Chapter Thirteen
Penelope
IS IT TODAY, GOD?
My life has been trapped in some kind of limbo since Cesare was arrested for my grandmother's death, and with everything in this world no longer making any sense—-
I've found myself simply going through the motions of living: breathing, eating, and sleeping, while those words play endlessly in the back of my mind.
Is it today, God?
It's an umbrella question that covers all the other questions that have been plaguing both my mind and heart like a disease.
Is it today, God?
Because one other thing I learned from my life hitting rock-bottom again and again?
He always has a plan, and He never reveals it too early or too early. There's always a plan, and you find out all about it in the right time.
IS IT TODAY, GOD?
I'm standing at the center of the chapel, Pilar's casket behind me, and relatives on each side. People have been coming up to us for over an hour to offer their condolences and introduce themselves...together with the sons they're hoping would be my groom.
Everyone is acting like I'm already free to marry someone else, now that the man Pilar herself had chosen to be my groom ends up a suspect in her own murder.
I continue to play my role as Pilar's memorial service begins, and I take my place on the front pew with people I should see as my family.
But I don't.
My parents were my family, but they're dead.
The Marchettis are my family, but I'm the one who's been avoiding their calls...because they remind me of the one that matters the most.
And of course that person is him.
He's my home. My owner. My everything.
But Cesare is acting like he no longer knows me.
THROWING UP HAS BEEN my favorite hobby lately. And honestly, it's also the only thing that's made me feel alive, ever since I woke up to a world where Cesare and I are suddenly leading separate lives.
I threw up when Massimo told me about Cesare's arrest. Threw up when I accidentally saw photos of Pilar's corpse. I threw up before writing my first and only letter to Cesare, and I threw up yet again when Massimo grimly says he can no longer help me write another letter to his brother.
I threw up when I saw Cesare on the 6:00 news, threw up before attending Pilar's service, and I threw up again afterwards, with my mind strangely taking delight in torturing me with nightmares where my grandmother has been buried alive by mistake, and she's screaming that it's all my fault, for loving the man who killed her.
I KNOW IT'S NOT TODAY , God.
But it no longer feels right to continue living in Cesare's apartment and sleeping in his bed and eating food bought by his money—-when the owner of all these things seem hell-bent on getting rid of me.
The son of Pilar's attorney, who's also a lawyer himself, has arranged for funds to be deposited to my account. I've also supposedly inherited a couple of properties, but for now I think I just need a place of my own, and one that's completely free of any memories.
I know it's not today, God.
But I'm terrified that I'll start to forget what really matters, and I think that's what will inevitably happen, if I spend another night in his home. Everywhere I look, I remember him. I remember us. I remember how we used to be, and it hurts. It hurts to remember all those things...and not have an idea if I can ever have any of it back.
I know it's not today, God.
I know I said that while Cesare stills breathe, I have reason to hope. I know I said what matters most is that he's alive. I remember everything I said. And it's because I still believe in all of those things that I need to leave.
I need to go away even just for a while, I need to be somewhere I can find myself...because it's also getting harder and harder to pretend that my mind is still glued to my body, even when it isn't.
Each day seems to bring more pain lately, that I feel like I've turned into this stupid, little balloon floating around aimlessly, just waiting for someone to either puncture my fragile grasp on life so I can finally expire—-or someone to grab on to me so that I'll remember what it means to be anchored.
IT'S MY FIRST NIGHT back in New York, and Greg is already waiting for me in Rufino's when I arrive at the restaurant. Ever the perfect gentleman, the son of Pilar's legal counsel comes to his feet as soon as he sees me, and I absently notice how he's attractive enough to draw other women's gazes.
"So..." A friendly grin curves over his lips. "We finally meet."
I'm secretly surprised when I manage to return his smile without having to force it. "Yup." Greg and I have only been talking to each other on Zoom before this, and another surprise is how he's much taller than I imagined.
"Well, just to make things official..." He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, but something else falls out, and I blink in surprise as he bends down to swipe a black-colored die with unusual markings from the floor before shoving it back into his pocket.
"Is it some kind of charm?" I can't help asking curiously.
"Something like that," he acknowledges wryly.
"Is it a lawyer thing or a famiglia thing?"
"A little bit of both...just like this is." It's a perfectly executed segue, and I can only smile as he offers me his business card with both hands.
"Thank you." The card looks and feels fancy, with gold lettering printed on a textured black surface.
Gregorio Buffon
Anatra Law Group LLC
"So..." Greg looks at me expectantly from across the table when we're seated. "Did this place used to be one of your local haunts?"
"It's actually my first time to be here," I admit sheepishly. "I just Googled for popular New York mafia restaurants—-"
Greg winces as soon as I say the forbidden word, and I guess Rufino's really is a popular restaurant with New York famiglia since those seated in nearby tables also turn to look at me like I've lost my mind.
