in record time. He’d been so zoned he hadn’t turned on the radio. He’d had no idea what had happened until he got to his parents’ house.

  Cop cars were inside the front gates, which was something Gio had never thought he’d see in his life. Two patrol vehicles and two black sedans sat in the semicircular drive, and all Gio could think was they’d arrested his father and were searching the house.

  That would have been too simple: hard to take, but easy to process. He’d been half waiting for the day it would happen. But one look at his Zia Carmen’s face, and Gio knew shit was critical. He’d run into the foyer, and into Carmen’s arms.

  “Who’s dead?” he’d bent his head to ask in her ear.

  “No one, caro. But there’s been a shooting,” she’d whispered up into his.

  By the time she’d finished telling him what had happened, he was sitting on the second to last step on the central staircase, his arms dangling off his knees, his head hanging between them.

  “Where’s Sofia?”

  “In your mother’s reading room with your parents talking to the cops. Tony Garibaldi is with them.”

  Of course he was.

  “She’s okay, right? I mean physically.”

  “Your father told the doctors at the hospital to do every test they could conceive of. And they did.”

  Of course they did.

  “She fine, caro. Really.”

  “What about the shrink?”

  Carmen shook her head. “We’re praying, but it’s not looking good.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yep. That about sums it up. Why don’t you go upstairs and have a shower. By the time you come back down, the cops should be gone.”

  He’d followed his aunt’s advice and had felt better for it. He’d been heading down the hall to the staircase when he heard, “Gio.” He’d turned around to see Sofia standing outside her room.

  “Oh Gio.” She’d started sobbing.

  One minute he was twenty feet away, the next she was scooped up in his arms and he was carrying her into her bedroom. He’d laid her on her bed, pulled the throw blanket over her, then climbed onto the bed next to her and held her tight against him. That was how their mother found them.

  Without saying a word, she’d climbed onto the bed and lay down on the other side of Sofia, her arms wrapped about her daughter’s waist, her head tucked in Sofia’s neck. Gio could see through her red-rimmed eyes she was pleading with him to make sense of what had happened.

  At some point, his father had come into the room, and he sat in the wing chair closest to Sofia’s bed. One long, handmade-trouser-covered leg crossed at the knee and hung over the other leg. His penetrating blue eyes took in the scene and he nodded once at Gio.

  Hours later, Gio had left his sister sleeping in their mother’s arms. He might have dozed for about an hour, but he had been so wired, it hadn’t registered. He’d known where his father would be, and that he was expected.

  He’d opened the study door without knocking, acknowledged Tony Garibaldi with a chin lift, and sat across from his fathe
r in the chair next to Tony’s.

  “How’d your exams go?”

  Gio had to give the old man credit. Cool as the cubes in his small-batch whiskey. “Good. A couple of them were hard.”

  The smallest lift on the left side of his mouth, which lasted for two seconds before it disappeared. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  It hadn’t been a suggestion.

  “Stay for dinner,” was directed at Tony as the don walked around his desk. Tony nodded.

  Of course he did.

  They had walked side by side, Gio about an inch taller than his father. They were in lockstep as they went past the pool house, and were rounding the rose garden when his father said, “How long have you known?”

  “About three months.”

  “Did he hurt her?”

  “She had a shiner when she came to the dorm.”

  “That wasn’t the first time.”

  “Not according to her friend, Amy.”

  “Did you suggest the therapist?”

  “Yeah.”

  His father nodded. “Was it helping?”

  “She didn’t get into what they talked about, but she said she liked the shrink and she was glad she was seeing her.”

  “You weren’t ever going to tell me.”

  “No.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “I’m going to let the system handle it. I don’t want her to experience any more trauma.”