GIOVANNI COSTAS, 18, of Henderson, Nevada, passed away of unknown causes.
Unknown causes. My mind had filled in a thousand horrifying possibilities in the years since I found this record online. What happened to him after I left? I remember his slight smile in the dim moonlight, the warmth of his body as he lay beside me. Those memories are bad, but even worse is my imagination—his body beaten, bruised. A bullet in his heart. Someone had hurt him, killed him, most likely because he had helped me. Whatever he did to distract them so that my sister and I could escape, cost him his life.
The temperature in the large room seems to drop a few degrees, and I shiver. On my darker nights I imagine that he haunts me. Selfishly I sometimes wish that he would, if only so I can see him again. The loft remains empty, light wavy on the knotted hardwood floors as clouds cross the moon.
The trill of my cell phone makes me jump.
I slam the laptop lid shut, feeling guilty and somehow afraid. I never told anyone about seeing Gio’s obituary, even my sister. Especially not my sister. She worries about me enough without knowing that I’m grieving.
Sure enough, the phone screen flashes her smile. I snapped that picture while Kip was behind her, pressing his face into her hair. The bliss on their faces burrows under my skin, uncomfortable and hot. Like anyone who’s been burned by love, it hurts to see two people so happy together. I can’t stop looking, though. Can’t stop pressing on that bruise.
“Hey, Sis,” I say into the phone, my voice a little husky with lingering emotion.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I am.” Only barely, I refrain from saying that I’m always okay, that she has me wrapped up so tight that it sometimes feels stifling. I know it only comes from a place of love, but sometimes I long to break away from her caring arms as much as from my father’s harsh grip.
“I haven’t seen you lately,” she says, her tone contrite. She knows she can be overprotective, and she tries to curb it. Well, Kip helps her with that.
I may have missed a couple of Sunday dinners.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with school.” And with not telling her about my boyfriend. At least I won’t have to keep that secret anymore. After tonight I’m officially done with Shane. “How have you been?”
“Good.” The smile comes through the line loud and clear. “It’s our third anniversary.”
I flop onto my bed, her happiness stealing away my earlier gloom. At least one of us can be lucky in love. “So what did he get you?”
“Too much. This gorgeous ruby necklace, an all-day spa gift certificate—for two, by the way, so I expect you to come with me. We’ll make it a girls’ day.”
“I don’t want to think too much about this, but are you sure he didn’t mean for you two to go together? Isn’t that a thing people do? Couple’s massage or something.”
She gives a snort-laugh that still manages to sound delicate. “There’s enough money on this thing for two full days of body wraps, facials, massages, and who knows what else. Either you’re doing this with me or they offer an entirely different kind of couple’s massage at this place.”
A flush crosses my cheeks like it always does when someone mentions sex. You’d think being friends with Amy would have inoculated me to this kind of embarrassment. “Okay then, count me in.”
“I can schedule us for the day after tomorrow? After the big reveal, we’ll have something to celebrate.”
I blow out a breath. “Sounds great.”
“Hmm,” she says. “Nervous?”
This is one of the upsides of having an overprotective big sister. She knows when I need to talk. “Only a lot. People are going to take one look at it and think I’m a hack.”
“You mean the amazing, creative, breathtaking piece of art my talented sister made? Yeah, I don’t think so. They’re actually going to think it’s too good for the Grand, considering it used to be a strip club.”
“Umm, they’ll be attending a re-opening gala at said strip club.”
“Hypocrites come in all income brackets.”
“I feel like that should be on a fortune cookie.”
“And don’t worry. Actually, forget I said that. I know you’re worried. That’s part of the artistic process. But while you’re worrying, know that people who love you are going to be standing by your side tomorrow night. And we all see what a shining bright star you are.”
“That should definitely be on a fortune cookie.”
“Trust me, grasshopper. Everything will work out.”
Her words are the warmth and reassurance I need. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Kip and I will pick you up tomorrow night at six.”
“I can drive.”
“Ha! In that neighborhood? Kip would have a heart attack.”
I’m not sure it’s Kip who would have the heart attack, but I can go along with this. “Okay, pick me up at six. Then the next morning, all-day spas. I want something completely wild and luxurious, like a gold-leaf body wrap.”
“Done.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Now get some sleep.”