“What?” I asked.
“Should I come with you? Or maybe she should come here and stay with us for a few days? She’ll see that I’m not beating you or anything like that.”
“Babe, please don’t worry. Grant and I will work things out. If not, we’ll consider your ideas as a Plan B, okay?
“I do worry. I want your mom to know me for who I am so she doesn’t feel the need to make these assumptions. If this weekend doesn’t work, then let’s have her down to stay with us.” It was so sweet that he really seemed to be bothered my Mom’s mania. I leaned over and pressed my lips to his.
“Ok, that sounds reasonable,” I said, but knew deep down I was going to keep her far away from Philadelphia and the risk of being caught in the middle of a mafia showdown.
Chapter 29
Grant and I drove to York together. The day was overcast and reflective of my mood. The enthusiasm I had once felt of seeing my mom had since waned. I had wanted to see her, but was worried that she would see right through me and know the secrets I’ve been keeping. She possessed an uncanny intuitiveness and it wouldn’t surprise me if she really knew about the antics I had been involved during high school and college. She didn’t let on that she knew, but was probably waiting for the day to use that knowledge as leverage.
She wouldn’t let my appearance go unnoticed, that I knew for certain. I’ve always maintained a healthy weight, despite my voracious appetite, but that never satisfied my mother – she always thought I could stand to lose a few pounds.
My appetite had returned to somewhat normal and I had managed to gain back some of the weight I had lost, but not all. I still looked gaunt. As we pulled into the driveway I flipped down the visor to inspect myself in the mirror. My eyes were still a little hollow. I pinched my cheeks to restore a healthy flush. I fluffed my hair and pulled it forwards to disguise my collarbone, which was protruding more than usual. Satisfied, I flipped the visor back up and saw my mom standing in the front doorway waiting for us.
Our childhood home was a small ranch with a patch of grass out front and a somewhat larger patch made up the backyard. The neighborhood was considered working class and nothing to brag about. It was a modest home and the best a single mother of two could provide. Grant’s Lexus looked out of place in the driveway. I noticed the paint was beginning to peel and flake off in chunks. One of the shutters around the exterior of the living room window hung askew. I felt a twinge of guilt seeing the house under such disrepair.
“Grant, maybe we should pitch in together and pay for a paint job?” Between the two of us and the money we earned at Crimson, we could easily afford to do that for her.
“Yes, and I’ll fix that shutter this weekend.” Feeling better, we both got out of the car and grabbed our overnight bags from the trunk. I could already feel my mom’s eyes inspecting me from head to toe. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips as she completed her inspection. I inhaled deeply and made my way up the front walkway behind Grant.
“Hi Mom, it’s good to see you!” Grant and I said, almost in unison. Grant kissed her cheek and went into the house. I hugged her with my free arm, we were the same height and our cheeks pressed together. When we separated, she looked me over more closely – much like Dominic’s Aunt Gloria. For the first time in my life, my mom declared me too thin.
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
“I am Mom,” I insisted. “I’ve been through a rough patch lately, but I’m turning things around.”
“Trouble in paradise?” she asked with her right eyebrow raised.
“No, nothing like that. One of my friends and co-workers at Crimson committed suicide two weeks ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Natalie,” she gasped, softening her tone. “I didn’t know…that’s awful! Were you close?”
“Yes we were – especially the past couple of months.” I didn’t want to tell her about the experience that had bonded us together. Images from that night briefly surfaced before I tucked them away in my sub-conscious again. I winced in pain at the recall. My mom put her arm around me in a comforting gesture and we walked into the house together. Our two frames side by side were small enough to fit through the doorway. The door led directly into the living room, which looked exactly the same as it had since I was in elementary school. The furniture, meticulously maintained, looked maybe five years old, not close to fifteen. My mom went into the kitchen to stir the chili that was simmering on the stove and I walked down the short hallway to my childhood bedroom, which was like stepping back in time to my high school days. The room was unchanged and many of my paintings still hung on the walls. The bulletin board above my desk was covered with concert ticket stubs for my favorite bands and pictures of my friends, mainly of me and Chelsea. A group prom picture showed me with all of my friends, our faces clean and pure – all innocence and excitement for the future – unaware of what the real world had in store for us. I set my bag on my bed, which was covered in the pink bedspread I picked out when I was fourteen, and left the room unable to look at my past anymore. Already the house was having its suffocating effect on me.
