“Is everything okay?” I ask warily. It’s the same question I’ve asked dozens of times before. I don’t know why I keep asking. He gives me the same response every time.
“Everything is fine. You worry too much.” His brush-off feels dismissive, but I don’t have a chance to comment when he continues. “Hey, did my passport arrive yet?”
It’s the second time he’s asked in a week. And is that strain in his voice?
Why would it matter if his passport arrived?
We don’t have any trips planned. He hardly has time for dinner, let alone a trip. Unless… Could he be planning a surprise getaway for us? A six-month anniversary excursion? God, that would be amazing. We desperately need some time together—away from the city.
“I haven’t checked the mail, but I’ll make sure to do that on my way to dinner, okay?” I ask brightly, buoyed by the hope of a fresh start.
“Yeah, that works. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Sounds good. Love you.”
“Love you, Ree Ree.”
CHAPTER 12
DIANGELO
Present
A coward or a fighter?Terina never gave me an answer, and I haven’t pushed for one. I doubt she could forget the question if she tried. I can see it dancing behind her eyes when I catch her watching me.
We’ve spent the better part of a week settling into our new normal. She’s been cooperative, which I appreciate, but I don’t like how strictly she keeps to routine. Yoga at the same studio, the same time, nearly every damn day. Walks in the park using only one designated route. Dinner with her mom and coffee with Isa, both twice a week—Wednesdays and Sundays with her mom, and Tuesdays and Fridays with Isa.
I discovered their usual coffee shop is several blocks away from her apartment. Rina had moved their meetings to the shop in her building to minimize her outings. I hadn’t realized she’d done that and appreciated her efforts, but a set coffee date, no matter where it is, is still too dangerous.
Routine might as well be an engraved invitation to the Russians.
Before dropping her off last night, I asked her to come up with a randomized schedule for next week. She wasn’t thrilled, but she said she’d work on it. I wonder how much she’ll be able to deviate from her established norm.
Terina is surprisingly structured for someone I thought tended toward impulsivity. She’s an unusual mix of the two. While she can afford a cleaning service, she cleans the apartment herself but has no set cleaning schedule. She prefers to cook her own food rather than eat out, but doesn’t plan her meals. Instead, she buys whatever ingredients look good when she’s out shopping and concocts a recipe later.
I get the sense her need for control is more of a coping mechanism than an innate part of her personality. I’d be curious to ask Renzo if she was like that before her husband died. I wasn’t close to the family at that point, so I wasn’t privy to the details of his death. It was a mugging gone wrong, which I only learned about after dinner at her mother’s house.
It’s an unfortunate way to go. Loss is bad enough on its own. Overcoming a violent, unexpected death can shatter a person.
I should know.
My brother’s death happened twenty years ago, and I still struggle to think about it. Her husband’s only been gone for five years. That’s not long in the grand scheme of things.
My phone rings, drawing my attention away from the computer screens where I’ve been scanning through the video footage of her building to see if anything suspicious jumps out at me.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“How’s everything going over there?” Renzo wants to know how things are going with his sister. His timing is perfect.
“Nothing to report at the moment, though I did have a question.”
“What’s up?”
“I was wondering what you could tell me about Terina’s husband’s death.” I toss it out there and hope I’m not overstepping.
“Why you wanna know?” Renzo asks with a hint of wariness.
“Just thought it might help me understand her better.”
