Her eyes move back and forth like she’s making certain no one else will overhear us. “He doesn’t want to be tied down with a baby,” she whispers. “So if he hasn’t forced you to do it yet, he will soon enough. Mark my words.”


    “Sure, because exin to me why I should believe a fucking word that leaves your mouth again?“. “He didn’t stay with me, and I had his daughter. What makes you think he’s going to stay with you?”


    “Let me ask you something,” I counter, hands on my hips: “What does it feel like to lose? Because that’s what this is about. You lost, and you can’t handle it. Just like you can’t handle the idea of him moving on with somebody younger than you.” I look over at the list of doctors in the building. “You’re right about one thing. Men like to keep their women young, so maybe you should head over to the dermatologist. You’ll give yourself more wrinkles if you keep worrying about things that don’t include you.”


    She huffs out a staggered breath, and this time when I advance forward she steps out of the way, letting me pass. At least she’s smart enough to let me go.


    After that encounter, my hands are trembling, and I feel a little sick to my stomach. Don’t know how much more of her I could’ve taken before I started to cry from sheer rage. Never would I say it to Tatiana, but she’s lucky her mother didn’t have a presence in her life. I would hate to think of my best friend ending up like that bitch. Shaking my head, I try to let the things she said go. There are so many cracks in the foundation of my and Gianni’s rtionship that it’s not hard to think she might be right. All her appearance did was strengthen my doubts and fears.


    That someday he won’t want me anymore–I mean, this is going to change things for us. What if he only wants the fun, sexy parts of being together? Babies change everything. Your body, hormones, sex. What if she’s right? I hate her so much, more than I ever have. The pebbles of doubt be boulders with every step I take.


    My original n was to return to Gianni’s after work today. However, that was before I made ast–minute doctor’s appointment. Now, I’m not so sure that’s the ce I want to be. I doubt I’d be able to keep from blurting out the truth the second I set eyes on him. I’m not like Tatiana. I can’t pretend everything is okay. <b>I </b>could hardly do it yesterday, when I only suspected I might be carrying his baby. The thought of doing that again now that I actually know the answer is exhausting.


    Before thinking twice, I pull out my phone and fire off a text to him. I don’t want to disappear, but I need time to gather my thoughts.


    Me: I need to stop home. I feel bad, want to check on Dad, plus I need more clothes.


    I wish so much that I was going home for support. That I had a parent who I could run to when feeling scared and unsure of the future. Why do people like Amalia exist? She adds nothing to the world. I doubt happiness is possible for somebody like her. She’s too broken, too caught up in the things she doesn’t have.


    The closer I get to the house, the bigger the pit in my stomach grows. I hate that this is my reaction to seeing my father. Shouldn’t going home to your parents be somewhere between warm and weing? It should be a refuge. A haven of safety. That’s not what home with my father is. It’s anger, resentment, and sadness–none of which I need right now.


    My mmy palms grip the wheel harder while I fight off another wave of nausea. Maybe it would be better to go back to Gianni’s, after all. No. I can’t do that. I don’t trust myself. My father’s the safest option. If anything, he’ll avoid me like the gue, while Gianni most definitely won’t.


    I pull into the driveway and notice my father’s car is missing. Relief floods my body. I wonder where he’s been going, how he’s passing the time without a job. I wish we could be open with each other, but he’s already proven to me I can’t trust l I hate all the secrets between us, but there’s no other option.


    Sliding the key into the front door lock, I brace myself against what I’m going to find inside. Did he go right back to the way things were before? It’s probably better for me to assume he did, so I’m not shocked by the disarray I’ll soon be greeted by.


    A sigh of relief fills the otherwise quiet space when I find the house pretty much in the same shape I left it. Could use dusting, and the dishwasher needs to be run, but it’s evident he’s been keeping on top of things. It might not mean everything’s better, but he’s making an effort. That counts for something.


    I lean against the table. What I wouldn’t give to sit down with my mom right now. I was too young to have any serious life issues


    76


    when she was still with us, but of course, when you’re a kid, what seems silly as an adult is a very big deal. Like finding out my best friend didn’t want to be my friend anymore back in second grade. I came home crying, and Mom made hot chocte and set out cookies. She sat with me, listened to everything I had to say and made me feel better by being there. Her mere existence reminded me I was going to be okay, even if it didn’t feel like I’d be okay.


