by Lucy Score
Linc snorted. “Nope. I was in there keeping Harper warm—”
“I bet you were.”
“Ha. Poor girl is pretty broke up about him. I was hiding Harper from Garrison. Then doesn’t the sonofabitch poke his head in the door?” Linc shook his head ruefully.
“He look as bad as you?” Aldo asked.
Linc grinned. “’Bout the same. But if he’s out getting into bar fights in the grocery store, you might want to have a talk with him.”
He’d been neglecting his friend duties, sinking into his own depression.
“Harper break up the fight?”
“Nope. Bunch of people called Deputy Do Right. He got to pop Luke one right in the jaw,” Linc mimed a punch.
“Fuck,” Aldo sighed.
“Just thought you should know.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Aldo went in to work an hour early, burying himself in schematics and ordinances and five hundred emails until noon. He worked with the fervor and focus of a man who didn’t want to think about anything else in his life.
The interns and the associates, probably under Jamilah’s orders, kept to themselves. The entire office buzzing away in silence.
Finally, he switched off his monitor and stretched his arms over his head. “J, I’m taking a long lunch.”
She raised a thumb over her head without taking her eyes off her screen.
He made the drive to Luke’s house, noting how most of the leaves were off the trees. Christmas was coming up fast. And he had no desire or drive to put even the minimum effort forth. He had a guest bedroom closet stashed with gifts he’d already bought for Gloria, a few for her mother, one or two for his own. But his holiday spirit had died when Gloria walked out.
However, that was no excuse for abandoning his friend—dumbass or not—in his time of need. He spotted Luke’s truck in the driveway and pulled in behind it. Knocking once, Aldo let himself in. “Hey, you home?” he called.
His gaze flicked to the dining room where a dozen boxes were stacked neatly and labeled “Harper.”
“In here,” Luke answered from the living room. The dogs vaulted off him to dance around Aldo. He stooped and doled out pats and scratches.
“What are you doing home in the middle of the day?” Aldo asked.
Luke peeled himself off the couch. He looked like shit. Unshaven, bruised, exhausted.
“What are you doing in my house in the middle of the day? And do you want a beer?”
Aldo shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” He followed Luke into the kitchen.
“So what do I owe the pleasure?” his friend asked, opening the refrigerator and pulling out two beers. Beer was the only thing in Luke’s fridge.
Aldo popped the top and took a sip. “You’re probably gonna want to open yours before I say what I have to say.”
Luke’s sigh was ragged. “We’re doing this now?”
“Yeah. So what the hell is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Luke said.
“You have a huge problem,” Aldo countered, jerking his thumb at the boxes in the dining room. “Is this what you think Karen wants?”
Luke hated nothing more than being blindsided by his dead wife’s name.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Do you think Karen would have wanted you to spend your life miserable and alone?”
Luke made a noise like a growl and strangled his beer.
“I don’t care that we’re not supposed to mention her name around poor, delicate Luke. You’re being a dumbass. As your friend, it’s my job to knock you on your ass when you’re being a dumbass.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luke drilled a finger into Aldo’s chest. Aldo shoved it away.
“Let’s say you died. You’re dead. Karen’s still alive. What kind of life would you want her to have without you? Would your stupid fucking ghost be happy to see her locking herself away from everyone who loves her? Burying herself in work? Coming home to an empty house every night to relive her misery?”
Luke dropped the beer on the counter and put his hands on his head. “Of course not.”
“Then why the hell would you do that to Harper?”
“I didn’t do that to Harper! She was the one that built this whole pretend life—”
“Pretend?” Aldo spat out the word. “So she didn’t love you? She didn’t love us? She didn’t love this whole fucking town?”
“Of course she did.”
“Then why did you take that away from her? For Karen? For you?”
Luke dropped his hands to his hips and stared at the floor. He didn’t answer.
“It’s a completely different story if you didn’t love her, Luke. But if you love her and threw away that life that she built for both of you, you’re a fucking idiot.”
Silence reigned for a tick of the clock. “Of course I love her. How could I not?” His voice was gravel. “I just don’t know how to be with someone who isn’t Karen.”
Finally, the fuckhead was making some sense.
Aldo grabbed him in a bear hug and slapped him on the back. “You’re such a stupid asshole,” he said warmly.
“Learned it from watching you.”
Aldo released him but kept a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Do you know that Harp puts flowers on Karen’s grave every week?”
Luke blinked. “That’s Harper doing that?”
Aldo nodded. “You aren’t choosing between them or replacing Karen with Harp. You’re allowed to love them both. How do you think parents have more than one kid? They don’t only love the first one.”
“I just assumed that’s what my parents did,” Luke joked.
“No, if they would have stopped at one perfect child like mine did, then you’d be right. The human heart can love more than one person. You love your parents, don’t you?”
Luke nodded.
“Soph? Josh? James? Obviously you love me, otherwise you wouldn’t idolize the shit out of me. You have room. And just because you love someone else doesn’t mean you’re wiping the slate clean.”
Luke sighed out a breath. “Thanks, Moretta. Sometimes you’re not a complete idiot.”
“No need to be a dick.”
