The rage subsides. My thoughts drown in the irony. Isaiah never says anything straight, except the words he just spoke to me. I'm taken back to another conversation a long time ago. Don't play games with my sister's emotions, Charlie had said. Like the ocean, like the moon, my indignation rolls back to the surface.
“This has never been a game!” I snap. “Not to me! There's never been a minute I wouldn't have followed either of them to hell if that meant I could watch their backs! What do you know? You don't fucking feel anything, right? Aren't you so hard?”
“If you wanna fight, get it out of your system,” he answers, again dodging a direct assault on the glass casing around his emotions.
His gentle manner is like insult to the injury of the fact that I'm screaming at him. At that moment, I really do want to fight it out. I really want to throw inhibitions on the sidewalk and scrap like men until one of us goes under.
Then he says, “You need to get it off your back, because after tonight, it won't matter how we feel.”
His expression is annoyingly passive. His body is at ease in his button-up linen shirt that my generation was never taught to wear. I know, though, that if I made a move toward him, instinct would kick in and he would react. Part of me is considering pressing the issue if only to break his composure.
Again words fail me. My tension slips. I try to hold onto the anger, but it's too late. I know he sees my bring-it-on glare crumble in confusion. The breeze shifts directions a little and picks up, blowing in from the river. It smells of ghosts and secret wars.
“No,” I answer quietly, finally. “It's never mattered how we feel. You're right, now is not the time,” I continue, maybe to myself. The moving air kisses my searing skin, carrying away bits of my temper.
We stare at each other for a long moment. At length, his mouth stretches to a thin, wry smile.
“She's going to tenderize your heart with the heels of her shoes, rookie.” He takes the couple of steps toward me to make sure our eye contact is true, to make sure I know he doesn't fear me in the least, then adds, “If you can stand up after all that, then you can take up your beef with me. I'll be glad to wipe your ass all over the pavement.”
He brushes past me, leaving my adrenaline precariously fluctuating in the fading threat, the likes of which I've never heard him make. I burn into the coming switch from night to morning. I think I hate him. He always makes me feel like a stupid kid.
Chapter 10 Car Seat Confessional
Isaiah
When Maria told me to come with her, I caught the flare in Josh's eyes. It was the same anger from last night. Sure, she surprised me with her command, probably intentionally, but I covered it with a smirk, just to piss him off.
She didn't speak until the Cadillac was cruising out of town at just under the speed limit, windows down to let as much air move around us as possible.
She has taken the reins so easily, so comfortably. She has successfully banished her grief to the dark times, it seems, and she either cries about it alone or she's avoiding it.
It's late afternoon, the culmination of the day, at least a sweltering hundred degrees. She's blasting the air conditioner despite the fact that the windows are down, fiddling with the radio. I know something is up because she never takes me on the deals she runs. That's Josh's job.
I was Charlie's right hand. It was Josh or Freddy at Maria's back, by rank. Freddy has rank – two years longer under Charlie's lead – but he's not the type to negotiate. So, more often than not, it was Josh.
“The funeral has been arranged.”
The words are tense, like she forced them out. I shake a cigarette halfway out of the pack and lip it. I can already tell I'm going to need a focal point for my attention. Charlie never let her drive because he didn't like the avid honks and looks from male drivers. Her command of this vehicle is so distracting.
I had expected that the funeral idea would fly when the words left Jack's mouth night last night. I knew she would go for the idea. From her point of view, it's brilliant, really. From where I'm standing, all I can see is Rome, falling to its own magnificence. I'm not sure if she wants a response, so I don't offer one.
“The restaurant will be neutral ground,” she continues.
I try to ignore my peripheral vision where the sun makes her skin glow, earthy and vital. I can see a few stray bits of hair tossing in the breeze from the window. How can I ignore the way she drives the car just like her brother did, with blatant control and natural grace, always anticipating how her ship will move? This boat would never sail so smoothly for me. Still, I am unsure what she wants from me, so I make a conscious refusal to take any bait as I light the smoke.
“Most of the big leaguers in our network have agreed to attend. I'm hosting an open meeting afterward for those who want to talk
