hope. I have no delusions of grandeur, no comprehension that I am anything more than what happened to be waiting at the end of her rope. What she could not know is that I have no intention of letting her down, of letting her go. I am going to return her life to her, wrap it up and hand it over like a present. I am going to give her a second chance—or in her case, a tenth.
As if I spoke these words to her, I notice her soften. Her shoulders drop and she does a full-body sigh that suggests relief. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but I’m afraid to ask, to open my mouth and potentially offer up a less convincing version of her future.
Melody makes a subtle comment about how different we are, yet how amusing it is that we’re running together. I laugh and agree, but suggest we aren’t different at all.
I say we’re nearly identical.
After a long pause, Melody twists in her seat to face me better, says, “Come again?”
I look at her, read the seriousness in her expression. “You really think you and I are so different?”
She squints like the sun is over my shoulder. “Yeah, I think we’re totally different. I’m trapped. I have to be whatever they tell me to be, stuck in a life with jobs where no one notices I exist, but you’re free—free to do and be whatever you want to be.”
I immediately recall those moments in the bookstore at Johns Hopkins and how convinced I was—still am—that we only have so much control over our destinies. I think for a minute to articulate my point.
“How often do you think I’m watched by the cops or the feds?” I ask. “If I get a citation for jaywalking, they’ll be on me in a heartbeat, trying to get me to flip on someone in my family. I can’t go anywhere without being noticed—and I’m a pretty stand-up guy by comparison. But that’s irrelevant. I’ll never be rid of the Bovaro tag, might as well have it tattooed on my forehead. I will always be viewed as a criminal or a criminal-in-training. At a minimum, I’ll always be viewed as someone with information on other criminals.”
“Do you? Have information on other criminals?”
I barely have enough space to store it all. “Sure. I mean, didn’t you know the details of what your dad did for a living?” I regret bringing up her father—in the past tense, no less.
“I guess I see your point, but we’re still very different. You can do whatever you want with your life. Nothing is keeping you suppressed, forcing you out of the realm of possibility.”
“You think I can be a United States congressman?”
“Okay, well—”
“How about a world-class surgeon? Trust your prostate to the son of Anthony Bovaro?”
“I don’t have a pros—”
“How ’bout an FBI agent? Think I’d be well received at the academy? Ooh, how about a stockbroker? Want to put your financial investments in the hands of a Bovaro?”
She stops trying to answer.
“How about a disc jockey?” I continue. “Musician? Professor? I can’t even be a Little League coach.”
When I glance over at Melody, she catches my eye and smiles. I turn back to the road. “Maybe we are alike,” she says, then very softly as though only to herself, “Maybe that’s why I feel I have this connection with you.”
I almost ask her to repeat herself, but I’m afraid to, afraid I misheard or that she’ll deny having said it at all.
Then the rationalization begins, that the feelings I’m starting to have toward her are not wrong, and—you know, big deal—what could be the harm in trying to hold her hand? Had she kept that sentence to herself, my hands would have remained where they were—ten and two—but two just lost its grip. I reach over and gently take her hand in mine. She looks down and I fear she might pull it away, but instead she takes her other hand and places it on top, capturing mine. The warmth of her palms sends a wave of pleasure through my veins and into my brain like a shot of morphine. I understand, I do: None of her prior protectors cared about her—cared about her like a father or a husband. That kiss she popped on Sean’s cheek in Cape Charles? She wanted some signal he felt passionate about caring for her, that it was more than his job, that he was following something other than