The Love Scam - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,16
To Lillith, who once again put her small hand in his. “You’re really smart. C’mon, let’s go to I. C. Delaney.”
Eleven
Fifty miles! Fifty fucking miles from point A to point B, all because Delaney had a hard-on for Best Westerns. Well, okay, three. Three miles in a city that offered at least a dozen ways to get lost with every turn. Three miles during which every step made him worry the top of his skull was going to implode until his brains squirted out of his nose. Three miles during which Lillith never once complained, though she offered to pay for a vaporetto. (He’d been tempted for a few seconds, but then pride—stupid, nauseating pride—won out.) Three miles during which he cursed Past Rake for leaving Present Rake in such a mess. Future Blake needed to get busy on a time machine so he could go back and beat the shit out of Past Blake, and oh thank God here it was.
He couldn’t help but note the irony; the hotel was in the Piazzale Roma, the one place in Venice accessible by car, if he’d had one. And just a few feet from the vaporetto stop, if he’d let Lillith use her lawn-mowing money (was she even big enough to mow lawns?) to buy them tickets. Venice, you cruel, ironic bitch.
He tried not to stagger as he entered the lobby
(dignity, man! where’d you hide yours?)
and almost succeeded. He definitely didn’t look around in desperate hope for a drink dispenser full of water and lemon slices as he didn’t limp up to the front desk and explain what he was doing there. He let his eyes
(I’ll give you a thousand bucks if you don’t throw me out. I just don’t have it on me right now.)
do the abject begging and sniveling for him. And Lillith’s eyes.
But the clerk was ready for him. Them. “Ciao, Signor Tarbell. La signorina Delaney ti ha chiesto di incontrarla presso dietro l’angolo al nostro ingress di carico.”*
“She knew I was coming?” he asked, dumbfounded, and got a polite smile and a shrug in reply before the clerk turned away and picked up a ringing phone. “She knew I was coming,” he said to Lillith, and it was still hard to process. Then: “Did he say loading entrance?”
“Yes.”
Every time. Every time I think this day can’t get weirder … it’s like the day keeps hearing that and accepts it as a personal challenge. STOP accepting the challenge, weird day!
And Lillith doesn’t just speak Italian. She’s fluent—she knew he said “loading entrance,” which is not an expression commonly found in remedial How to Speak Italian texts.
What a cool kid!
“You’re an unnaturally calm child,” he told her. “Which is not a criticism at all.” He’d tried asking her about her mother and how she’d come to Venice and where Delaney fit into the mess, but Lillith had just blinked up at him and politely said, “I don’t want to talk about that right now, please.” He took the hint.
“Thanks. I have really low blood pressure.” When he just blinked, she elaborated: “Hypotension?”
“I know what low— Never mind.” He led her back out and around and found the loading area, and there she was, helping a few other women load boxes into an SUV, I. C. Delaney in the yummy flesh. “Oh, hey,” she said with a wide smile when he limped up to her (except he definitely didn’t limp). “Was wondering when you two were gonna swing by. Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hi, Delaney!” Lillith waved as if she were afraid Delaney couldn’t see her from three feet away.
“You sound relieved.” He looked around. “What is this?”
“Charity” was the reply as she heaved the last box into the SUV.
“Oh, like a marathon?”
An inelegant snort greeted that. “Marathons aren’t really charities. Well, technically they are, because technically they raise money, but still.”
He grinned, both at her disgruntled expression and her matter-of-fact delivery. And God, that felt good. He hadn’t felt like smiling much today. “So, the literal textbook definition of charity, then.”
She puffed a hank of hair out of her eyes. “Sure. But runners will always run. It’s just, occasionally they’ll do the thing they love to do and would do anyway to also raise money.”
“What, they can’t have fun? They have to raise money and be miserable?”
She blinked and straightened, patted the roof of the SUV, and then stepped back as it cruised off, waving once. None of the women had spoken, just quietly went about loading until they left. “Huh. Well.