35. Gabriel
THIRTY-FIVE
Apparently,Catherine Trafficante didn”t get the memo that you”re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But that”s Catherine: blunt and inappropriate, awkward and honest. It”s what I adored about her as an arrogant guy in college, but now that I”m a man, I”m not so sure. I prefer subtle and cunning, sharp and analytic.
Like Riley. But I can”t allow myself to think of her now that another woman”s in front of me, because it seems like a betrayal of what we shared. Riley exists in a pure, beautiful place in my mind, and that”s not where I am physically at this moment.
I don”t remove my sunglasses, nor do I say anything. I merely study Catherine, trying to figure out why she”s here after disappearing for over a decade, why she”s standing like a ghost in this cemetery, whether she”s trying to seek answers for her father”s sins of the past.
Because she won”t find them here amongst the corpses.
”Walk with me,” I say, stepping toward a row flanked by grave markers. For some reason, it feels wrong to talk with her near her father”s mausoleum. It”s like a betrayal to him, and to Catherine.
She falls into step with me, and we”re silent for a beat. There used to be a time when Catherine and I would spend long hours in silence, studying or reading. Most people didn”t understand our relationship, thought it was odd that we weren”t dating, that we were only friends. Never did we hook up or fuck, which in retrospect was odd, given our ages.
Only once did we talk about taking our relationship to another level. We”d jokingly made a pact one drunken night that if we both turned thirty-five and were single, then we”d marry. Neither of us are thirty-five quite yet, and that conversation had been before everything happened, before our lives changed.
Now, our silence feels horribly awkward and our pact seems like it was made in another lifetime.
”Why did you come back? Why now? Why bother?” I finally ask, unable to contain my curiosity. The implications of her return could complicate matters for me and Alessandro. It”s the last thing I want.
”I needed to make sure he was dead and buried.”
”Understandable.”
”I also wanted to see you.” Catherine stops, and I do as well.
She looks like a gothic vision with a backdrop of the granite headstones, and I stare down at her. She”s so short, a wisp of a woman. And she looks so damned different than when we were friends. Not in a bad way, just different. She”s still delicately pretty.
”You could”ve picked up the phone. Or emailed. You didn”t have to fly across the country to see me.”
”I didn”t think you”d want me to show up at your house in Tampa.” A little smile plays on her scarlet lips.
”I wouldn”t have minded.” It”s the truth. But now, seeing her here like this, almost feels antagonistic. Wrong. My instincts tell me something”s off about this entire situation.
”I was also told that my father left a letter for me. I came to retrieve that. Wanted to face my past in person.”
I nod, unsure of what to say. I can”t be angry at her, not after what she endured. She”s allowed to feel any way she wants, after what happened.
Catherine tilts her head. ”You know, I can tell what you”re thinking. I”ve always been able to do that, you know.”
I raise an eyebrow. ”What am I thinking?”
”You”re wondering why I”m here. If I”m going to screw anything up for you and the little deals you had with my father.”
”Accurate.”
”And you know what I”m thinking?”
”I have no idea.” When she left, I lost that ability.
”I”m thinking a lot of things. Oh, don”t worry. I”m not here to claim his territory or anything. I still don”t want anything to do with his precious businesses. You can have all of it. I”m thinking of regrets.”
My muscles relax, a little. I can tell this conversation”s going to be a doozy, but at least she”s not making a claim for the territory. ”Regrets of the past are a waste of the spirit, Catherine.”
”That”s bullshit. I have a lot of regrets and too much spirit. Too many memories. Of us.”
She steps closer to me and cups my jaw with her small hand. Her palm is cold, but I don”t respond to her words or her touch.
”I regret leaving you.”
I lick my lips. For a time, I regretted her leaving as well. I missed our friendship, missed our deep conversations. ”I understood why you left. You needed to.”
”But I lost you, and I”ll never forgive myself for that. I let my anger and bitterness for my father and his lifestyle cloud our friendship. I didn”t think I could continue to be in your life if you stayed in that world.”
”I did stay in that world, wanted to. You were aware of that. I couldn”t do anything else, Catherine. This was, is, my legacy.”
”I know. Did you ever consider leaving?”
I shake my head, and Catherine”s hand slips from my jaw to my chest.
”You know, your father never forgot you. He always loved you, always thought of you. But I never once told him where you were.”
”Did he ever ask?”
”Yes. Often. But he respected our friendship, and said loyalty was my best trait.”
”He was right about that. You were loyal to me until the end. Until I left. That was my fault.”
She bites her bottom lip, and my heart cracks a little. I let out a sigh and reach for her, take her in my arms.
”I”m sorry it all got so fucked up, Cath. You didn”t deserve any of that, and I hope you”re having the best life possible.”
She nods into my chest as I stroke her hair. The last time I hugged her was when she came to my college apartment and said she was leaving town.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, she pulls away. I can”t tell if she”s crying because her glasses are so big, but her nose is a telltale sign of pink. She rubs the tip with her finger, but all that does is make her skin an angrier shade of red. She”s all wrong for Florida—the sun, the humidity, the heat. None of it agrees with her. Hopefully, California does.
