Page 38 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
“Remember when my dad was sent to jail, and you told me to let him go. That he’s dead weight?”
“This isn’t the same.” I look to the side and stare at a picture frame on the wall. A quote.
When the wrong people leave your life,
the right things start happening.
Cris got me this when I took over the De Luca syndicate. I thought it referred to Angelo, but now I have to wonder if he meant it for Renata.
He follows my line of sight. “Isn’t it, though? You’re still transfixed on her, and you can’t be happy until you let her go. So, please, just let her go, man. How long is it gonna take? Five more years? Fifty?”
Try never.
I trace the camel bone case on my desk, a relic of the past. “Your advice is noted.”
He nods his head, stands, and leaves with a parting message. “Let her go.”
And he’s right.
I should.
The bell rings, and my students file out, running past one another.
“Walk, don’t run!” I shout out to them. No use. It’s still chaos.
Sally, one of the other second grade teachers, pokes her head in the doorway. “Some of the teachers and I are headed out for drinks tonight. Would you like to go?”
I shake my head. “I’m headed for my mom’s for the weekend.”
“Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out.”
That’s because I don’t go out. I teach. Stay home. Grade papers. Read a book. Eat takeout. Take baths. Pop out a glass of wine. Go to bed. Wake up. Then, do it all again the next day.
I smile at her. It’s forced, but I doubt she knows that. “Sorry, Sally. My mom’s been begging for a girl’s weekend.”
“Well, you work too hard. You’ve worked here two years, and I haven’t seen you take a break once. That’s not healthy.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes look uncertain. Maybe she sees past my bullshit, but she says nothing. The people in small town Connecticut keep to themselves. They’re not the type to ask invasive questions or give me a hard time. That’s good when you’re trying to lay low.
The drive from Connecticut to my mom’s is short. Her majordomo Gaspard greets me with a smile and leads me to the library, where Maman sits at her chessboard. She’s staring at the pieces when I take a seat across from her.
“Hello, darling.”
“Hey, Maman. Did you—”
“Get your pictures? Yes, my love. You have a problem.” She hands me an envelope, which I take without a word. “This is the last time.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Renata. Either you move on or you go back, but you must choose or I will make the choice for you.”
“Fine.” If she won’t help me, I can find a way to do it myself. “How have you been getting these pictures?” I slide the images out of the envelope and stare at them.
Classic surveillance photos.
I grab a close-up shot. Damian is stepping out of a car. He looks so angry at the world, and I wonder why no one else notices. It’s almost enough to make me want to save him. Almost.
