“We have to throw you a party!” I yelled. Mick nodded. Sometimes I was convinced my dog’s special talent wasn’t a random act he did in hope of treats, but an actual response to human dialogue.
Serafina giggled and Cam beamed, and their joy engulfed me; but I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder every now and then to see if someone was creeping up behind us, ready to ram our car and send us off the road.
* * *
At their apartment Serafina took my coat, poured Mick a bowl of water, and disappeared to make some tea and find some cookies. Cam said he had to make a phone call, and that I should make myself at home.
His apartment—now theirs—had always been one of my favorite places. It had high ceilings and a view of the lake. There were two bedrooms, but since Cam and Fina both needed an office for their respective careers, they had shoved a twin bed into a space meant to be a walk-in closet, so that their sleeping area looked sort of like a generous train car accommodation. Somehow, though, it was both cozy and romantic, and it added to the overall eccentricity of their home.
Their kitchen was generally untouched and the cleanest part of the place; neither of them had the time or the inclination to cook, so they ordered out often. I always felt a pang, looking at the beautiful stainless steel appliances and the red tile counter and center island, that there wasn’t more food being prepared in that lovely space. It looked even lovelier right now, because Serafina, still dreamy eyed, was filling a kettle at the sink, her curly brown hair tumbling down her back in wild array.
After Mick found a spot on their kitchen rug, walked in circles a few times, and curled into a little Labrador ball, I took a seat on a stool at the island and said, “Tell me about it. How did Cam propose?”
She turned to me, her face soft with love. “He was late home. It was the eleventh of December. It was that very cold night—do you remember?”
I nodded. I had made hot chocolate and sat with Mick against me for extra warmth, watching a rerun of The Daily Show.
“I was tired and had taken a bath. I was sitting in my flannel pajamas and big robe, looking not at all beautiful.”
“Serafina, don’t even start. There is no scenario in which you don’t look amazing.”
Serafina ran around the island and treated me to one of her trademark engulfing hugs; as usual, she smelled like flowers. “You are so sweet, my little Lilah.”
Serafina acted as though I was decades younger than she was when we were perhaps two years apart. I doubted she was even thirty yet.
Now she sat down on the stool beside me and continued. “Anyway, Cam came home and said that he was freezing and was going to make a drink to warm him up. He asked if I would join him because he had good news that we had to celebrate. I said yes, lovely.”
I smiled. Cam was my brother, and in a lot of ways I still considered him an idiot, as I had when we were teens, but I had a sense that he had done the engagement right.
“He turned out the lights, and we moved the couch near the windows so that we could look out at the night. We could not see the stars, but we could see the lake tossing, with its whitecaps. I asked what we were celebrating, and Cam said that he had fallen in love.”
To my surprise, Serafina’s eyes filled with tears. “I stared at him. I didn’t think he was going to tell me that he had met another woman, but I didn’t know why he was saying he was in love, since we had already said these words to each other, long ago.”
I patted her hand.
“I asked what he meant, and he said that he had fallen in love with being in love, and he knew he wanted to love me forever. Then he told me there was no night so cold that he did not feel warmed by the love he felt for me, and there was no star in the sky so bright as my eyes. And then he handed me this box, with a diamond inside, and asked would I marry him.”
Now my own eyes were moist. “That’s wonderful.” Cam wandered back into the room, and I said, “Nice proposal.”
“Thanks.” He shrugged. “I just couldn’t wait anymore.”
Serafina beamed at him, and my phone rang. I looked down at it and saw that Parker was calling. “Can I take this in one of the offices?” I asked.
“Sure.” Cam glanced over my shoulder, read Parker’s name, and scowled. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No, I do not.”
I whisked away from them and heard Serafina hissing at Cam, “It is her love life, Cameron!”
I eased into Serafina’s office and shut the door, then flicked on the phone. “Hello?”
“Lilah. I’m glad you answered. Where are you?”
“I’m at Cameron’s apartment on Sheridan. Right near Loyola, where he teaches.”
“Good security there?”
“Yes. We’re on an upper floor, and people have to be buzzed in. What’s going on?”
He sighed. “We followed your tip about the debt and found out that Whitefield owed money to Enrico Donato. Known as Big Rick Donato.”
“So?”
“He’s rumored to have mob connections. We actually don’t have a lot on him. He keeps a very low profile; we didn’t even know he was living in Pine Haven, among other places. He’s said to own several residences in Chicagoland.”
“What do you mean mob connections? He’s a mobster? Like a horse head in the bed mobster?”
“I’m meeting with someone from the FBI tomorrow, so I’ll get more information. Tell me this: the car you saw—was it big, like a limousine?”
I closed my eyes, thinking of the moment I had been trying to forget all day. “No—it was smallish—maybe a two door. And metallic blue, like I said.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t see a face? Anything you could ID?”
“I don’t think so, Jay. I mean, the moment was so confused, but I don’t think I saw a thing. By the time I turned around and came out from between two cars, the other vehicle was leaving.”
“Right. Okay. Are you working tomorrow?”
“No. Esther and Jim gave me the day off. But I can’t stay here forever, obviously.”
“And will you be alone there?”
