“You’re a mess,” I inform him, then I tilt my head. “Point to what hurts the most.”
His finger goes to his cheek, so I hop onto my tiptoes and kiss it gently. “Where else?”
He smiles, recalling that scene in the movie, then he taps his fist, so I kiss that, too. When he points to his mouth, I don’t care how much blood gets on my face. I kiss his lips, and the most difficult thing for me is being gentle.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Even when you’re all bloody.”
Claudia is sitting on the floor, facing the police, her hands bound tightly behind her. A battered but victorious Louis is scowling down at her, firing questions that she seems resolute on not answering. Matthew and I head over to listen in.
“Where did the money for those fake permits come from? Who ordered you to doctor inspection reports?” Louis sniffs. “You might as well speak up because we already have the answers. We know Mazza subcontracted you, and he’s been doing it for years. Good thing he never looked too closely, because you didn’t cover that trail very well.”
Every molecule of Claudia’s body is focused on Louis. I can feel the rage steaming off her.
“You have to admit it,” I tell her. “We have you anyway.”
“You have nothing,” she spits at me. “And you don’t know the hornet’s nest you’re poking. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Louis is practically salivating by this point. From the look on his face, he’s channeling Dirty Harry. This might just be the most fun he’s ever had. “Oh, but I do. And I can’t wait to publish this story.”
There’s a new look in Claudia’s eyes. She’s afraid. “Please don’t,” she whispers.
“She’ll never give Mazza up,” Matthew murmurs into my ear. “He’d kill her.”
Claudia shivers and averts her gaze. If she dumps everything she knows about Mazza, she might be spared from jail. But from what Louis told us before, Mazza is a very powerful gangster with tentacles everywhere. If she says one word, Mazza’s men will hunt her down, in jail or not.
“Let’s go home,” Matthew says.
“I’m gonna take you to the hospital first. That cheek is going to need stitches.”
His nose wrinkles. “I hate needles.”
“I’ll get you a lollipop for after. And some stickers.”
PART 5ROSIE RYAN
1930
chapterTHIRTY-SEVEN
I barely recall the days and weeks after Damien died. When I try, I think of a modern painting I once walked past, hanging in the window of an art gallery. I don’t know what the image was, or what the artist was trying to say, but it looked like someone poured water on something beautiful, then smeared it everywhere. There was no light there. No joy. No hope.
But sure, without hope, the child within me has none, either. I promised the wee one that I would love them with the strength of two parents. Now I must find that strength in me.
I do remember the start of my new life, though. When I’ve the time, I let myself think about that day. I do not let my mind go back to the nightmare, only to the leaving of it. I try to bring it back clearly, to make myself think of it as a brave new beginning. A fresh start. Chin up, Rosie. You can do this.
In my memory, I walk quick as I can across the rails, along the streets, afraid to look back at the body on the tracks. Every piece of me longs to stay with Damien, to urge an impossible heartbeat back into him, but I know ’tis folly. I would be caught and arrested, no question, and I cannot go to jail. Much as it hurts, I lift my chin and keep going, holding in sobs. I do not meet anyone’s stares, but I know well enough they’re spying. I disturb themwith my disheveled appearance, my terrible grief. I shove my hands deep into my pockets so they cannot see Damien’s drying blood on them. Then I wonder if there’s blood on my face as well. From when I kissed him the last time. Little wonder they stare.
I duck into alleys as soon as I’m able, and I run. When I reach the station, my head pounding from all the crying, I recall Damien saying we would go as far as we could, so I count out pennies for a ticket to North Bay. Then, my heart in my throat, I clutch the heavy coat tight around me and step onto the big Gray Coach bus, with its bright red crest. I find a seat near the back and tuck in tight, trying to disappear. I catch winks of sleep every time the bus stops and starts, passing through different cities I’ve never heard of before. Water, mountains, trees, all a blur.
“Look, Damien,” I whisper against the glass window. “Can you see?”
I wonder if any of theFortitudesurvivors ever made it this far. Those poor, suffering people Granny needed me to remember.
Damien had told me that we had enough cash to start fresh, but I cannot make myself believe him. Sure, and I don’t eat a thing the whole way. When we get to North Bay, I pay for one night at the town’s Queen’s Hotel, since the name itself drew me in. I even add a dollar so that I can get a room with a bath. ’Tis a far cry from the Dominion, but this time, I am a guest. I have my own fancy key, don’t I. Well, ’tis not terrible fancy, but ’tis enough. As a guest, I’ll not clean anyone’s dirty laundry in boiling water. I’ll not have chapped, bleeding hands at the end of my day. I’ll not scrub shards of glass off the carpet.
This time the only thing I’ll wash is myself.
Afterward, I sit on my narrow bed and stare out the window onto the town’s main street. Folks are walking, driving, talking, carrying on with their days like they’ve not a care. I see none of it. I care for none of it.
