61

Sophie
I call my mom back the next day when I get home from the massage studio.
After Joey leaving with hurt feelings last night, I’m resolved to tell her about him. I want to be able to call Joey today and apologize. Tell him that I talked to my mom about him.
Because that was crappy of me. He is worth mentioning, even though it will open up an uncomfortable conversation.
I guess we’re past the three dates. We’re seeing each other. I can pretend it’s still just about sex, but it’s honestly been more than that from the beginning.
He spent the night after our first date. I made him dinner for the third. We’re exclusive. He deserves more of a mention to my mom.
“Hi, honey!” My mom answers.
“Hi! How’s it going?” I refill my aromatherapy diffuser with the cellphone tucked against my ear.
“Good. So who was the guy you were with last night?” Leave it to my mom to pick up right where we left off.
“Yeah, um, that was Joey LaTorre.”
There’s a beat of silence. “What?””Uh huh. He came for a massage and then asked me out on a date. So, ah, we’ve been seeing each other.”
“Oh my God,” my mom says, like I just told her I have cancer. “Are you crazy? Do you know how hard I worked to get away from that family? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Joey’s a great guy. He’s good to me. We have great…we’re really attracted to each other.”
“Oh my gawd. I do not want to hear about that. Especially not when it relates to Joey LaTorre. I can’t believe this.”
I picture my mom pacing around her kitchen, throwing her hands into the air with despair. She always had a flare for the dramatic.
“What’s the big deal?”
“You know what the big deal is. Once you’re in the Family, you never get out.”
“Well, that’s obviously not true because you and I are out.”
“Yes, but it was hard. It was hard when your dad was alive because they knew I didn’t like it. And then after he died, they were always watching over us. Pauly used to stop by all the time to check on us. I was half-afraid they’d tell me I couldn’t leave town when I moved to Florida with Bill.”
“Why were they watching over us? Like they thought you would rat them out? Do you know things?”
“Of course, I don’t! I don’t know anything. That’s the way they keep it. If you know things, you’re dead. End of story.”
I hear what my mom’s saying. It’s the same story she’s always sung. I heard it hundreds of times after my dad died. I never questioned it then. But now, I’m starting to wonder if it’s just her bias.
“I think Pauly was coming by to make sure we were okay, Mom. He used to bring us money and take care of things at the house. That’s what I remember.”
“He was your dad’s capo. He was responsible for your father’s death.”
“How do you know?” I demand.
“Well, he pretty much told me so the night it happened. He came and told me” My mom stops and curses. “We can’t talk about this over the phone. The line could be tapped. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Cold prickles run across my arms. Does she know something for real? Or is this just the same old vitriol she used to hurl at my dad?
Then again…What if Pauly killed my dad? I asked Joey if the man who killed him would be at the barbecue, and he hesitated. Pauly was there.
Uncle Paulythe guy who gave me money for my prom dress, the guy who helped me buy my first carhe killed him. I’m sure of it. He’s the only one who cried at the funeral, which at the time made sense because I thought he was my dad’s boss and best friend.
“What did he tell you, Mom?” I croak.
“I can’t. We can’t talk. Sophie, don’t go poking into anything with that family. Just walk away. Stop seeing Joey. Never invite that kind of darkness into your life again.”
“I have to go, Mom,” I say, ending the call without waiting for her to say goodbye.
I lean my back against the wall and follow the thoughts zooming around my head.
I end on one important fact: Joey knows the answer.
Joey knows who killed my dad.
My pulse beats in my temples as I pick up my phone and dial Joey.
“Hey, babe.”
“Was it Pauly?” I rasp.
The long pause answers my question.
“Sophie.”
“Just tell me. Please. Was Pauly the one who killed my dad?”
“Not on the phone. I’ll come to your place. We’ll talk about it when I get there.”
I hang up without answering, my fingers trembling. I guessed correctly. Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping as if my life is in danger, I pace around my small place, trying to figure out what to do. Joey needs to tell me the truth when he gets here. If we’re going to have a relationship
Actually, no. I don’t have to wait. For anyone. Not even Joey. Some kind of action is in order. I… can do something.
This is between me and Pauly. Joey shouldn’t even have to get in the middle of it.
I can go see Pauly. Get my closure. My father’s death has torn my life apart and continues to leave wreckage in its wake.
Maybe if I’d just known what happened, if I’d been able to confront his killer when it happened, I would be whole right now. Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of dating, of falling in love with a Made Man.
But confronting a killer is crazy.
Isn’t it?
Then I remember the gun Joey left. I won’t use it, but I’ll bring it along for protection. So he knows I mean business.
I grab it from the bedroom closet, examining it to refresh my memory on how to use it. But where will I put it? I don’t have pockets. If I put it in my purse it would be too difficult to get it in and out.
Throwing on a jacket, I slide the pistol in the pocket. Perfect. I draw in a shaky breath then get in my car and drive to the neighborhood where I grew up, where Pauly used to live. I’ll bet he still lives in that same house on the corner.
I pull up and take in the yellow house. I can remember my dad stopping by here with me when I was little. After his death, I don’t think I ever went there, but the house looks exactly the same.
