Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Georgia/ Seven Years Ago
M y mediocre paying job at the public library that takes up three days of my week is slow and even a little boring, but a manageable pace I can handle, given my nonexistent experience.
It’s three days a week I don’t have to sit in the apartment waiting for Lincoln, my husband, to come home. His family was shocked, maybe even a little hurt that they weren’t at our wedding, but they were happy for us. Genuinely happy in a way I know my father could never be.
His mother hugged me, his father followed lead, and Hannah congratulated me, asking why I lied about not being involved with her brother.
Being married is…odd. Nothing has changed. There’s no ring on my finger or routine that’s any different than before. The only thing we have to show for it is a piece of paper and the photographs that somebody took when Judge Tallahassee said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
I suppose it’s good that nothing has changed.
Lincoln told me it would be fine when I’d bitten my nails to the quick as each day passed and I heard nothing of my father. As much as Lincoln insisted he couldn’t do anything to us, I wasn’t sure I believed him.
Because maybe he couldn’t.
But what about the Carbones or the people my father and Antonio were associated with can?
Lincoln said he was using psychological warfare to keep me paranoid. If he was, it’s working. Because as each day passes, I wait on the edge of my seat for the other shoe to drop. And it never does. It hovers just above the ground, teasing the anticipation for the final thump.
Rereading the same page of a new book I picked up, thanks to my pestering thoughts, I settle into my spot behind the counter. It’s a slower day than usual, and I hate it. Because the fewer people I’m dealing with, the more time I have to think. And being inside my head is not a fun place to reside right now.
I’m about to give up on the book altogether when somebody walks in, letting a swift breeze in that shuffles my hair.
“Checking out or dropping off?” I ask, finishing the sentence I’m on before tucking a bookmark in my spot.
I bolt up when I see the person standing a few feet from the desk. “Mrs. Ricci?”
The older woman looks different in blue jeans and a sweater that she never would have been allowed to wear at the house. My father always said professionalism was dressing for the part, and denim didn’t belong. Even for the housekeeper.
She’s studying the space I occupy, a softness to her face that looks older somehow. “I didn’t believe it,” she admits with a shake of her head before meeting my eyes. “They said you were working here.”
They ? “Who?”
It’s not the only question I want to ask her. I want to know why she hasn’t tried reaching out since I left. Why she’d let my father put such a large wedge between us when I thought we were friends—or whatever two people with our age gap could be. After a while, I’d given up hoping to hear from anybody. Her. My family. Millie.
My father wanted to isolate me, and he’d gotten his wish.
Mrs. Ricci takes a book off the stack that I need to reshelve and studies the cover. Her lips curve when she sees the half-naked cowboy on the front. “I wasn’t surprised when I heard you’d gotten a job at a library. You loved reading since you were a little girl. Do you remember all those times you would ask me to read you to sleep?”
Hurt fills my sternum at her attempt at reminiscing. It seems misplaced. “You didn’t reach out,” I say, voice quieter than before.
Guilt crests on her face. “You know I couldn’t. What your father wants…”
He gets.
Swallowing, I reluctantly nod.
My former housekeeper gives me another once-over, and I wonder if she’s disappointed in what she sees. The clothes I’m wearing are cheap thrift store or clearance rack finds—a far cry from the designer brands I used to parade around in. I cut my own hair, so the ends are probably uneven. I never packed my makeup in my haste to leave and only picked up the cheapest items I could find at the dollar store. I look nothing like the put-together girl she was used to seeing.
I’ve let myself be proud of how far I’ve come on my own despite the odds, but shame always finds a way to creep in somehow.
“Your father made it clear that I was not to reach out regardless of how badly I wanted to,” she explains, setting the book down. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I do, Georgia.”
“If you wanted to talk to me, you could have found a way. Even when we think we don’t, we have choices. I got out. I figured out how.”
Sadness sweeps over her face. “Life isn’t that easy, sweet girl.”
“I thought you would have fought harder for me the way you used to.” I sit down and feel my shoulders drop.
Her smile saddens. “I have always fought for you. I told you to go that night. I took his palm for you when you came back the next morning. I wanted you to find your happiness outside of your family.”
Guilt crashes into me when my eyes go to the cheek my father had struck. I look down at the book I’ve abandoned when the memory becomes too much.
