Page 20 of Because I Need You
“I’m serious.”
“I am, too.” I looked at him again. “I’m not going to fuck her, but I still don’t understand how someone like her ends up with someone like Hamilton.”
“You mean a rich guy and a poor girl?”
“I mean politician asshole and a wholesome teacher.”
Mike laughed.
“What?”
“I forget you’re not from around here.”
“What does that mean?” I frowned.
“You think she’s wholesome.”
“You’re saying she’s not?” I asked, my interest peaking again.
“I’m saying, she’s definitely a good girl. She has a good heart. She cares about people,” Mike said, staring me down as he spoke. “But she’s not one to fuck with either.”
“Tell me more.”
“Nope. Not my story to tell.” He lifted a hand up. “Don’t ask me again, either. I would never betray her like that.”
A secret then. Damn. I loved secrets. “I’ll find out.”
“If you do, you do, but there are some secrets that even Dean Russo has no access to.” He shot me a look. “Out here, we keep a lot to ourselves.”
“Yet, you know hers.”
He shrugged. I squinted at him. I knew Mike, though. I wouldn’t get any more information out of him. Best friend or not, they didn’t only call him The Vault because of what was behind his tailor shop. The man did not spill secrets about anyone.
8
ISABEL
I spent the week attending fundraisers with Will and speaking to a realtor in Chicago. I was listing my father’s house and selling his truck as soon as possible. I’d told the realtor I’d be there by the end of the week to pack up his belonging while I debated with myself whether I should get a storage unit or keep what I wanted and get rid of the rest now, rather than later. Before then, I needed to visit my grandmother at the home. As it was, I hadn’t gone in nearly two weeks and she was used to having me visit once or twice a week. I packed a suitcase and left it by the door, deciding that I’d book my flight to Chicago while I was on my way back from my grandmother’s. Will asked me not to go back until Sunday, because that was when he’d be able to accompany me, but I assured him that it wasn’t necessary. He kept saying the same thing over and over. “Be careful, Isa. Please be careful.” Because I was stubborn as a mule, he knew to keep it at that and not try to take over my trip.
On my way to the nursing home, I wished I’d listened and waited for him to get out of work so that he could at least accompany me today. I preferred visiting my grandmother by myself, but right now, doing anything by myself was difficult. Doing anything with someone like Will was also difficult, though. When I got to the home, I made small talk with the women up front, and then the nurses who led me to where my grandmother was, in the television area.
“She’s been doing well,” the nurse said, “This week, though, she’s been waking up in a pool of sweat, saying someone is in her room. It’s not uncommon for her to see things that aren’t there at this stage, though.”
I swallowed and nodded. At this stage of her early dementia. It was one thing I was another thing I was angry at my mother for. She’d moved to another country with a new husband and didn’t even think to visit her own mother. She called the nursing home once a week, but that wasn’t enough. Since she left, I’d carried the full weight of this responsibility. I didn’t like to say it was a burden since my grandmother had given everything up to help raise me, but sometimes, when I’d had a longer day than usual at school and had to come here, it felt like one. It didn’t help that I didn’t know what version of my grandmother I’d get any given day. Sometimes, she was the sweet woman who made me arroz con pollo and maduros. Other times, the things she’d say to me were evil and made me wonder whether or not she’d always felt this way, or if it really was the disease talking for her.
I stood by the door and watched her, the nurse squeezing my shoulder lightly as she walked away. My grandmother was a striking woman. Not so much these days, since she didn’t bother with her appearance like she used to, but she was beautiful, nonetheless. In her day, as she used to say, she was the most sought-after woman in Cuba. She’d married a famous actor, who was equally as handsome as she was striking. Together they had my mother and allegedly lived in bliss for years. That was before the Castro regime got worse, though. Before she fled her country with my mother, just ten years old, in tow, for the promise of a better life.
