“I want you to remember, as I tell you this, that he’s fine.”
My chest constricted. Had he run off with Valentina? A machine beeped somewhere.
“Easy, kid. If you make the doctors come in, this conversation ends.”
I breathed. I felt the ends and edges of my body, calming them. I’d done that when reporters asked me about my cheating fiancé. I’d done it when talking to Donna Maria for the first time. I’d done it my whole life, and I did it on that bed.
“Okay,” I said when I was ready.
“Okay.”
“Go, Margie. You’re stalling.”
She sighed then continued. “There wasn’t a mob doctor in California who could help you. He made a choice. He turned himself in. He and Daniel hammered out his story. He said he stabbed you in a lover’s quarrel and you fell off the veranda. Everyone in the house corroborated. Valentina said she ran the fence in a jealous rage. No grand jury. No indictment. No nothing.”
“Wait… I… there were—”
Bodies.
Blood.
Bullets.
“A wall of silence,” Margie said. “Donna Maria Carloni and Domenico Uvoli disappeared. Poof. No one’s seen them.”
There were holes, but I couldn’t get my head around them while one question remained. “He turned himself in? What does that mean?”
“We made the indictment over Paulie go away. There was enough evidence to claim self defense for that, but for what happened to you…look…he skipped everything and copped a plea. I shouldn’t tell you since I’m not even supposed to know the details, but I arranged his lawyer, and I’m yours, so there’s that.”
“Where is he?” I couldn’t bear saying it, because the answer— “He’s in prison, Theresa.” Her hand was on mine. She squeezed it.
“But—”
“Listen to me. You fought over Valentina. He stabbed you. He threw you off a second-story veranda. That’s the end of it. If anyone asks you anything, you say you don’t remember. Your memory is fucked beyond repair.”
“How long, Margie?”
“If you decide to go honest, a lot of people you love are going away for a long time.”
“How long is he in? Tell me!”
She breathed hard then spit it out. “Ten.”
“Ten years?” I squeaked my last breath, because my god, my god, a decade?
“Listen…”
I was crying before she finished the word. I heard something about parole. I heard something about good behavior and not making it worse. But I was wrecked.
I had to know if I was allowed to forgive the fake stabbing. I had to know who knew what because I’d been holding on to this string of hope and it was about to break. But I couldn’t, because I was crying so hard I couldn’t speak. Then the doctors came, and I pretended to know nothing about anything.
fifty-six.
theresa
found it easier to just not talk. When the cops came, I claimed to remember nothing of the incident. So sorry. Shrug. Daniel didn’t let the interviewer press too long.
“Dan,” I asked when it was over, “the election? It’s March, almost.”
He smiled at me. “I got out in time. And you’re my last case I’m overseeing as DA.”
He wasn’t actually the prosecutor. He couldn’t be. But he seemed to be around all the time.
“Then what?”
“I can do commercial litigation, I think? Private sector stuff. I’m still a good lawyer.”
“No public advocacy?” I asked.
“My public life is over. Too many proverbial skeletons in the proverbial closet.”
“I’m sorry, Dan. It was all my fault.”
“No. It was my fault, and it’s better this way.” He held up his hands. The nails were unbitten. “Less stress. I swear, I get up in the morning feeling… what’s the opposite of overwhelmed?”
“Underwhelmed?”
“Not that.”
“I know what you mean.”