“Twenty-three days sober. Again.”
“That’s good, Cord.”
“One of the many, many cheesy mottos of the program is ‘Dothe next right thing,’ ” Cord said. “I’m trying. To do the next right thing.”
The silence between them felt delicate. Cord found himself noticing details—the small scar above Giovanni’s eyebrow, the dimple in his chin—all the familiar landmarks of a face he’d memorized. “Why are you here, Gio? I thought you needed a break from all this. Fromme.”
Giovanni wrapped his hands around the mug. “You couldn’t even say goodbye to my face.”
“I’m sorry. You deserve better. We both know you deserve better.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
“I’m trying, love. I’m trying again.” A silence fell between them, broken only by the ticking of Charlotte’s wall clock.
Giovanni was quiet for so long that Cord thought he might get up and leave. “I didn’t fly to Savannah for closure,” Giovanni said finally. “I could have had that in a phone call.”
“Then why?”
“My therapist says when you love an addict, you don’t get to plan ahead. You can take what you get for one day, day after day…or you can walk away.”
“That’s fucking bleak,” said Cord. “But it’s maybe true. I hate that. I hate that for us. I hate that for you.”
“Yeah, but it’s real, Cord. Who knows how long we have, any of us.”
“Not exactly the fairy tale we talked about,” said Cord. “White picket fence, joint Hamptons house, his-and-his monogrammed towels.”
“Seize the day,” said Giovanni. “That’s what I want now. I want all the joy. I want all the joy, today, with you.”
The happiness that rushed through Cord was so strong he stopped breathing. “Giovanni…” he managed.
Giovanni held up his hand. “I’ve got two weeks before rehearsals start and the theater kids take over my life,” he said. “I thought I might spend them here. If that’s OK.”
Cord nodded, overcome.
“I want to go to the Pirates’ House, and I want to see some real-life alligators, and I want to drive Charlotte’s golf cart around the links.”
“I can make all that happen for you,” said Cord. “For us.”
“Good,” said Giovanni. “I packed all preppy outfits, Cord—Sperry Top-Siders, pants with whales, pink shorts…”
Cord moved close to his love.
“…a pale blue Izod I thrifted, a Vineyard Vines tie, and a T-shirt that saysPickleball for All.”
Cord took Giovanni’s face in his hands, but paused.
“You can kiss me,” said Giovanni.
Cord held Giovanni’s face, closed his eyes, kissed him tenderly. He inhaled the smell of coming home.
79
Lee
Lee checked her phone: almostten—time to feed Yassus once more and call a car to the airport. The timing felt appropriate—she’d take care of the last creature who needed her, then go. In her purse, Lee had twenty-eight pills wrapped in a silk scarf, enough sedative-hypnotic to set her free.
She folded her pajamas, her movements slow and meditative. The Plaka apartment was spookily silent. Charlotte had reunited with Paros, packed up her monogrammed duffel, and boarded a tall sailing ship. The girls were usually in their room or busy with school friends and activities. Lee sipped yet another cup of instant coffee, ready to stop haunting a space where she no longer belonged.