Grant was outside fixing the shutter so I hung out with him until he was done. There were no other tasks to attend to outside and we went back inside.
“Mom how long until dinner is ready?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen. She was making cornbread.
“About 45 minutes,” she answered.
“I’m going for a run then,” I announced and grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl that was a constant fixture on the counter. A run would help kill time and get me out of the house.
It felt weird running down the familiar streets of my hometown. My feet took the old route as if on auto pilot and the routine was oddly comforting. Not much had changed since I had last been home for Christmas. A couple cars honked at me as they drove by – probably friend’s parents or high school teachers that recognized me.
The last time that I had gone for a run was the day of my assault and after two miles I was winded, so I turned back to head home. A cramp seized up my right side and I slowed to walk it out. As I walked past the grocery store someone started waving at me from the parking lot. It was Chelsea’s mom. Not wanting to be rude, I made my way over to where she was loading up groceries into the back of a mini van. The back was already stuffed with bags and this wasn’t surprising. The Thompson household still had six mouths to feed, even though Chelsea and her older brother, Jon, had already moved out.
“Hi Mrs. Thompson,” I said as I reached the grocery cart.
“Natalie!” Dropping a bag back into the cart, she pulled me into a suffocating hug. Growing up Mrs. Thompson was like my second mom and I was considered another member of the family. “What’s one more?” she would always joke – referencing her brood of three sons and three daughters. Chelsea’s dad didn’t seem to mind one more in the mix either.
It had been a long time since I felt the comforting squeeze of Mrs. Thomson’s hug and it felt good. I couldn’t prevent the tears that sprang into my eyes. I pulled away and wiped them away, embarrassed at the sudden display of emotion.
Mrs. Thompson looked at me with concern. “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“I forgot how good your hugs are,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed one.” Chelsea’s mom looked me over.
“You look terrible honey. Have you been eating?” she asked, reminding me once again of Aunt Gloria.
“I know. I’m working on it. How’s Chelsea?” I asked, hoping to distract her. It worked.
“Chelsea is doing just great! She is back from Italy and got a job in L.A. Can you believe it?” she gushed.
“That’s great,” I said and felt a twinge of jealousy. Chelsea was off pursuing her dreams and I was stuck, unable to move forward.
“You two really need to work whatever happened between you out. You’ve been friends too long to let a silly boy get in the way,” she admonished. If only she knew it was more than a sil
ly little boy, but she was right. We had been friends too long and I missed Chelsea. The more involved I became with Dominic and the mafia lifestyle, I had lost touch with most of my friends. It was like my former life was being swallowed up by my new one.
Chelsea’s mom was fishing around in her cavernous purse for something. A few seconds later she pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “This is Chelsea’s business card. All of her contact information is on there. Now I know you both are extremely stubborn, but one of you needs to reach out and make amends. Please don’t let your friendship go to waste.”
I accepted the card and tucked it underneath the strap of my sports bra as I didn’t have any pockets. “I’ll try, but I don’t know if the damage can be repaired.”
“It can, just try,” she said as she hugged me again. “And please take care of yourself.” I squeezed back as hard as I could. Her hug felt like a mom’s hug should feel like – not hard and awkward like the ones I got from my mom.
I continued on my run and waved at the blue mini van as it drove past. Mrs. Thompson honked and waved back.
All the small talk had been exhausted so Mom, Grant and I sat around the dinette table in silence eating chili and cornbread. Grant fidgeted with his spoon and this did not go unnoticed by my mom.