I climb out of my car and walk up the steps to knock on the door, my heart beating at a dizzying tempo.
Pauly answers, surprise lifting his brows. “Sophie.” His eyes travel immediately to the hand I keep in my jacket pocket, and I realize how obvious the gun’s presence must be to a man conditioned to look for weapons.
I swallow, sweat trickling down my neck. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the gun. He’s probably strapped and could shoot me before I figure out how to get the safety off.
His eyes move back to my face. “Yeah? You okay? You wanna talk?”
I nod.
“Come in.” He holds the screen door open for me. I step past him with my heart pounding. He leads me to the kitchen, where he pulls a chair out for me. I keep an eye on him as I squeeze past to sit, looking over my shoulder as he pushes the chair in. “What can I get you to drink? A Coke? Coffee?”
“No thanks,” I say quickly.
He grunts and sits down across from me at the round wooden dining table. It has elegant arched legs and claw knobbed feet.
I keep my hand in my pocket, the gun unforgiving in my sweaty palm.
“I remember you used to make me coffee.” He looks across the table at me. “You were a good kid, always.”
My heart thunders in my chest. I lick my lips. “Yeah, I kinda remember that, too.”
“Your father would be proud of you-the way you turned out, you know.”
My scalp prickles. Heat slithers up my neck. How dare he speak for my father when he’s the man who killed him? I grip the pistol tighter in my fist.
“Did you kill him, Pauly?” I blink at the moisture on my eyelashes. “How did he die?”
Pauly nods slowly. “Yeah. I killed him.”
My hand jerks in my pocket, like I want to draw the gun out, but it gets caught. Pauly tracks the movement but doesn’t move.
He rubs his face. “We were drinking. It was poker night, and your mom showed up making a big fuss. She was always mad at your dad those days because of his stint in prison.”
“I remember.” I nod.
“It wasn’t the first time your mom made a scene. She made it plain how much she hated the outfit. Wished your dad had a legitimate job. I waited until after she leftI never would’ve insulted her to her face, but I don’t knowI guess I said something disparaging about her.”
Pauly looks at the grains of wood in the table. Traces his finger along one of the lines.
“It was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything, but the liquor made me an asshole. Your dad swung at me. The guys stood back. Fights happened, you know. We didn’t mean anything by it.” He glances my way.
I cover my lips with my fingers to hide the trembling.
“But, ah…your dad had his gun on him. And the two of us went down to the floor punching like schoolboys and…that gun went off.”
I let out a muffled sob.
“I’m not sure if he took the safety off to use it on me or if it was a complete accident. I honestly don’t know how it happened. But the bullet shot right through your dad’s chin and into his brain. He died instantly.” Pauly scrubs a hand over his balding head. “No suffering.”
It’s horrific. On one hand, it’s absolutely terrible to learn the precise and violent way my father died. But on the other, the knowledge is settling. At least I finally know the truth. It’s better than all the things I’d imagined over the years.
“Did he ever visit you-after he died?” Pauly asks after a while of taking me in.
I blink. “What?”
“You know, visit you? It’s just that he used to visit me. And I was hoping, wondering if he visited you too.”
I suck in a shocked breath. Angry tears prick my eyes. “He haunted you.”
Pauly nods, his eyes far away. “Yeah. He haunted me. You know what he used to say? Go and check on my girls. They need help around the house. And sure enough, I’d go over there, and your ma would have the garbage disposal stopped up or the vacuum cleaner taken apart trying to change a belt. And then I’d know why he sent me over. You know, aside from the money.”
Every hair on my arms stands up, and unwanted tears spill down my cheeks. “He-he’d send you over?”
“I’ll get you a tissue,” Pauly mutters and gets up, returning with the whole box, which he sets in front of me with an awkward pat on my shoulder.
“You remember the time you wanted to go to the prom?”
I let out a sob and grab a tissue. I remember. My mom and I had been at each other’s throats-I can’t remember why anymore, just normal teenager/mother stuff-and my mom had refused to buy me a new prom dress. She said I could wear the same gown I wore to junior prom or borrow a friend’s gown. I was mad, angry with the perceived injustice.
And then Pauly showed up, just like he’d known. He handed me a wad of bills-five hundred bucks-said it was for me to go to the prom, that I didn’t need to share it with my mom, or even tell her about it, if I didn’t want to.
I sob-my face a wet mess hidden beneath tissue after tissue. “Oh God,” I moan, trying to get a hold of myself. All my grief at the loss of my father rolls over me, fresh again, but different this time. This time it’s an ache to thank him, guilt at how I’d come to hate him in his death, for leaving us.
He didn’t leave me-he’s been taking care of me all along, through the most unlikely person-the person who caused his death.
I sniff, trying to get my breath back. “Do you think,” I sniff again, “he forgave you?”
Pauly nods slowly. “I told him I was sorry, over and over again. He said he knew I didn’t mean what I said. He knew it was-” Pauly’s voice breaks, and he blinks rapidly, “-it was a stupid mistake. The whole thing was a stupid mistake. I didn’t know he had his gun on. I didn’t want him to die. He was my best soldier. A good friend.”
Still weeping, I reach across the table and close my hand over the top of Pauly’s large knuckles.