Three pops in every day, keeping me updated.
The house Scarlet and her little Pearl went to turned out to be hers. Her home. The house she told me about... she still has it. You see, all along I thought men like ol’ Mello Yello were milking her out of every penny, that they were stealing everything she stole, because she had nothing that I saw, but it turns out she was just hemorrhaging money trying to keep up with two lives—the one she’d been drifting through when I met her and the one she always intended to go back to.
She already had her picket fence.
She just needed help getting back to it.
She’d been paying the rent, been paying the utilities, keeping the place going even though she couldn’t stay there, even though it wasn’t safe, because she planned to one day have that life back.
She never lost hope, despite everything.
You have to respect that.
Or well, I do.
It’s around dusk on Friday evening. The guys are out, doing what they do, making money and raising hell, everything right back to normal. My brother’s at work. His girlfriend is... well, who the hell knows, but she’s not here. It’s quiet, so very quiet... not a peep in the house.
It’s peaceful. It’s boring.
I’m back to being bored out of my fucking mind.
After peeling an orange, I stroll out of the kitchen and head down the dim hallway. Just as I make it to the foyer, a chime echoes through the house. Doorbell. I divert that way, yanking the door open, coming face-to-face with Seven.
I sigh. Loudly.
“For your sake, I hope you’ve got a good reason,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, “because it has been way too long since I shot somebody, and you’re still hanging out on the top of my list.”
He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Because we’re family.”
I take a bite of my orange, regarding him. “Because we’re family.”
“Yes,” he says. “Family’s not perfect. We make mistakes. We don’t always like each other, don’t always get along. So maybe I’m the black sheep of this family, and I deserve whatever happens to me because of it, but we’re family, and when you’re family, you deserve a chance.”
I continue to eat my orange. “You know I killed my mother, right?”
“Yes.”
I nod. “Just making sure.”
“But that’s different,” he says. “Family’s more than blood. Family is who we choose. So I’m not asking you to forgive me, not asking you to forget... I’m just asking for a chance to earn back your respect.”
I stand in the doorway for a while, long enough to finish off my orange, neither of us saying anything until I’m done. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my car keys.
“Come on,” I say, stepping out onto the porch. “Let’s take a ride.”
If the guy was smart, he’d bail right now, run like hell at the suggestion, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, taking my keys and heading for my car without questioning where we’re going. Guts.
I give him the address.
He punches it into the GPS.
It takes us about an hour to get there, night falling by the time we arrive, darkness shrouding the neighborhood. He parks just down from the place, cutting the car off. I get out but don’t approach, perching myself on the hood of my car.
White house, red door, quaint little picket fence in quiet suburbia. A stone walkway leads from the gate to the front porch, a trail of outdoor landscape lights illuminating it. The place is lit up, shining bright in the night, a soft yellow glow coming from a few of the windows. I’m not close enough to hear anything, but I can sense shadows as they move around inside.
Seven climbs out of the car, coming over to stand beside me. I don’t know how long I sit here, just watching the house in silence, but it’s long enough for the lights to flick off, one-by-one, until all that’s lit up is the right top window. Scarlet’s room, I imagine. I faintly catch glimpses of her as she moves around, brief flashes of her through the break in the dark curtains.
“You going to go say hello?” Seven asks.
I shake my head.
He’s quiet, like he’s trying to make sense of why we’re here if it’s not to visit her. I hope he doesn’t ask, because I’m not in the mood to explain myself.
Just when I’m about to end this, to do what I came to do, so I can go back home and close this chapter, the phone in my pocket rings. I look away from the house, pulling the phone out to glance at it. Blocked number.
I’m not sure what compels me to press the button, to answer it, since I’ve never answered a blocked caller before, but I do.
Bringing it to my ear, I say, “Gambini.”
The line is silent.
Without a word even spoken, I know it’s her.
Call it my gut. It’s just the feeling I get. I can sense her on the line, I know she’s there, but she says nothing. Maybe there’s nothing left to say. Maybe this is all it is, all it was, all it could ever be. Maybe this is the end of the story. Yeah, my gut says it should be.
But the traitorous heart beating in my chest isn’t having that bullshit. It’s angrily banging, begging me to do something, something my brain definitely doesn’t agree with. My brain says fuck that.
“Tell me a story,” she says finally, her voice barely a whisper.
“A true story or a fairy tale?” I ask.
“Surprise me.”
“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Luke Skywalker—”
Laughter cuts me off.
I don’t finish, because I’m pretty sure she already knows how it goes. Silence falls over the line again before she says, “I have a confession to make, Lorenzo.”
“I’m listening.”
“Pretending to listen?”
“No, I’m actually listening.”
She sighs. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I need to get it off my chest, and I just... I feel like you should know, that I should tell you how I really feel...”
“Just spit it out, Scarlet.”
“I really love the prequels.”
I hesitate. “You love the prequels?”
“Yes,” she says. “The Star Wars prequels. I know a lot of people hate on them, but I really love them.”
“I, uh... I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Anakin and Padme’s story was just so heartbreakingly beautiful, you know? The Phantom Menace is probably my favorite movie.”
“Of the prequels?”
“Of the entire series.”
I grimace. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Jesus, fuck, woman... and you call me crazy. You’re insane. I just... what the hell is wrong with you?”
She laughs again.
The genuine kind of laughter.
I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her laugh like that before, so lighthearted, like a heavy burden has been lifted off of her. I smile at the sound, even though she’s lost her fucking mind.
“I feel better,” she says, “now that I’ve confessed.”
“Yeah, well, I’m wishing I wasn’t listening,” I tell her. “You should’ve saved that confession for a priest, someone who could help you get over that shit, because I don’t even know where to begin.”
She laughs some more before it all goes quiet.
“Thank you,” she whispers after a bout of silence.
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it.”