“No. It’s Wednesday, but my brother’s school is off for the holidays, so I think Cam and Fina will be here.”
“Give me the address.” I did, sitting in the chair and studying Fina’s cluttered desk, which held everything from printed computer graphics to test tubes to a multitude of writing utensils. A giant gray gargoyle pencil holder sat to one side, holding a blue pen in its mouth. I started collecting pencils and pens and putting them back in the gray cup attached to the gargoyle. I found another little box of chocolates—hopefully Serafina had a good dentist—and slid it to one side. I was straightening her space without realizing it, feeling nervous and jumpy.
“Parker—how does an unemployed actor end up owing money to a reputed mobster?”
“How do you know he was unemployed?”
“Oh—well, just something Jenny said about him maybe needing the money. I don’t actually know.”
“In any case, we hope to know the answer soon so that we all have a merry Christmas.”
“Yeah. Well, I have to go.”
“Don’t go out, Lilah.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. I just—care about you. Okay?”
I studied the gargoyle, attempting nonchalance. It scowled back at me with a horrifying expression. “Okay.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, I guess. I’ve had better days.”
“This will be over soon. Keep your chin up.”
“Good night, Parker.”
“Good night, Lilah.”
I clicked off the phone. Serafina’s desk had been neatened, but behind me were a table and chair covered with books, discarded outfits, mail, and more lab equipment. I left her office and peek
ed into Cam’s, which was incredibly neat by comparison—his book-lined shelves were orderly, and his Renaissance knights collection stood guard on his windowsill in a surprisingly elegant display. The big brown leather desk chair was empty of any clutter, ready for Cam to come and sit in it and grade his papers or do his research on Alessandro Manzoni, Cam’s favorite Italian writer, about whom he had already published several articles.
I wandered back to the main room and sat down. “Parker says that the dead man—Brad Whitefield—owed money to a mobster named Big Rick Donato.”
Serafina snorted. “Americans! They think that every Italian is in the mob. They watch too much Sopranos and Godfather.”
Cam nodded at her, apparently agreeing, and the teakettle whistled. Fina went to make the tea, and Cam turned to me. “So he thinks this was a mob hit?” he said, his voice low.
“I don’t know. I just happened to tell him that this kid who does dishes at Haven said that he heard through the grapevine that Whitefield had debts. So I texted Parker, and this is what he found out.”
“So he’s—on it? I would hope that they can get to the bottom of this in a day or so, if they already have a suspect.”
“Yeah, I guess. Assuming that these people really had anything to do with his death. Maybe it was an angry coworker.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Cam looked disturbed, and rather tired.
Fina brought out the tea and some cinnamon toast. “This I can make,” she said.
We toasted their marriage and the holidays and wished for many happy days to come. We drank our warm tea, and Serafina made me an equally warm bed on their couch. Cam ran downstairs with Mick, where they made a quick jaunt down the sidewalk. Then they ran back up, and Mick curled up at the foot of the couch, contented.
The last thing I saw was my brother switching off the lights and waving to me before he joined his wife in their little pleasure cave.
An Adele song floated in my head—the one where the girl is telling the guy who’s moved on that it’s not a problem, she’ll find someone else just like him, but she’s clearly still in love with him. It’s melancholy and weirdly satisfying, especially the way Adele belts it out.
I closed my eyes, shook away the music, and attempted happy thoughts: In my imagination I had my own pleasure cave, to which I had lured Jay Parker, and he climbed in with me, his blue eyes glowing, while the radio played Sinatra singing “The Way You Look Tonight.” Parker said, I care about you, and leaned in to kiss me, but the door was flung open, and a silhouette stood there, gun in hand.
You saw what I did, said the unknown person, and my eyes flew open.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thursday morning, the seventeenth of December, I woke with “Blue Christmas” back in my head. I opened my eyes to see Serafina bundling through her front door with a small pine tree, her dark hair speckled with white stars, her eyes shining with Christmas spirit.
“It’s snowing?” I croaked.
“The most beautiful snow! So light, the flakes come down slowly, like little gifts from heaven. Come out and play in the snow, Lilah!” She leaned the tree on the wall and ran to me, assaulting my sleep-creased face with one of her affectionate Italian kisses.
“Ugh. How are you so awake? And so good smelling? I smell terrible, I’m sure.”
Fina perched on the edge of the coffee table and studied my expression. “Lilah, you need to spend some time on yourself. Love yourself, as we love you, and you will thrive.”
“Huh.” I shoved my face back into the pillow, and Serafina laughed.
“I have my hair appointment today; you come with me.”
“Why? Your hair is perfect. And also I can’t go outside, right?”
“You don’t have to. It is in the first floor of this building, where there are many businesses. I have gone to Rosalie’s since I come to America. There are many Italians who go to her. We are like a family. Come, too. She will do amazing things to your hair.”
My hair was one of my few vanities, and these days it hung to my elbows. I clutched the ends and looked at them. “I like my hair long. And so does—um, my mom. But maybe a trim. . . .”
“Rosalie is an artiste. She will make you in love with your reflection. So! I call her and ask her to put you in with me.”
“Um—okay.”