“Grant, can’t you sit still?” she snapped. He set the spoon down on the plate underneath his bowl.
“Sorry,” he paused. “I need to make an announcement.” I dropped my spoon in my bowl of chili and looked up at him, wondering what he was about to say.
“I’m going to ask Miranda to marry me.” My stomach dropped and I felt a sudden, overwhelming need to throw up. I excused myself and ran to the bathroom. The chili came up faster than it went down. As I leaned against the bathtub with my head on the toilet seat, I could hear my mom congratulating Grant insincerely and asking him if he was ready to take this next step.
“I am. I want to spend the rest of my life with her,” he stated. Another wave of nausea hit and I clung to the toilet bowl as I heaved again.
When there wasn’t anything left to throw up, I splashed cold water on my face, washed my hands and opened the bathroom door. Grant was leaning against the wall directly across from the bathroom. I could hear dishes clanging in the kitchen as our mom cleaned up.
“That wasn’t exactly the reaction I expected,” he said.
“Marriage, Grant? Are you ready to marry a mafia princess? Have you really thought about what you’re committing to?” I hissed so our mom wouldn’t hear.
Grant grabbed my arm by the elbow, steering me into his bedroom and shut the door. “I have thought about it. First of all, I do love Miranda. Secondly, marrying the boss’ daughter not only guarantees me a position in the family, but our safety. If this is the life we are going to live, we might as well be happy.”
It wasn’t too long ago when I had similar thoughts. Grant was willing to commit to the mafia life one hundred percent and this made me realize that I wanted more out of life. There was finality to his decision - like a nail in his coffin.
“You know it wouldn’t surprise me if Dom asks you the same question soon,” he said. Fear and panic hit like a wave crashing over me and sent me running back to the bathroom. Grant’s laughter followed me down the hall. He probably chalked my reaction up to commitment phobia.
Miranda walked down the aisle on Marco’s arm. She was radiant in a cream gown; the veil did little to disguise her glow. Grant beamed as she approached. Dominic was one of the groomsmen and was across the aisle from where I stood among the bridesmaids. All the bridesmaids were dressed in deep red gowns and the white irises that made up our bouquets stood out in stark contrast. Dom smiled foolishly at me and kept winking as if I was in on some kind of inside joke. Annoyed, I looked away from him to watch Marco place Miranda’s hand in Grant’s.
The priest began a long and seemingly never ending ceremony. Every time I looked over in Marco’s direction he was leering at me, his beady eyes watching my every move. Sweat broke out across my forehead and also began to trickle down my back. The church was blazing hot and uncomfortable. My mom sat in the front pew directly behind me and was bawling uncharacteristically.
Finally the ceremony ended. Grant and Miranda were pronounced husband and wife and they pranced down the aisle together, through the wide open church doors, their silhouettes disappearing into the blinding sunlight.
Wedding guests began to filter out behind the newlyweds and I quickly gathered up the skirt of my dress to follow the procession. As I went to pass Marco’s pew he grabbed my arm, his fingers were pinching my skin and I stopped to glare at him. Dominic was standing directly behind me, wearing the same goofy grin.
“Come on doll, it’s time for the bachelor party.”
“Bachelor Party? But, Grant just got married. Don’t you mean reception?” I squinted at him in confusion. He started laughing a deep, husky laugh that bordered on a cough.
“No, I meant Bachelor Party,” he said, pulling me back towards the altar. I struggled against him and looked to Dom for help, but he followed behind laughing and winking. Marco dragged me around the podium to a door, which was well camouflaged and not visible until we were right in front of it. Dominic knocked and the door swung inwards. Marco stepped across the threshold, bringing me with him. I expected to be in an office, or storage room, but instead we had stepped into the living room of The Speak.