They shot the shit for another half hour, eating leftover cold pizza, Luke filling him in on the cooler fight and what he and Ty had discovered about Harper.
“So Harper’s ex-foster father, the one she put in prison for child abuse, used Glenn to get to her?” Aldo asked, crumpling his paper towel.
“It’s fucked up, man,” Luke sighed, absently rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “But that bastard is never getting out, and he’s never getting near her again. Took care of it with Ty and another cop today.”
At least one of them had the pleasure of ending their woman’s nightmare. Aldo would always regret not being able to do more than take that one swing at Glenn. But he hadn’t. Now, he was alone again. Except for his friends, his family, and his god-awful cat. But he missed Gloria with a fierceness that took his breath. He was giving her the time she’d asked for, but every beat of his heart was like a prayer offered up that she would come back.
When Aldo left, he felt a little lighter, more hopeful.
Luke would win Harper back. And if his dipshit best friend could make love work, then there was hope for him and Gloria.
Gloria. He checked his phone again, then tossed it on the seat next to him. Still nothing from her. He’d promised her space. But damn it, this was feeling more like a void, a vacuum.
There wasn’t anything he could do to convince her to come back. But there was something he could do to make her life a little better. He turned away from the office, and as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his first smile in days curved his lips.
78
She’d fucked up. Big time.
Gloria woke up that morning—after yet another mostly sleepless night—with the clarity she�
�d been seeking. Waking up in this small bed with no big Aldo was the exact opposite of what she wanted.
Damn it all to hell. She was an idiot.
She’d let fear and self-doubt creep in and whisper in her ears. Luke’s damage wasn’t hers. Harper’s broken heart wasn’t hers.
But that big, glowing love for Aldo Moretta that started in the center of her chest and worked its way out to her fingertips and toes and roots of her hair? That was all hers.
And she was going to fix it. Somehow, she decided, opening her makeup drawer. Most of her good stuff was at Aldo’s. The man had made the mistake of giving her a Sephora gift card that disappeared so fast he’d given her another one the very next day.
Yes, she’d fix this mess she’d made.
But first, she was going to fix herself.
The prison smelled like bleach and mothballs, a musty kind of chemical scent that overpowered Gloria’s floral perfume. She sat on one side of the glass and tapped a nail to the stainless-steel counter, wondering if she’d lost her damn mind.
The fluorescent light above her flickered, drawing her attention. A steel door on the other side of the glass opened. Gloria craned her neck to see through the small window. It was him. Glenn Diller in a baggy, orange jumpsuit.
She didn’t know if it was the glass between them or the vacant look on his hangdog face, but she didn’t feel a lick of fear. There was no threat here anymore.
He stared at her through the dingy, thick glass. Gloria picked up the phone on her side, waited. Glenn took his time lighting a cigarette, taking a drag. Finally, he picked up the receiver on his side.
“Hi, Glenn,” she said, her voice steady as she marveled at this newfound strength.
“What do you want?” he grunted.
“Closure.”
“You wanna come in here and look at me like I’m some kind of animal at the zoo? That it?” The anger that always bubbled just beneath his surface seemed more habit than anything now.
“Something like that,” she admitted. “See, I’m moving on. Sometimes in order to do that, you have to remember where you came from.”
“You’ll always remember me,” Glenn said darkly.
“I will. But probably not the way you want.”
“I fed you. I put a roof over your head. This is the thanks I get?”
It was an old song, and Gloria didn’t feel like dancing anymore. “You beat me. You tried to break me. Maybe you didn’t know any better. Maybe you’re just a sad, broken product of your childhood. But you were never my problem to fix.”
“I’m no victim.” He stared at her through the glass, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. He looked so much older than his age. Ancient really.
Gloria gave a small smile. “Neither am I. We’re both responsible for our choices. You don’t get to hurt me anymore.”
“You think you’re going to run off and be happy with someone else?” he snorted.
“Actually, I’m going to be happy on my own and then run off with someone else.”
He sneered at her, taking another drag from the cigarette. “Just remember who touched you first. Who owned you first. You’ll never forget me!”
“I think it’s you who won’t forget me. Me and that cast-iron frying pan.”
He coughed, a brutal hacking sound. “Someone should teach you a lesson,” he hissed.
“Well, that someone isn’t going to be you anymore. I’m walking out of here today, and you will never see me again. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
He slapped a big hand to the window. “Big talk coming from someone on the other side of bulletproof glass.”
“Goodbye, Glenn.” She started to rise, started to replace the receiver.
“Wait! Wait!” She could hear the words from the phone, see the urgency as he mouthed them through the glass. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. I’m sorry!”
The definition of insanity, Gloria thought.
“I wasn’t there to kill you.”
His words were clear as day. She snatched the receiver back. “What did you say?”
“I wasn’t there to kill you. I was put up to it. I was supposed to kill your blonde friend. He paid my bail. You’re mine, Gloria. I would never hurt you like that. You have to believe me.”
“You were there for Harper?”
Glenn nodded his bloated head. “Her foster dad or some shit’s in here. She put him in here. He wanted to put her in the ground. But you gotta believe I’d never do that to you. I told the cops everything. You’re mine. I take care of what’s mine.”