”I”m going to the lawyer”s now, to pick up that letter he wrote. What are you doing?”
”I”m going back to Maria”s to say goodbye then I”m headed back to Tampa.” An image of Riley pops into my head, and I smile.
”Can”t wait to get back?” Catherine says.
”There”s nothing like home.”
She smirks. ”I was hoping we could eat dinner together. Go to that diner we once loved, the one with the waffles.”
I hesitate, wondering if I should. For years I would”ve jumped at this chance, to spend a few hours with my best friend over a greasy plate of food. Even in the years after she left, after she cut all communication with anyone from her old life, I”d have craved to sit with her, to laugh with her, to talk with her.
Now, I”m not feeling it.
”I”m sorry, had I known, I”d have cleared my schedule.”
”Do you have a hot date?” Her voice is teasing, like it used to.
I finally grin. ”Yeah, sort of. I just met a woman recently. I think she might be the one.”
That”s the first time I”ve said those words aloud. The one. Riley. A warm shimmer of emotion flows through me, and I”m suddenly seized with the need to see her. To touch her. To wrap my arms around her and never let go.
”Ah, you and your crushes. You always had a crush on one girl or another.” She shakes her head. ”Gabriel?—”
”You don”t have to apologize again. Really, Catherine. You got the shit end of the stick with your father and his lifestyle. All I”ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. I tried to make things better for you.”
I killed a man for you. My first. But not my last. Catherine”s rapist, and his murder was a death I felt most comfortable with. Killing that guy felt like justice, swift and definitive.
She reaches for my hand, and I allow her to hold it. ”Thank you. But...”
She swallows, then continues. ”I love you, Gabriel. I should”ve said that years ago. I”ve always loved you, and wish our relationship had been different. Wish I could”ve been what you needed and wanted. Even if that was a mafia wife.”
My jaw drops, and I don”t know what to say. She”d never uttered those words before.
We were friends once, us against the world. She was my first and best female friend, and we did everything together—partied, studied, lived. For a while, she was my family. She spent Thanksgivings at my parents” home and I went to her father”s for New Year”s, always with her, dressed up in our finest. We were young and brash and unstoppable.
She”s none of that anymore, and never once did she express interest in me, which is why her words are so shocking.
”Did you come back to say that to me?” I ask.
She looks me in the eye. ”Maybe. I knew you”d be here, and figured it was better to tell you in public, and be rejected here in a cemetery, than have you slam the door in my face.”
”I”d never do that to you.” I shove my hands in my pockets and take a couple of steps down a path. I can”t stand her expression, a combination of wounded and devastated. ”If you loved me, why did you cut off all contact when you went to California? That hurt, as a friend, you know?”
She shakes her head. ”I didn”t want any reminders of that lifestyle, and you were in the thick of it. Doing jobs for my dad and your grandfather. You were poised to take over, I always knew that. But I think I made a mistake. I should”ve sought protection from you, not run from you.”
”Jesus, Cath, I don”t know what to say to all this.” I run my hand through my hair.
Why did she wait so long to tell me this? Why can”t I muster any sort of warm feeling for her? Why is this all so fucking complicated, at a time when I just want to bury myself in grief for Donnie?
We”re silent again, but it isn”t comfortable. I can feel her eyes on my skin, though I refuse to acknowledge her. I don”t know what to say now. It”s all just too awkward.
I”d thought she”d come back to Florida to make a claim on her father”s territory, but I guess I was wrong. She”s here to say goodbye, both to her father and to me.
Or to find a future with me.
And I have absolutely nothing to give her. My future is in Tampa, running a territory. With Riley, if all goes well.
She takes a step closer to me. ”I should leave, don”t you think?”
I nod and turn away from her. It”s too much, burying Donnie and seeing Catherine. Hearing her say those words. Dredging up all those good memories, and the few terrible ones.
There was a time when I loved her back, but not in a romantic way. And breaking her heart isn”t something I want to do—but I know the look on my face just now has shattered her.
She walks away. I hear the crunch of her boots against the gravel on the ground, but I still don”t look her way.
I don”t want to watch her go, because she”ll never again be my best friend. I don”t want to feel anything for her anymore; her lack of contact after she went to California destroyed more than just our friendship and our relationship.
She”s turned into someone I don”t know. A relic from the past.
I whirl around, realizing I should say something, anything. But she”s moving too fast, an apparition in black through the gravestones, and I watch until she moves out of view.
For a long while I walk amongst the gravestones, the granite giving off a subtle shimmer in the bright Florida sunshine. Then I find myself back at Donnie”s mausoleum. The cemetery workers are gone, and the door to the crypt is locked tight.
I place my hand on the marble and shut my eyes, saying one final goodbye.
As I walk away, I think about something he once told me, something I”ve never forgotten but haven”t been able to accept, especially when it came to Catherine, and my own father.
Don”t be a prisoner of the past, Gabriel. Your mistakes were life lessons, not a life sentence.