Chapter 27 It’s Done
IT’S DONE
Caitríona
The bus judders like it’s held together by motor oil fumes and duct tape.
The vinyl seats squeak, and a baby cries three rows back with the stamina of an athlete.
I press my fingers to my temples in a vain effort to stave off the headache.
New Jersey rolls by in slabs of parking lots, torn billboards and a graying sky.
I keep my hood up and my face down, thumb hovering over the burner.
Donal: (typing…)
I beat him to it.
Me: It’s done.
I attach the picture. The one of Matteo on the rug, limp and perfect in the way that really sells a lie.
Grief, thick and heavy sits in my chest. Not at the failed job but at the idea of those bright, mischievous eyes actually going dark forever.
I did the right thing. I made the right choice.
Then I hit send before I can taste the guilt.
It lands with the little whoosh of a mistake you can never come back from.
Three dots. They dance across the screen for an endless moment.
Donal: Where? I’ll come to you.
Me: No. I need space. I’ll handle the clean-up. Then I’m going to take a break and see the sights while I’m in NYC.
A beat. I can practically feel his jaw clench through the screen.
Donal: This isn’t a holiday, Cáit. Where. Are. You?
Me: I’m in Midtown. It’s crowded and there are cameras everywhere. Relax.
I am not in Midtown. I’m somewhere between Kearny and a transfer point along the highway.
Donal: Tiernan wants eyes on you. He wants proof. You do not get to disappear on me.
Me: I sent the proof. Now dammit, Donal, let me breathe.
Donal: You can’t escape this, Cáit. Meet me at 34th in an hour.
Me: No.
Donal: Cáit…
Me: I’ll call when I’m ready. Keep Tiernan off my back.
Typing. Not typing. I watch the bubbles flicker across the screen.
Donal: I’ll give you the day. Then I come looking for you.
I flip the phone face down and watch my reflection warp on the dark screen like a warning. If I go to 34th Street, I’ll belong to Tiernan again. If I go anywhere obvious, the Geminis will find me.
I need a place that doesn’t belong to anyone.
I can’t go to the usual safehouses, those are Donal’s as much as mine. And if I go to one of our American contacts, I risk running into Tiernan. He has the same list we do. And definitely not Sean, he’d sell me out for a compliment and a pint.
My mind spins and suddenly, Sicily gives me the answer like she always does: hot air, briny salt and a girl with chipped nail polish sliding a beer across a warped bar.
Noel.
I can still hear her laugh. It was wide and reckless, a sound like no other.
I’d come to visit her stateside two years ago, spent a month on the Jersey shore at her mam’s place.
She took me for greasy pizza on a boardwalk that smelled like sugar and the sea.
We watched teenagers scream on a Ferris wheel and made fun of boys with too much hair gel.
Noel knew how to keep secrets. More importantly, almost no one knew we were close.
It's risky, involving outsiders. And I hate to expose her to this life, but men like Tiernan don’t look for you in kitchens on the Jersey Shore.
I dig the number out of my head. It’s not saved on any device that could be traced, just muscle memory and a prayer. I type it by feel.
Me: Ciao, Noel. Salt and oranges.
It’s what she said the first night we bartended together, when we matched bracelets and tips and decided we’d make the most of that summer.
Three long dots. My knee bounces.
Noel: Holy hell. Who is this? If this is Matteo playing a joke, I swear
I stare at her words for a long moment. Matteo? She stayed in touch with him all this time? Shaking my head, I banish the pointless thoughts. So what if he had? It doesn’t matter.
Me: It’s Cat. From Taormina. I’m on a borrowed phone.
The pause is so long I think she’s gone.
Noel: Cat?! Are you alive? Are you in trouble?
Me: Both yes. I need a place to disappear. Just for a night.
Noel: You’re in the city?
Me: Kind of.
Noel: My mom’s place in Long Branch is empty till Friday. You remember where the key is, right? The back door sticks so just jiggle and shove.
Something unknots in my chest so fast it hurts.
Me: I owe you twelve cannoli and a kidney.
Noel: You know my family is Sicilian. We prefer cannoli and gossip.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest.
Noel: Text when you’re close. I’ll try to get out of work and come down for a bit. I’ll tell the neighbor not to call the cops when a redhead is digging for the extra key under the fake rock in the garden.
Me: Cops would be bad. Nosy neighbors too.
Noel: Gotcha. You good to get there?
Me: I’ll find a way. And, thank you!
I end the thread, then open Donal’s again before I can think better of it.
Me: Don’t go to 34th. Too hot. Laying low. Will ping you from a crowd later.
Donal: Do not go dark on me.
Me: Wouldn’t dream of it.
I tuck the phone under my thigh like I can anchor the lie physically. The bus sighs into a stop and a cluster of teenagers climbs on, fizzing with drama. One girl has an orange scrunchie in her hair. I tell myself it’s not a sign and touch the blossom once more anyway.
The driver calls my transfer in a voice like gravel.
I stand, swing the duffel over my shoulder, and move through the aisle without brushing against anyone.
Matteo’s mouth is still on mine like a bruise I asked for.
For a second I see him on the rug again, too still, too human, and my stomach lurches.
You did what you had to.
The March air slaps me awake on the curb. Across the lot, a NJ Transit coach idles with LONG brANCH stuttering across its digital face. I lower my head and join the slow queue, just another tired girl with a bag and a plan that isn’t good but might work.
The beach house is just like I remembered it. Every board creaks in its sleep. I must have dozed off on the sagging couch with the TV lighting up the room and the ocean snoring beyond the dunes. A gull screams, and somewhere in the distance a buoy bell tolls.
A sound by the back door snaps me up. I blink quickly, my heart ramming up my throat.
“Coming,” I rasp, scrubbing at my face and running a hand through my wild hair. “Noel?”
I pad across the thin carpet, salt-sticky air slipping through the loose window seals.
The pitter patter of rain echoes off the loose roof tiles outside.
Noel texted an hour ago saying her neighbors were out of town and that she got stuck at work.
She promised to swing by in the morning with coffee.
So why was she here now? Maybe she forgot something or got out early…
I unhook the chain and crack the door.
It isn’t Noel.
Matteo fills the frame like a bad decision I’ve already made twice. His hood is up against the ocean air, hair damp and eyes that green you never quite get used to. The porch light turns the scruff on his jaw a warm gold. Up close he smells like rain on hot pavement and the shadows of coffee.
Everything in me goes very still.