I’m about to say something to that effect when my phone, which I’ve just turned on again outside the offices, buzzes with multiple missed calls and texts.
“Shit.”
Chapter Seven
Finch
“I’m really not happy that I had to hear this from anyone but you, angel,” Luca says softly. “You know how it felt when I saw I had a phone call from Celia and Marco, but nothing from you?”
We’re on the phone, voice only. Definitely no video, because I look like shit right now and I don’t want Luca to see me like this. But I’m grateful to hear his voice. When I got Tara’s message I swallowed down on my feelings.
Mostly because I didn’tknowwhat I was feeling. I guess it was denial. Cee noticed something was up in the car on the way home.
“My dad died,” I said casually when she asked. “I mean, my other one.”
Marco’s shocked eyes met mine in the mirror, and then he had to stand on the brakes to avoid rear-ending the car ahead.
Cee gasped and hugged me and asked me if I’d called Luca.
“No, no. I don’t want to bother him,” I said, pushing her away. “I’m fine.”
I meant it at the time, but hearing his voice just now almost brought me to my knees right there in the living room. I was about to pour myself a very, very large vodka when the phone rang.
It’s Saturday night, and my husband’s hanging with a bunch of killers in Chicago, I’m miserable in New York, and my father is dead in Boston. Just a year ago, Saturday night would have meant clubs and molly and one-night-only sex.
Life is strange, the way it changes.
The way it stops, so suddenly, without warning.
I never even thought I’d miss my Pops when he went. The guy treated me poorly, and I don’t even mean that whole contract on my life hashtag-situation. But a few months back while my own sister was torturing me in preparation before killing me, she said something that wormed itself into my brain and just wouldn’t leave.
Over the years I could see Pops softening towards you. Start to change his mind.
I guess some small, stupid part of me thought that maybe we could work it out, somehow. That maybe the man who gave me his name, if not his genes, might one day realize how wrong he’d been about everything.
Might finally accept me.
I sigh at Luca. “I didn’t want to distract you.”
“Baby bird,” he says, and now he sounds pissed, “your emotional wellbeing is not a fucking distraction. It’s mypurpose. I’m your husband.I’msupposed to be the one you turn to for comfort.”
“Well, I’m sorry my father’s death made you feel like an asshole.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I just meant…I just don’t want you to push me away. I want to be there for you.”
But he’snothere for you, the bitter little part of me spits out inside, and I look at the vodka bottle again. I don’t do drugs these days, but…
After a second, I say, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you myself. And I’m sorry if it seems like I’m pushing you away. I just feel prickly right now, and I didn’t want to fuck up your meeting.”
“The meeting doesn’t matter to me,” he growls. “Youmatter.”
I know it’s a lie, but it’s a good one. It sounds convincing, and it warms my heart that he makes the effort. Or it would if I didn’t feel so disconnected from everything.
I don’t think the vodka will help. In fact, maybe I should just keep away from mind-altering substances for a while. They never worked all that well in the old days, anyway.
“The wake started today,” I tell Luca, while I put the vodka back in the drinks cabinet. “Traditional Irish style. Three fuckin’ days he’s gonna lie there.” I sigh, willing away the grief.
“I’m sorry you can’t be there,” Luca says, his voice soft. I don’t respond, and so he follows up, his voice less soft now, “Baby bird. Youcan’tbe there. You get that, right?”