With disgust and pity, Gloria stared at him one last time. “I’m not yours. I never was.”
She hung up and, without a look back, walked out of the visitation room, oblivious to the guards rushing him as he railed against the glass.
She’d crossed one Diller off her list. But there was a second one that was a constant reminder of her ugly past. What could she do about Mrs. Diller? The restraining order was good for a while. But they shared a town. Would she have to see this woman for the rest of her life and be reminded forever?
Gloria pulled up in front of the little clapboard house still not sure what she was doing. She could offer her money if the woman promised not to try to act out any Glenn-fueled revenge. But the thousand dollars she’d saved seemed like it wasn’t enough. Perhaps she could at least buy a temporary truce. Some purchased goodwill.
The weeds of summer had shriveled up and died in the first lick of winter, leaving behind colorless corpses against the front porch and sidewalk. There was a For Sale sign with a bright, bold Sold sticker. A pile of boxes towered on the front porch, and a new-ish sedan was parked in the gravel driveway.
Mrs. Diller’s puke green Buick was nowhere to be found.
Gloria debated for a moment and slid out from behind the wheel. She knocked and shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat, hunching her shoulders against the cold.
The inner door opened, and Mrs. Diller glared at her. “You can tell your boyfriend I’m leaving tomorrow,” the woman snapped.
Boyfriend? Leaving tomorrow? Gloria was at a loss. “Where are you going?” she asked.
Mrs. Diller huffed. “My sister. She lives in Illinois. Her husband died last spring of the lung cancer.”
“So you’re moving out there?” Gloria couldn’t believe her luck, her bright, beautiful luck. All she’d needed to do is figure out what she really wanted, and everything fell magically into place.
“Like you don’t know,” Mrs. Diller sniffed, stuffing her hands into the dirty apron she wore over her shabby sweater. “Your big boyfriend thinks I’m a charity case. Threatening the impoverished is what I say it was. Buys my house and pays off my mortgages on the condition I leave town? That’s a threat. I have half a mind to stay to spite him.”
Aldo Moretta was her magic, her bright, beautiful luck. And Gloria wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Aldo bought your house.”
“Wasn’t much cash leftover,” Mrs. Diller said disdainfully. “Enough for a car that won’t rust out on me for a while, maybe a security deposit on a new place. Shoulda asked for more.”
“He had me follow you, you know,” Mrs. Diller called after her. “Glenn did.”
“I know,” Gloria said.
“I did it, and I’m not sorry. But I’m guessing I don’t owe him anything else anymore.” She looked down at the cigarette in her hand.
“I’m guessing you don’t. It’s a fresh start for us both.”
Mrs. Diller gave her a jerky nod. “Yeah, well. Reckon you should get off my property while it’s still mine ‘til tomorrow. And the restraining order and all.”
Gloria nodded. “Good luck, Mrs. Diller.”
The woman gave a tight nod and slammed the door.
Two Dillers down. One Moretta to go.
79
He wasn’t at his house or his office. It took Gloria a good ten minutes and a dozen cookies to pry it out of Mrs. Moretta, who was not happy that she’d broken her boy’s he
art.
Gloria dragged the tiny wheels of her suitcase over the frozen ground cresting the hill. His truck was here. He had to be here somewhere. She was losing the daylight, tromping around a field lugging a bright purple bag. The handful of people here were looking at her, and she didn’t give a crap.
Because there, lying on the ground, saw in hand, was Aldo Moretta in jeans, a thermal shirt, and a vest, cutting down a Christmas tree.
The world came to a screeching halt as Gloria drank it in. This was love. And she was going to do everything in her power to hang on to it with both hands…and maybe her feet and teeth, too. Whatever it took to make it up to Aldo, to convince him that she was ready.
He was swearing a blue streak as the tree stubbornly refused to topple.
“Come on you motherfucking son of a bitch tree. You’re coming home with me so my fucking cat can destroy you.”
Gloria cleared her throat and set her suitcase neatly in front of her.
He turned his head, the tree choosing that moment to fall on him.
“Oh my God!” Gloria trotted forward, and together they pushed the tree off of him.
Carefully, Aldo climbed to his feet and brushed at the sap and needles that covered him. He glanced at her suitcase and back at her, expressionless. “Going somewhere?”
She nodded, and his face fell.
“I’m moving in,” she said quickly. “Well, I mean, if you’ll still have me, I’m moving in with you.” Lord, she was nervous. It wasn’t the cold that had her hands shaking. It was straight-up nerves. But she pressed on. “This is my literal and metaphorical baggage,” she explained pointing at the bag.
“You’re bringing me your baggage,” he said slowly, sliding his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.
Gloria nodded. “We all have baggage. Some of us have more of it than others. But you loved me before I freaked out, and now that I know exactly what my baggage is, I hope you can love me again. Or still.” Her voice broke, but she rallied.
Damn it. She was doing this and doing it right. Pride be damned.
“Aldo, I screwed up. I let fear get in the way of what I was feeling. I let it make me doubt myself.”