She hugged me, and then I made my way toward the bathroom and the shower. “Where’s my brother?”
“He wanted to work on his book on campus. He says he will be home for a late lunch with us. We can decorate the tree together. It will be fun, so much.” She was dialing the phone, and then she greeted someone and walked toward the kitchen, speaking Italian.
I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, feeling more presentable and more awake. Serafina handed me a cup of coffee, and she busied herself putting the tree base in a pot of water. Then she looked at a thin silver watch on her tanned wrist. “I have already walked your dog—he was a good boy. Now we should go. I like to get there early, in case she has extra time. You want all the time you can get.”
She tugged on my arm, and I patted Mick, told him I’d be back soon, and followed her out of the apartment. We moved down the hall and into the elevator. We emerged on the main floor and crossed the carpeted lobby to one of many little glass-walled storefronts that dotted the first floor of the Parkman Building. This one said “Rosalie’s Salon,” in a pink, swirly font. Inside, a receptionist sat at a front desk, and behind her were eight chairs facing a wall-length mirror, which was adorned with rather garish silver garland, white lights, and giant dangling silver reindeer. Six of the chairs were filled. The other wall held a long church pew bench, where family members seemed to be waiting for the people in the chairs.
Serafina walked confidently to the desk and spoke to the teenage girl who sat there. “Hello, Balbina. Is she ready for me? Except I also bring my sister.” She shoved me forward. “This is Lilah, Cameron’s little sister. Isn’t she sweet?”
Much to my dismay, several women appeared from nowhere and gathered around me, as though I were approximately two years old, and spoke loudly about my apparent cuteness. One of them pinched my cheek. I glared at Serafina.
“Rosalie,” Fina said to a dark-haired woman in the group. “Isn’t Lilah’s hair pretty? She wants to keep it long. What can you do to make her irresistible to her boyfriend? I want him to not be able to keep his hands off of her.”
“Don’t let Cam hear you say that,” I said.
Rosalie, who seemed fiftyish, had a dark mole above her upper lip that added to her air of elegance and mystery. She was studying my hair, weighing it in her hands. “Oh yes,” she said. “We will make it beautiful.”
She instructed Balbina to take me “into the back,” where the girl rewashed the hair I had washed minutes earlier. To her credit, though, she had very soothing hands, and the shampoo she used had an alluring scent. I almost fell asleep in the chair, and then Balbina was wrapping my head in a towel and sending me back to the front. I was settled into a new chair, and Rosalie began to towel dry my hair and peer at it in the mirror in front of us. Balbina stood next to me, pumping some lotion into her hands; moments later she was massaging my fingers.
“Oh, that’s not necessary—but—wow. Oh boy, that feels good,” I said.
Serafina, heading to the back to have her hair washed by some other young woman, said, “She needs the full treatment, Rosalie. Lilah has been under a great deal of stress. I can’t say much about it, but she has been through a trauma.”
All of the women sent me curious glances while I sent a warning look to Serafina. Rosalie combed out my hair and gave me a gentle head massage that left me feeling almost boneless. Balbina finished with my hands, which now felt smooth and smelled of eucalyptus. I let them drop into my lap. “Thank you,” I murmured, and then I slid into a sort of trance as Rosalie began piling my hair up on my head in sections.<
br />
“A pretty color,” she said. “Like a golden princess.”
“Hmm,” I said, my eyes closed.
“Giovanna,” said Rosalie.
My eyes flew open, and I realized she wasn’t addressing me, but the girl in the next chair, who had a cloud of red hair and wide green eyes.
“Yes,” she said, turning a pretty and slightly petulant face toward us.
“How are the wedding plans going?” Rosalie asked.
Giovanna sighed. “They are fine. Nonno gives me a hard time constantly, and he has to be in charge of everything.”
“Your grandfather loves you, and he is footing the bill,” Rosalie said sternly.
Giovanna sighed again. “That doesn’t mean he’s in charge of my life. But I know you mean well, Nonnino.”
She smiled into the mirror, and I realized she was looking at someone behind her. I shifted my gaze to see a gray-haired man waiting on the bench.
He sighed, almost as theatrically as his granddaughter had done. “It is sad to be only a checkbook to your family.”
Giovanna’s smile disappeared. “Stop playing the money card, Nonno. You know I love you, and you also know I would like to make my own decisions, and so would Nick.”
“Decisions are dangerous. You must live with them all,” her grandfather said. He wore a little gray flannel jacket with a white shirt, black pants, and a pair of slippers.
“Yes, I know. I would love to make a really bad decision just to have the luxury of paying the price,” Giovanna said, her voice rising.
“And it is Nonno’s job to make sure you never have to pay for a bad decision!” Now he was sort of yelling.
Giovanna tossed her red head; her stylist had to pause in her snipping to avoid hurting her. “Nonno, you need to butt out! Nick is sick of this, and so am I! We’re going to move away from Chicago and find someplace where we can live alone.”
The old man sat very still for a moment, then wiped at his eyes. “Now I am a burden. A burden to my daughter’s daughter, who never brought me anything but joy!”
“Don’t start, Nonno!” Giovanna fumed, her green eyes flashing.
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