“I’m here because I had to see for myself if you were okay. I heard you were working here. I…” She stops herself, reaching out to place her hand in front of me. “I needed to see for myself.”
“So you do have a mind of your own,” I comment dryly, staring at her nails. They’re painted light pink. I wonder who does them now that I don’t live there. I used to beg her to let me do them every two weeks, and she’d let me pick the craziest colors.
“You’ve changed.”
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. “I needed to.”
Mrs. Ricci takes a long moment to process that. I can feel her eyes studying me, but I refuse to glance up. “I can see that.”
Waiting for more, an apology, anything , I realize it’s all in vain.
I suppose anybody who worked for the Del Rossi family would have to be used to a certain kind of demeanor. Mrs. Ricci has worked for my family longer than most people. She’s used to cool indifference by now. An apology might be too much to ask for.
“Georgia…” Hope blossoms inside me, but I try containing it the best I can. “Your father threatened Millie’s parents. He said if Millie spoke to you, he would take away her mother’s store and her father’s license. It’s all they have. That’s why Millie hasn’t reached out. I’m sure her parents made sure of it. He can do worse. Has done worse because of the people he knows. And he’s capable of more when he’s crossed.”
All I can do is gawk at her. She clearly knows more than she’s letting on, just like everybody else around me. The question is, why won’t anybody tell me the truth?
“I no longer work for him,” she admits. “He didn’t feel like my loyalty was to him anymore, and he’s right. I’ve always had a soft spot for you—always stayed to ensure you had somebody when it was clear they couldn’t be what you needed.”
I’d guessed that my father threatened people to make sure I had nobody in my corner. He thought isolating me would bring me back to him with my tail tucked between my legs.
But it didn’t.
“He fired you?”
She nods once. “I don’t regret it. Once upon a time, your father was a good man. But now he’s…confused. Driven by things that will be his ruin. His business dealings are getting dangerous, and the people he’s associating with are putting pressure on him, which puts him in a peculiar spot. I have no reason to watch his downfall now that you’ve made it out.”
What does she know that I don’t? “Should I be concerned?”
Mrs. Ricci’s expression turns contemplative, making me wonder what she’s holding back. “I want you to be careful. You shouldn’t underestimate what your father is capable of, especially when he’s at risk of losing so much. The Carbone family are not the worst people he knows. There are others who wish your father harm, and they’ll do whatever they can to hit him where it hurts. Remember that. Okay?”
Her warning makes goosebumps pebble my arms, but I force myself to nod.
It feels like forever before I’m able to form words, including the question that’s prodded my conscience for weeks. “You knew my mother, right?”
A genuine smile returns. “I did.”
“Did she…?” Pressing my lips together, I take a deep breath. “Did she really die in a car accident? Or was it something else?”
Her smile slips, only for a microsecond, before she replaces it with a tighter one. “That is a question you are better off not knowing the answer to, Georgia.”
The reply cements an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. “How am I supposed to be careful if everybody keeps me in the dark?”
Her eyes warm. “Oh, sweet girl,” she says, sighing. “Sometimes the dark is the safest place to be. Because without the light, you don’t see the monsters for what they really are.”
She steps back, turning her head toward the door before hesitating. “Was it for love?” she eventually asks, her eyes lingering on my empty ring finger.
I swallow, trailing the pad of my thumb over the space a ring should sit. “I heard once that you learn to love the person you’re married to. With time.”
The brown eyes that remind me of the warm hot chocolate she’d make me when I was little fill with something unreadable.
Rubbing my arm, I say, “I got a new number. Lincoln…he got me a phone. I can give it to you so we can keep in touch.”
A bittersweet smile lifts her lips. “I think it’s best if I let you live your life.” Her eyes dip down to my finger one last time before her smile wavers. “And perhaps it’s time I use my freedom to do something good for all of us. Don’t worry about me, Georgia. I’ll be okay. I just wanted to make sure you would be too.”
I want to ask her what, but she clenches her hands together and walks out the door before I can.
When a few minutes go by, I release a puff of air and think about everything she just said.
I used to be afraid of the dark as a child.
I thought I’d grown out of it.
But maybe I hadn’t.
What monsters linger there?