Karen Rose - Die for Me

“So you’ll stay here, in your old room. I’m off tomorrow. I’ll make waffles.”

He sounded like a kid himself and this time her smile was real. “Tempting, Uncle Harry, but I have to leave early tomorrow. I’ve got to go back to Gran’s and let the dogs out, and then I have to work at the museum all day. But how about dinner?”

“You shouldn’t be having dinner with an old man like me. You should have a date, Sophie. You’ve been home six months. Haven’t you found anyone you like?”

Vito Ciccotelli’s handsome face popped into her mind and she scowled. She had liked him, dammit. Worse, she’d respected him. Worse still, she’d wanted him, even after she’d known she couldn’t have him. Now the thought of him left nearly as bad a taste in her mouth as the dead bodies in the field.

“No. Everyone I’ve met is either married, dating, or a rat.” Her eyes narrowed. “And sometimes they even act like they’re decent and get you to share your beef jerky.”

He looked alarmed. “Please tell me beef jerky is not a new euphemism for sex.”

Confused, she glared at him, then she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the arm of the chair. Quickly she covered her mouth so as not to wake Aunt Freya. “No, Uncle Harry. To my knowledge, beef jerky is still beef jerky.”

“You’re the linguist. You should know.”

She stood up. “So what about dinner? I’ll take you to Lou’s.”

“Lou’s?” His mouth bent down as he considered it. “For cheesesteaks?”

“No, for wheat germ.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course for cheesesteaks.”

His eyes gleamed. “With Cheez Whiz?”

She kissed the top of his head. “Always. I’ll meet you at seven. Don’t be late.”

She was halfway up the stairs to her old room when she heard his chair creak. “Sophie.” She turned to find him staring up at her, a sad look on his face. “Not all men are rats. You’ll find someone and he’ll be honorable. You deserve the best.”

Sophie’s throat closed and resolutely she swallowed. “I’m too late, Uncle Harry. Aunt Freya got the best. The rest of us just have to settle. See you tomorrow night.”

Monday, January 15, 12:55

A.M.

Tino was sitting at the kitchen table when Vito got out of the shower. His brother pointed to a plate piled with linguini and Grandma Chick’s red sauce. “I nuked it.”

Vito slumped in a chair with a sigh. “Thanks. I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

Tino’s eyes narrowed in concern. “You went to the cemetery?”

Besides Nick, Tino was the only other person who knew what today was and how Andrea had died. Nick knew because he’d been there when it happened. Tino knew because Vito had too much to drink a year ago today and spilled his guts. But his secret was as safe with Tino as it was with Nick.

“Yeah, but not the one you mean.” Today’s field was a far cry from the neatly maintained cemetery where two years ago he’d buried Andrea next to her baby brother.

Tino’s brows went up. “What, you found graves today?”

Vito looked around the corner at the boys asleep on the living room floor. “Sshh.”

Tino grimaced. “Sorry. Bad case?”

“Yeah.” He devoured two helpings without speaking, then piled a third on his plate.

Tino watched him with mild astonishment. “When did you last eat, man?”

“Breakfast.” A picture flashed in his mind-Sophie Johannsen, her face streaked with tears, offering to share her chocolate milk, beef jerky, and Ho Hos. “Actually, that’s not true. I had some beef jerky an hour or so ago.”

Tino laughed out loud. “Beef jerky? You? Mr. Picky?”

“I was hungry.” And taking it from Sophie’s hand had made the snack far more palatable than he would have guessed. She’d nagged at his thoughts all the way home, but now more urgent matters pressed. He lowered his voice. “I tried to call Dino, but his cell went right to voice mail. What happened tonight?”

Tino leaned forward. “Dino called at about six,” he murmured. “Molly had been having numbness and she just collapsed. They think it was a mild stroke.”

Stunned, Vito stared. “She’s only thirty-seven.”

“I know.” Tino leaned in a little closer. “Dino sent Dominic to a neighbor’s with the kids so they wouldn’t see the ambulance take her away, then he called here looking for us, to get us to take the kids. He sounded scared to death. I went over to get them.”

Vito pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry. “So how is she?”

“Dad called two hours ago. She’s stable.”

“And Dad?” Michael Ciccotelli had a very bad heart. This kind of stress wasn’t good.

“He was ecstatic that Molly was okay and Mom was nagging him to calm down.” Tino studied him for a moment. “So you didn’t make it to the cemetery.”

“No, but I’m okay. It’s not like last year,” Vito added. “I’m fine. Really.”

“So you’ve paced your bedroom floor every night for the last week because you’re fine.” He lifted a brow when Vito opened his mouth to protest. “Your bedroom’s right over mine, man. I hear every creak of your floorboards.”

“I guess it’s only fair then. I hear every ‘Oh Tino.’”

Tino had the grace to pretend to be embarrassed. “I haven’t had a woman in my bed in weeks, and it doesn’t look like I will again anytime soon. But it’s okay. I had a custom portrait to finish. Thanks to your pacing I’ve finished Mrs. Sorrell’s painting ahead of schedule.” He waggled his brows. “You know the painting I mean.”

“I know,” Vito said dryly. The woman had contracted Tino to paint her portrait from a boudoir photo as a gift for her husband. “The one with the really nice-” He heard a rustle in the living room. “Sweaters,” he finished firmly and Tino grinned.

“Hey, I’m just glad I finished before the boys came over today. That job was decidedly… M for mature. Mr. Sorrell’s a lucky man.”

Vito shook his head, mostly to clear the image of Sophie Johannsen in her snug sweater that had popped up in his mind. “Tino, you’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days, painting naughty pictures of other men’s wives.”

Tino laughed. “Dante’s right, you really are too tight. Mrs. Sorrell has a sister.”

Vito shook his head again. “No thanks.”

Tino sobered abruptly. “It’s been two years since Andrea died,” he said gently.

Since Andrea died was far too sanitized a phrase, but Vito didn’t have the energy to argue the point tonight. “I know how long it’s been. Down to the minute.”

Tino was quiet for a long moment. “Then you know you’ve paid long enough.”

Vito looked at him. “How long is long enough, Tino?”

“To grieve? I don’t know. But to blame yourself… Five minutes was too long. Let it go, Vito. It happened. It was an accident. But you’re not gonna accept that until you’re ready. I just hope you’re ready soon or you’ll end up a lonely man.”

Vito had nothing to say to that and Tino got up and pulled a plate from the fridge. “I saved you a piece of the boys’ cake. I supervised the baking, so it’s safe to eat.”

Vito frowned at the plate. “It’s all frosting. Where’s the cake?”

Tino’s lips twitched. “Not much of the batter made it into the pan.” He shrugged. “When they got here, they were scared about Molly. I figured what was the harm?”

Startled when his eyes stung, Vito dropped his eyes to the cake, concentrating on peeling off the plastic wrap. He cleared his throat. “That was nice of you, Tino.”

Tino shrugged again, embarrassed by the praise. “They’re our kids. Family.”

Vito thought about Sophie’s praise, sincere and unaffected. He hadn’t felt embarrassed. He’d felt warm and more comfortable than he’d felt in a very long time. From the corner of his eye he saw Tino rise.