Chapter 32 – Aricia
Chapter Thirty-Two
Aricia
Iwake up to a loud pounding sound and assume it’s Peter at my door – knocking like an angry chimpanzee, I might add.
Fuck. He’s back from Miami. I jump out of bed and throw on my Costco robe (it’s seriously so comfortable) and a pair of slippers as I walk downstairs.
When I get to my front door, it’s already open because Rana has my access code and permission to come inside.
But… it’s…
“Rana, is everything okay? What time is it?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she says with an unmistakable glint of caffeine-craziness on her face. Nobody survives law school without gaining deep recognition of how far down a caffeine addiction can drag you.
“It doesn’t matter what time it is. LOOK!”
Okay. I know applying to law schools can be stressful, but this is honestly venturing on a psychiatric break. I squint and try to get a good look at what Rana might be shoving in my face. I can’t see it at first but when my eyes adjust to the bright glowing light, I can make it out clearly.
MISSING PERSON: Inessa Dabrowski
My gut tells me that Peter did something wrong. But I don’t know for sure, right? I understand why Rana brought this news here. You always knew he could make your problems disappear, right?
“Come in,” I gesture to Rana, who has definitely proven that this is serious enough for me to invite her into my home before the sun comes up. It’s just a missing person’s report, nothing definitive and certainly not any type of assurance that I won’t have to worry about her lawsuit anymore.
“Where did you find this?”
The more I scrutinize the document Rana showed me, the more I realize this isn’t any sort of public or press announcement.
“It’s an internal document from the Miami-Dade police department and no, I can’t reveal my sources.”
We meet a lot of cops in our line of work and some of the cops from Buffalo end up moving down to Florida, a place that most upstate New Yorkers have a demonic obsession with because of the superior weather. I can’t put my finger on Rana’s source and that might be a good thing.
She continues her explanation, “It looks like someone called in on the non-emergency line saying they were sharing a hotel with an acquaintance they met online who never returned after a night of clubbing.”
“Isn’t that common?”
I can’t get excited at this news. A drunk woman disappearing after a night clubbing doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean that I can stop worrying about the lawsuits or the many ways Inessa might continue trying to make my life hell because her cash cow dropped dead on my front lawn.
“Aricia, isn’t Peter in Miami?”
The icy chill returns. I can’t tell if I’m trying to suppress my intuition or if the very thought that Peter might do something like this is what’s irrational here.
“It’s four thirty in the morning, Rana. I’m going to make us both a pot of coffee and we can discuss theories, see if your source turns up anything.”
Peter’s last text message to me flashes into my head.
If he were involved in something like this, it might explain his silence.
But Peter is so… normal. I know technically he has mob affiliations, but hasn’t the mob been completely neutered compared to what it was during the John Gotti era?
They might make shady business deals and pull off a little racketeering or tax evasion but… nothing like this.
It wouldn’t have been so simple to get rid of Gino Taviani’s murder charge if there had been a lot to uncover beneath the surface of that family.
I force myself into a state of quiet reassurance while I prepare tea for myself and Rana, who makes herself comfortable at my kitchen island as she texts away furiously.
I don’t want to assume she’s talking to this source or another source, so I quietly prepare something to calm our nerves and as I wait for the tea to steep, I respond to Peter’s text message.
Me: I miss you.
He’s asleep. I tell myself as the little bubble turns blue and the small letters saying Delivered pop up beneath it that Peter won’t respond to me because he hasn’t been involved in a murder and he is in fact a regular, tired man in his forties who is getting much needed rest.
Peter: I miss you and I love you too.
Peter: I’ll be back tonight.
“What did he say?” Rana asks without looking up from her phone. This woman has a sixth sense that could rival a fortune teller’s.
“What did who say?”
“I know you were texting Peter. You always get a look on your face when you’re texting Peter.”
Again, I hate to feel exposed like this, but I’m too caught to deny it.
“He was just replying to something I said.”
“At four thirty?” Rana asks, slowly sipping on her tea. So she’s thinking the same thing. I don’t want to be the one to say it out loud and we’re both quiet for long enough that I realize Rana doesn’t want to say it out loud either.
“He said he’ll be back in Buffalo soon.”
Rana smiles. “Perfect. I can let you know if anything comes up with Inessa’s missing person’s report.”
We both know that nothing will come up. I don’t know what Peter did in Miami and I’m not sure I want to, but I feel this strange sense of certainty and relief that whatever he did means that Inessa will no longer haunt me with lawsuits, threats, extortion or anything else.
Peter sends me a text around midday with a request for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant called Dolce Vita in downtown Buffalo. It’s an expensive, trendy restaurant which has a dress code – not the type of thing you can normally impose on the people of Buffalo without protest.
He swears it’s a welcome back dinner and there’s a weird tension I feel not knowing whether this is a date or…
some type of goodbye. If my suspicions are correct, Peter just ‘whacked’ someone and the smart thing to do if law enforcement caught wind of him now would be to disappear over the border and never return.
I wouldn’t help him do that but he might have done this to protect me and the baby without thinking of himself – or maybe thinking that staying away from me might be better than fighting for my love.
I’m so unfamiliar with those new, fluttery romantic feelings that they all just feel childish and inappropriate. But I can’t help running through every potential way this entire night could end fucked up. It’s a bad habit from being unlucky in romance that I really want to get rid of.
Everything I feel is a whirlwind and I wish I felt less out of control, but maybe that’s what it’s supposed to feel like when you really love somebody.
I have no clue what the future will hold for me or Peter, but I want there to be a future.
Even if… Even if he committed a crime. I have no proof that he did and as long as he’s smart enough to not give me any proof…
I’ll know he only did what he did out of love for me and because he wanted to protect me.
In his world, that involves violence. I can offer my own form of protection with legal services if it comes to that.
But maybe he’s going to run. I still have lingering fears that despite everything I pushed too far to the point of pushing Peter away.
I’m all nervous until dinner and then I spend way too long getting ready the same way I did the morning I had to retake the LSAT.
It’s crazy how the last time I felt this bundled up in nerves was because of pursuing my dream after life had already knocked me down a peg with my first dismal LSAT scores.
I’m also getting a second chance with Peter.
If I can make it through dinner without denying my love for him and if he still wants to stay…
Maybe it’s time for me to put all my cards on the table and just admit to both of us what I really want.
I know my family wouldn’t judge me for remarrying, especially when I tell my mother that she’ll finally get her precious first grandbaby from me.
She already has grandbabies, but she wants one from me specifically because she never thought I would have kids.
The way things were going with me and Kennard – neither did I.
At first, my feelings were tangled up about all the shit that got me into this situation with Peter.
But I feel just… weightless. And I don’t want to admit to myself (or to anyone) that this might just be the case because of what Peter did for me.
That unspoken, wicked thing that I will forgive him for because I love him and I see what he was willing to sacrifice for me – something darker and more sacred than what anyone else would.