The houses were all stone-fronted with peaked roofs and brick chimneys. Some were attached doubles, but most were large singles. Dante’s house was one of the singles, and I guessed that was on purpose. A lot of homes had steep yards with overgrown grass and weed-covered flower beds. Although the houses seemed nice, it looked like people didn’t put much stock in landscaping.
I turned down a couple more streets and walked through a new neighborhood. The houses were different, all attached, all stone, but they had the same steep yards with concrete stairs leading to their porches. I kept going until I found a major cross street and looked both ways, frowning at the cars that rolled past in either direction.
I knew I shouldn’t go far. I didn’t know Mt. Airy. I could easily get lost, and Gino would probably get in trouble if they had to come and find me. But then again, I was already gone, and I might as well make the best of it. So I turned right and walked on until I reached another major intersection and turned onto a road with gleaming steel trolley tracks running down the center.
Shops lined either side of the street and the shoulder was covered in old cobbles. There were coffee shops with handwritten signs in the windows, and green awnings in front of banks, and little antiques stores with junk piled near the door. More people walked past, a group of teenage kids in baggy jeans and carrying skateboards, more groups of white-haired boomers in casual clothes, and even a few young professionals, like one woman in a pants suit with a phone plastered to her skull.
I wandered for a while. I was hungry and wanted some coffee, but I had no money, so eventually I found a bench under a large shady oak tree and stretched my legs out to watch people go by.
I used to do that sometimes with my father. He’d bring me to a bench when I was little and sit me down. We’d watch people together, and sometimes he’d try to tell me their stories, like he could understand who they were based on their clothes and the way they walked. It was a funny skill and I liked his stories, but those afternoons were few and far between. Mostly, my father was drunk and high or missing entirely.
It was always the best when he disappeared for weeks on end. I’d have him in the back of my head, a worry nagging at my skull, but life would be simpler. I wouldn’t have to worry about him passing out in the living room, about him choking on his own vomit in bed. I was free to be a normal person for a little while at least, but he always came back, and always needed something.
This time though, he wasn’t ever coming back.
The thought should’ve made me sad. Instead, I felt a strange relief. Like that yoke around my neck was finally lifted. The anchor weighing me down was cut free. I could slip off that old, heavy, used, broken skin and become something new.
I couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the idea.
I was sad my father was dead. I was horrified that I had witnessed his death, even more horrified that I saw his body wrapped in plastic and shoved into the trunk of an SUV. But I knew, deep down on some primal gut level, that I was better off without him. That he would’ve traded my life for his own in a heartbeat if given the chance.
An hour or two passed, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t bother checking my phone. I sat on that bench and tried to act like I belonged there, like I had a future and a place to go instead of a huge hole and a question mark where my life should’ve been.
After a while, when my ass began to hurt from sitting on rough wooden slats, a familiar black SUV pulled up and parked in front of me. I sat there and waited patiently as the driver’s side door opened and shut.
Dante walked around the truck.
He wore a slim suit, white shirt, and no tie. He was muscular and fit, and the clothes covered him like a glove. His shoes were black and polished, though his hair was pushed back in a tousled wave, almost like he only had enough energy to put on nice clothes, but not enough to do anything else to his appearance. There was a thin covering of hair on his face, like he forgot to shave that morning. It made him look rugged and handsome, and I absently wondered how he’d look if he let it grow out more.
He sat down on the bench next to me and let out a sigh. He stretched his arms above his head then put one arm on the back of the bench, close to my shoulders.
“Nice day,” he remarked.
“Yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably. I wanted to get up and get some blood back in my behind, but I stayed put. “Look, I just—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he said, holding up a hand. He sighed and shut his eyes. “I get it. But poor Gino nearly shit himself.”
I frowned and looked away. “I didn’t think about that.”
“He thought you got kidnapped. He was running around looking for you. Called me in a panic.”
“Crap.” I sighed and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak him out.”
“Like I said, it’s fine. I get it. You can apologize to Gino if you want.”
I nodded once. “I will.”
“Good. Gino’s a good soldier, a good guy. Maybe not the brightest or the quickest, but he’s vicious and loyal. I like him a lot.”
“I can’t say I’ve gotten to know him very well.”
Dante snorted. “Did you even try?”
“No,” I admitted. “He feels too much like a jailor.”
“Yeah,” Dante said. “I got that.”
I sat there for a moment and studied his