The whole thing is funny, actually, but it also makes my heart ache because it reminds me of how all of the Marchettis used to react the same way, every time I slip up.
Stop it, dude! Just stop it!
"Are you alright?" Greg asks quietly.
A smile doesn't come as easily this time, and I end up forcing it in the end. "Sorry." I don't have the energy to lie, but I also know I only have to say a single word of truth, and I'll be sobbing like crazy in seconds.
Keep yourself together, Pen!
Greg studies me for a moment. "I know we agreed that we can't talk about Cesare Marchetti, since it would be a conflict of interest for me, but...how about I refer you to another law firm?"
"I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I don't think there's anything I can do that the Marchettis can't." I bite my lip afterwards, but even though I know I might end up sounding shamelessly demanding—-
"There is one favor I'd like to ask...if you think it's possible?"
"Name it."
"I know it's the Marchettis who requested for a media blackout on...on h-his case, but do you think you can ask around..." I'm just waiting for Greg to tell me I'm being stupidly hopeful and clingy at this point, but he doesn't.
"I will."
Greg hasn't made any secret of the fact that his law firm is convinced of Cesare's guilt, and even though I'm also aware his willingness to do me a favor won't come for free—-it's a risk I'm willing to take, and I find myself able to breathe more easily by the time a server comes by our table to take our orders.
I just want to make sure he's okay, and then I'll be okay, too.
The rest of the evening is surprisingly enjoyable, with Greg's stories about Pilar effectively distracting me from thinking about a certain mafia boss.
I excuse myself to go to the ladies as our evening comes to an end, and when I return it's to find an elegantly wrapped gift box waiting for me on the table.
"Just open it before you say anything," he urges with a grin. "I guarantee you'll like it."
So I do as he asks, and he turns out to be right...since what's inside is nothing but a beautiful pen with my name engraved on it...and a contract that just happens to require my signature.
This is actually what tonight's dinner is all about, with Greg having pointed out in our last Zoom meeting that celebrating my inheritance is also one way of honoring Pilar's memory.
I sign my name on each page of the contract, and Greg hands me my copy before we leave.
"Thank you," I say simply.
"It's what you're paying me for," he reminds me as we walk out of the restaurant...and nearly bump straight into Cesare, whose hand was resting on another girl's back.
No. No. No.
I rub my eyes, but the vision in front of me doesn't go away, and Cesare's lip even curls as if he finds my shock pathetic.
"H-How—-" How long has he been out? How did he get out? How?!
"I've been out for almost a month."
His voice is cold and dismissive, and every word feels like a knife to my heart. The girl next to him looks like she's dying to speak, but one look from Cesare has her biting her lip, and when our gazes meet, the look in her eyes has my favorite hobby calling.
Cesare's new girl feels BAD...for me.
My fingers dig desperately into my palms, but as soon as Cesare and his date walk past us, and the familiar scent of his aftershave hits me—-
No. No. No.
I throw up on Rufino's footsteps—-
And I know Cesare's heard me.
But he just doesn't give a fuck.
Is it today, God?
Is it today...that everything finally makes painful sense?
GREG DRIVES ME BACK to my new place, and the whole ride is spent in silence. I wish I could just say 'thank you', but I'm still terrified that the moment I open my mouth, the tears I've been desperately holding in check will never stop falling.
He pulls up by the sidewalk across my apartment building, and I get out of his car on my own. It just feels weird if I were to wait for him to open my door; that would make this seem like a date, which it's not.
"Sure you'll be okay?"
Relief breaks over me when I hear the concern threading through his voice. It's more than enough that he doesn't pity me the way that girl did.
"I'm fine."
"Want me to walk you up to the door?"
His phone rings before I can say no, and I know it's an important call when I see frustration flash in his eyes.
'Good night,' I mouth at him.
He makes a face as I wave at him, but he also mouths back 'good night' in the end.
I feel like it's only polite for me to remain in the lobby while he walks back to his car, and so I stay there...watching him.
And that's when I remember that night.
It was the night before Dad died, a night where he had come home unusually late—-a night that I had dreamt of a few weeks ago.
I remember sitting up and looking at my phone. Remember asking him—-
'Where have you been?'
I remember him sitting next to me on the couch.
'Sorry, Penny. I should've called. You didn't have to wait up for me.'
'You still haven't told me where you've been...'
'Grief support.'
'For real? You finally attended one?'
'Yeah. I think I even made a new friend. He lost someone because of his gambling addiction. Since then, he's never stepped inside another casino, and everywhere he goes, he's got this die in his pocket, to remind him of what he's lost.'