    I run my hand over the back of the chair that used to be hers, and close my eyes and try as hard as I can to imagine that feeling of security she so effortlessly brought to life.


    What advice would she give me at this moment? I’m fresh out of college, trying to start a career, and involved with a man I love, even if it’s not easy. His ex–wife has me questioning everything I thought I knew, no matter how I try to forget her nasty warning. I already know the answer.


    I’m being dumb.


    I’m wasting time,e to think of it. Valuable time in an empty house.


    I run my hands through my hair. There’s nothing I can do about the baby. I’m already pregnant, and that’s not changing. I have to tell Gianni<b>, </b>soon. The other issue is finding out the truth about my mom’s death. So far, Dad hasn’t given me any proof or evidence of his ims. What if there’s something here at the house? He doesn’t have an office anymore, at least not one outside these walls.


    Seeing the locked basement door makes a light bulb go off in my head. I shouldn’t, right? Then again, he shouldn’t have called thendlord and told him I wouldn’t be moving in. Not that I’m trying to be vindictive. I’m only trying to remind myself that he has never valued my privacy, so why should I respect his? Nothing else really matters. I have to see for myself what he’s so sure about.


    With my heart in my throat, I dig through the kitchen junk drawer before finding the spare skeleton key that’s always been in there. I can’t shake the sense of betrayal as I use it to unlock the door to his home office. This is important, however. I have to remember that. It’s bigger than all of us.


    He might be holding evidence that implicates the father of my child.


    I flip on the light before slowly walking down the creaking stairs. The room smells like stale coffee and fast food. Then I understand why once I catch sight of the stack of empty bags and wrappers in the wastebasket next to his overflowing desk. I am about to open the window over the old filing cabs, when the sight of what’s mounted behind his desk turns the blood in my


    veins arctic.


    “Oh, my God.” At first, all I can do is stare, open–mouthed, breathless. I’ve never seen anything like this outside of a movie or on TV. The corkboard is covered in pictures and printouts. Some have sticky notes attached to them<b>, </b>covered in his illegible scrawl. It’s like he’s been building a map of all the possible individuals involved in Mom’s death.


    There are pictures of Gianni he must have gotten from old surveince–he appears to be ten or even fifteen years younger in some of them. Pictures of the house taken from the street, photos of his cars. The outsides of some of his businesses. I recognize


    the club and the restaurant where we ate with Jack Moroni.


    My stomach turns when I spot a photo of Tatiana. What does he think she has to do with anything? Why would he involve her in this? How much of it has to do with Mom now, and how much does it have to do with me? Where is the line in all of this?


    He wouldn’t give me an answer even if I asked. This is not the work of a man with a grip on reality. Tears well in my eyes when I- think of him down here, all alone, obsessing for hours, without a lead or end in sight. Trying to connect the dots when there is no connecting them. I can feel his frustration in the air. The energy of the room is heavy and deste. How lonely all must make him feel.


    is


    The sudden buzzing in my dress pocket makes me jolt, and my strangled cry rings loudly in the small space. I expect it to be Gianni, who right now is just below Dad on the list of people I dont trust myself to speak to right now. Trying to pretend I’m not shaken up after seeing all of this. He’d know something was wrong immediately.


    Thankfully, it’s neither of them. The caller ID instead reads: Police Station. Well, that’s not any better. With my heart in my throat, I whisper, “Hello?”


    “Is this Caterina?”


    76


    I recognize his voice<b>, </b>deep and full of concern. Shit. “Ken? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Dad?”


    “Not yet,” he mutters, almost whispering. “Although something’s going to happen if you don’t get down here right away.”


    “I don’t understand,” I ask. I’m already on my way up the stairs, turning out the light and making sure to lock the door. He can’t know I found that, not until I know how to feel about it.


    “Someone needs toe and get him and take him home before he gets himself arrested.”


    “Wait, he’s there? At the station.”


    “Yeah, and if he keeps up his shit, he’ll end up in a cell. I’m doing my best. No one wants to hurt him<b>, </b>but he needs to leave.”


    “I’m on my way.” I grab my purse and hurry out the door, barely taking time to lock up. “Please, try to keep him calm until I get there.”


    “I’ll do my best,” he grunts. “However, I can’t make any promises.”