He told me the day he met me he should kill us.
Maybe he’s finally making good on that statement.
I pull my old Camry out of the lot and onto the road. I need to get as far away as possible. My phone rings as I coast down the highway, the caller ID reading Gio. I swipe to decline the call.
It rang again. Again and again, he calls me, but not one word from Johnny.
I steer the Camry into my apartment parking lot, stumble up the stairs, and finally slam the door behind me.
I sink to the floor and let everything out.
I let all of the emotions flow, tears sliding off my cheek and down my neck. I let it all out. Then I vow to myself, that I am absolutely done with Gio DelGado.
I check my phone one last time for any signs of life from Johnny, when they all come back negative I shove the thing in my locker at work. The only reason it’s still on is in case Johnny contacts me, but I can’t stand to be around it. Gio calls and texts non-stop. He sent Charlie to my door last night. The kid pounded on my door for an hour before resorting to just sitting outside instead.
I had to watch for him to leave this AM in order for me to sneak out to get to work. I’m afraid tonight he’s going to be breaking my door down.
This is what I get for falling in love with a criminal.
I feel heavy.
Heavy with regret.
Heavy with grief.
Heavy with fear.
I’m terrified. It's been twenty four hours and I still don’t know where Johnny is. The halls of the nursing home feel suffocating and I find myself wondering out to the patio that overlooks a small pond. Not many residents gather here. Most of them are nosy and would rather sit in the hallways or the t.v. room and gossip. It makes this a nice escape for me to catch my breath.
“Kiddo,” Bernie, my favorite resident, is here. Of course, he would be one of the few residents seeking stillness from the indoors. “You look pale. Sick.” He says accusingly. “Are you sick?”
Bernie is an old Italian. The nurses joke that he’s a former wise guy himself, but I never believed that. He’s too nice, too sweet to me. I don’t believe a man like him could ever be dangerous.
But now?
Now, I know that dangerous men come in beautiful packages.
I know there are men that can be sweet as honey, and still be sinners.
Within the short period of time I’ve known Gio I’ve been hardened. The old soft girl I used to be is gone, left in her place is stone.
“I’m okay,” I tell him.
I was trying my hardest to fake it.
Bernie scoffs. “Girl, I’m older than dirt. I know a sad face when I see one. What happened? Was it that boy?” Bernie’s hands clench around the arms of his wheelchair. By older than dirt, he means he just turned 90. He outlived his wife, a fact that he tells everyone. He’s pissed about it, and it’s kind of sweet. He was angry that she got to go first, peacefully, and he was left behind to live without her. All of the nurses gush about it. How sweet, they say, he loves her so much.
“Yeah,” I slump into the bench next to his wheelchair. “It was a guy.”
“What are we gonna do about it then?”
I laugh, the sound light and sweet, it relieves some of the pain that’s been taking up space in my body.
“We’re gonna ignore his phone calls.” I give Bernie a smirk.
“Ah, madone.” He waves a wrinkly hand. “Does he drive a nice car?”
“A Porsche.”