Page 93 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
The room feels different after he is gone.
Not safer, exactly.
Less charged.
Like a storm moved one room over instead of ending.
Dolores watches the doorway for a moment, then sighs in the tired way women sigh when men they love insist on being difficult.
“He was always like that,” she says.
I look at her. “Like what?”
“Leaving before someone thanks him.”
“I wasn’t going to thank him.”
“No. But you were thinking about it.”
“I was not.”
She gives me a look that makes me feel twelve years old and badly behaved.
Erin leans toward me. “She knows things.”
“I’m noticing.”
Dolores smiles and begins gathering empty plates. “Children, finish what you can. Heath, not too fast. Erin, no, Mr. Buttons doesn't need jam.”
“He might.”
“He doesn't.”
“He has teeth,” Heath says quietly.
Dolores turns to him with solemn respect. “Then he needs to brush them later.”
Heath’s lips twitch again.
My heart hurts.
When Heath starts fading again, Dolores orders everyone to lower their voices and dims the room. Erin curls beside him with a book, proud to be given the job of turning pages softly. Omarremains near the door. I sit at the low table, pretending to sort colored pencils while really watching Heath’s breathing.
Dolores sits across from me with coffee.
Real coffee.
Strong enough to qualify as a controlled substance.
She pushes a cup toward me.
I take it. “Thank you.”
“You have manners when cornered.”
“I have manners.”
“You have weapons pretending to be manners.”
