with her I want to be a better man; how it does not matter if the world ever views her as imperfect because she’s perfect for me; how these days, these moments we’ve shared are so brilliant it’s been worth living the other thirty years of my life just to get to experience them.
Melody’s body becomes limp and warm, her breathing heavier as she falls into a sound sleep. I keep whispering anyway.
THIRTEEN
I managed to nod off at some point, long after vetting every scenario through my head while I stared at the ceiling, mentally running each play over and over like a coach the night before the championship game, and with all the anxiety; you spend an entire season—in my case, years—trying to get to the big game, only to eventually face down the stress of turning it into the final win of the season. If we triumph, Melody goes free; if we lose, Melody never gets to play again, gets kicked out of the league.
The moment the sun breaks through the slit in the curtains, I open my eyes, destined to remain awake. I slip out of bed and return to my room, leave Melody to sleep off the bruising and trauma from the night before.
I sit on the corner of my bed and watch the news and wait, drift into a daze as the talking head rambles on about newfound long-term complications associated with steady consumption of carbonated beverages. I begin reading the news ticker at the bottom of the screen and it makes me numb, hypnotizes me like a metronome. Until, scrolling across:
INVESTIGATORS ARE LOOKING INTO THE SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE OF MANNY PASTULO, LONG ASSOCIATED WITH THE BOVARO AND RICCI CRIME FAMILIES.
And so it goes. If I recall from our family meeting, Pastulo was being handled by three crew members, his takedown led by Tommy Fingers. The reality of our grand plan—the first evidence it actually occurred other than term-encrypted cell phone conversations—brings an alertness no amount of caffeine could ever deliver.
I call Pete, wake him up. He answers with a one-word grunt, something between yeah and what.
“Everything still looking good?”
He yawns. “When you coming back?”
“Be there shortly, this afternoon. Everyone happy and healthy?”
I hear a woman groan in the background, then she says, “I gotta pee.”
“Who’s that?” I ask.
Pete takes a deep breath, rustles a little like he’s sitting up. “I don’t know.”
Of course he doesn’t. “We come straight to Pop’s, right?”
“Yeah.”
“We gonna have a full house?” Is everyone going to be attending?
“Eddie put together the invitations.” We’re having an official family meeting.
“There gonna be cake?” Good news or bad news?
“With extra icing. Pop says he gets the piece with the flowers on it.” All good. Especially once you bring the dead girl home.
“Yeah, I figured. I just wanted to make sure he’s gonna be there, that everyone is gonna be there.” My eyes remain glued to the news ticker. “I’m thinking we’ll be there early afternoon.”
I’ve become quite in touch with the rise and fall of adrenaline in my bloodstream, this most recent wave caused by the assurance that the final event will occur. How much easier it would’ve been if something went wrong, that my family muffed the grand plan, that we’d just have to continue on the course of a less risky plan offering no closure whatsoever, no mandate for completing the mission.
As I hang up, I hear Melody moving around in her room. Since the adjoining door remains partially open, I go through it—still feels like I should enter through the hall door—and find her in the bathroom, her mouth filled with toothpaste foam. She glances my way, spits quickly. We sort of hug and share a peck, move like a pair of actors running through their first take of a love scene. My phone vibrates in my pocket: Pete again.
“You still bringing the skim’?” Yes, short for skimbo. I hear him flick a lighter, take a pull off a cigarette.
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Figured you would’ve grown bored with her by now.” A few days equals a decade in Peter years. Then through his exhale of smoke: “Got off the phone with Pop. Thought you’d be interested to know he says he’s ‘looking forward to meeting both of your girls.’ ”
I rub my eyes. “That’s great.” I slap my phone closed.
“What’s great?” Melody asks.
“Uh,” I say, looking down, “my whole family will be there today. Just as I’d hoped.”
She sits on the bed, presses her knees together, stares at the floor as well. “They