“Just do what I’ve said, all right?”
“Ooh, is this a new assertive version of you? Got to say, I like it.”
“Please, Maisie, do this for me.”
“Sure thing, ten four good buddy. I’m on it. Spock and I will be back at father’s abode and Zeke will be informed that you’ve been off work because your cooch has been packed in ice to recover from the hammering it’s had.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hang up, hoping I’m telling the truth. The reality is, I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I can hope. I can plan. But I’ve no idea if things will work or not. At least if they don’t, Maisie and Spock will be all right. That’s something.
Enzo comes out of the woodshed, wiping his hands on his pants. “Did you tell her?”
“She’ll leave. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”
“Good.”
“I’m getting a few doubts.”
“About what?”
“The plan. What if it doesn’t work?”
“Your plan will work,” he says, taking my hands in his. “Have confidence in yourself. I do.”
“I can try.”
“I’ve got some calls to make. Now Maisie’s sorted, I better get some things arranged.”
“Sure. What should I do?”
“Be ready to leave as soon as I’m done.”
He heads inside, leaving me to sit on the step and look out at the pine trees swaying in the breeze. Have confidence, he said. I can do that. If he believes in my plan, I can too.
There’s one problem though, not one either of us discussed out loud. If this works and the Don dies, Enzo will be back in Chicago running a criminal empire.
I’ll be running the hose over plants at the garden center. He won’t have time for small-town life and I have no interest in moving to the city. It can never work out. Not really. Sure, we can tell ourselves it’ll be all right but we both know the truth.
Either this goes wrong and we both end up dead or it goes right and we go our separate ways.
Maybe it’s for the best. Sooner or later, he’d get bored of the small town virgin, and go back to the city and all the sophisticated women floating around there.
I sit and try not to get depressed while I hear him on the phone, talking in a low voice. I know when he’s done because he calls me in.
I walk inside and find him undressed in the bathroom, turning on the shower. “Thought you wanted me ready to go?” I say, doing my best not to look down his body at the thing swinging between his legs.
“Want to be clean before I go,” he says, beckoning me over. “Want to join me? Could be your last chance.”
“Don’t say that,” I reply as I walk over to him.
“What?”
“Let’s just pretend everything’s going to be fine. Just for now. This is just a shower between two people, that’s all.”
“Sure,” he says, pulling my top off my head. “A shower to get clean. Maybe I get you dirty first.”
“Maybe you do.”
It’s hard to describe what happens next. I feel like a different person. It’s probably because he’s right. This is probably the last time we’ll do this. Neither of us says so out loud but I’m thinking it the whole time. If this is the end, why not make it a good one?