“Do you also talk about what will happen to my family?”
The darkness returns to his face.Hard, unyielding, made of angry regret.“Yeah, you know we do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me my family was here in LA?”I ask.“Why don’t you let me see them?”
He looks away, down the path and towards the glimmering ocean visible through the bushes and flowers.“We’ve already had this conversation, Goldie.I need your father to do something for me first.And he’ll be more loyal if he thinks your life depends on it.I’m sorry.But it’s the way it has to be.”
“Are you?Sorry?Because I’m thinking the least you could do is let me speak to my mother.I haven’t given you any trouble… I’ve…”
The grin on his face turns so sharp, I forgot what I was going to say.
“Haven’t given me any trouble?”he asks.“You ran away from me in the middle of Atlantic City.And you tried to stab me not so long ago.In case you forgot.”
“I did forget,” I say.“Because it was never something I would’ve done.Not really.”
Why am I even telling him this?I should be making him believe I’m dangerous to him.Then maybe he’d stop being so nice to me all the time and let me just hate him.
He shakes his head and walks off the path, past two huge lilac-colored oleander bushes—or trees more like.They’ve been hiding a pretty, all-white gazebo that has an unobstructed view of the ocean.He has his back to me as I approach, busy removing the grimy tarp coverings off the chairs and table.Everything here looks so nice, straight out of some movie.But an old movie.A forgotten one.
He uses his hand to get the worst of the grime off the glass table in the center and points at one of the chairs.“Sit.The cake will be here soon.”
“I don’t want cake,” I say and take a seat in one of the white wicker chairs regardless.“I want to see my mother.”
He takes a seat next to me.“This used to be my mother’s favorite place in the garden.Possibly in the whole house.She’d spend the whole day here sometimes.”
The emotion in his voice leaves me speechless.It’s at once soft and fond, but angry and dark too.A weird ball of opposites that reminds me of how I can neither hate him, nor love him.How what I feel for him is a weird mixture of both that will never be right.
“What happened to your mom?”I ask before I even decide to.Because something had.I’m sure of it.And it was bad.
“Your mother is fine,” he tells me, ignoring my question.“Your sister and father are too.And they’ll stay that way.You have my word.But you can’t see them.Not yet.”
“That’s not good enough.”I cross my arms over my chest and turn away from him.
“It’ll have to be for now,” he says and chuckles.“Besides, what happened to you not asking me for anything?”
I shake my head and turn even more away from him.“I don’t really have a choice, do I?Seeing as I’m at your mercy for everything.”
The silence that follows drags.I’m sure that if I looked at him I’d just see more of that angry, dark remorse in his face and that’s not what I want to see.
“It won’t be much longer now,” he finally says.And all that dark remorse and anger is in his voice now.
“Good.”
The silence drags again.Only it’s not silent.It’s filled with pretty bird song, the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant whooshing of waves.All very nice things.Beautiful even.
“My mother overdosed on her pain meds and antidepressants when I was thirteen years old,” he says.“We don’t know if she meant to do it or if it was an accident.I like to think it was an accident.But either way, she wasn’t a happy person.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but I do look at him.And feel only overwhelming compassion.And love.Painting all my fantasies of hating him as lies.
“I understand how you feel, Gianna, I do,” he says.“But I never meant to hurt you.I hope you’ll understand that one day.”
Maria comes through the bushes, carrying a platter filled with cake and two coffees.He helps her bring it to the table, but doesn’t sit back down.
“I have to leave,” he says.“You two enjoy the cake.”
“No,” I say quietly, but he’s already leaving and doesn’t turn.
And that’s the only part of all this I do understand.That I don’t want him to leave.Not that it makes any sense.None at all.If he heard me, he probably thinks I’ll never understand what he wants me to understand.And that’s true and not true at the same time.