Mr. Genovese sat at one of the small, round tables, He was missing half of his head and brain matter sat on his shoulder like bird poop. His half smile grinned when he saw me looking at him. His remaining eye winked at me as he gestured for me to sit next to him. I cringed and turned away, my stomach rolling. Marco let go of my arm and pushed me in the direction of Mr. Genovese, but I collapsed in a heap on the floor. He laughed and circled around me, a predator sizing up its prey. Once again, I looked to Dominic for help, but he was nowhere to be found. Anxiety enveloped every nerve and I focused on the wood grain of the floor. I counted each line, trying to slow my breathing. Marco stopped circling and stood in front of me, his shoes obstructing my view of the floor, interrupting my count.
“We need a new piñata,” he said and a length of rope coiled around his toes. At this strange comment I lifted my head and stared up at him. “Our last piñata is all worn out,” he pointed to the ceiling at the end of the room. I followed where he was pointing and a new wave of terror washed over me when my eyes landed on Brittany. Her naked, lifeless body swung slowly back and forth, suspended by a noose. She was beaten and bruised – almost beyond recognition. A puddle of blood pooled on the floor beneath her. Vomit surged up my throat, but was stopped by a noose being tightened around my neck - blocking off oxygen and the ability to scream.
I woke up screaming, but no sound escaped my dry mouth. My hands fought against the rope around my neck that wasn’t there. My trembling body was soaked in sweat and I sat up in my childhood bed, the pink comforter grounding me in reality. As my breathing slowed I tried to shake off the nightmare. This was by far the most vivid. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but couldn’t produce enough saliva. I slid out of bed and padded down the hall to get a glass of water in the kitchen. The house was dark and silent, the only light generated came from the LCD display on the DVD player and cable box.
I grabbed a clean glass out of the dish drain and filled it with tap water, draining it in five gulps then went to refill it.
“Trouble sleeping?” my mom’s voice asked from somewhere in the darkness. I yelped and dropped the glass. It clattered into the sink, but didn’t break.
“Jesus! You scared me!”
“You were always so reactionary,” she commented.
“No. Since when did you hide in the dark? A little warning would have been nice.”
She flipped on the light over the dinette table and I squinted, allowing my eyes to adjust. My mom sat at the table with a mug in front of her, a tag from the tea bag draped over the side. She wore an old green and
gray plaid flannel nightgown. The one Grant got her for Christmas five years ago. She looked tired and the harsh overhead light created shadows that made her wrinkles look more pronounced. She was once considered a beauty and won the Dogwood Festival beauty pageant in her home town of Phoenixville. After my dad left, her heartbreak had been permanently etched on her face. She used to dye her hair blonde, keeping the gray at bay, but seemed to have stopped as the gray hairs were more prominent than the yellow. I fished my glass out of the sink, refilled it and sat next to her at the table.
“What are you doing up?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I can’t sleep.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Heartburn; I don’t think the chili is agreeing with me.”
“Ah.”
“What about you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, it was something like that. I had a bad dream, about my friend who died.”
“Oh,” she replied awkwardly and patted the back of my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m also not used to sleeping away from Dom,” I admitted. She pulled her hand away from mine as if it had burned her. “Mom, why do you dislike Dom so much?”
She was silent and pursed her thin lips together. Great, this was going be one of the many silent conversations we’ve had. Surprisingly, she answered.
“I don’t dislike him. It’s just that you seemed to drop everything: Chelsea, your friends from college, and even your artwork. It’s all about him now. What about you?”
“I do stuff for myself.”
“I learned the hard way with your father and it was a lesson learned too late – you need to put yourself first.” Her words were almost identical to the advice Chelsea had given me when Dom and I first started dating.
“I know that Mom.”
“I want to make sure you do. I don’t interfere in your life Natalie, I’ve let you make your own choices, but I see a lot of your father in Dominic and I want to make sure you don’t repeat the same mistakes I have made.”
The Beautiful People (The New Mafia Trilogy) Page 22
