Page 72 of Savior
I nod, bringing my clenched fist to my mouth as I clear my throat. “There’s… Uh… something else I need to tell you guys… about Vanna and I.” I begin to say, forcing myself to look up from the Property Of cut. I take a deep breath, willing every ounce of self-restraint I can muster, not to choke up any worse than I already am about this. “She’s, uh… She’s…” I stammer. All of their staring faces are becoming blurry. I wipe the water from my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, and force the words out. “She’s pregnant.”
A thunderous roar of congratulatory applause and fist banging rises up around me. Before I break, Viking grabs me in his massive arms, crushing the shit out of me, but it grants me a momentary reprieve to get myself together. He knows why, and I’m grateful. He doesn’t let go of me, until I’m ready.
“I thought this was just about getting your patch on her back. I’m so happy for you, brother.” He says, before he releases me to look me in the eyes. “I’ll protect her with my life. Since that first night in the hospital. She sat beside you, refusing to leave your side. That’s when I knew for sure, she was it for you.”
“Took you goddamned long enough.” I wipe my eyes again, another huge weight lifting from me that I didn’t realize I was still carrying.
“Alright.” Viper calls the table back to order. “Let’s make this official for the books.” He shoots me another one of those rare smiles, before he shifts his attention back to our table of brothers. “All in favor of our President, officially claiming Giovanna Vettriano, soon to be Giovanna Keegan, thereby making her First Lady of the Saviors MC, say aye.”
One by one, they officially vote her in.
Viper picks up the gavel, handing it back to me. “Lock it in, brother.”
“The ayes have it.” I say, then slam the gavel down on the block. Glancing at the leather cut inside the box once more, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried.
The mysterious cashier that slipped me her number has been on my mind, off and on, for the last few days. As I walk around the Ametrine Cauldron, turning off lamps and display cases, I decide now is as good a time as any, to give her a call. Someone picks up on the second ring.
“Hello, may I speak with Gina, please?”
“This is Gina.”
“Hi, Gina. Sorry it’s taken so long to call you, things have been rather eventful around here.” I say, flipping the Closed sign around and twisting the deadbolt on the front door. “Anyway, I believe you may have slipped your note into my groceries?”
“I didn’t want to be obvious.”
“That’s okay… What can I do for you?” I ask, lifting the candle snuffer and extinguishing the flame on the blessing candle in the foyer. Once the flame is out, I place it back down beside its tray. Licking my thumb and forefinger, I pinch the wick, making certain it’s completely out, as I always do. Laura’s biggest fear regarding this shop is a forgotten candle, and so I always make certain they’re fully extinguished. It's become an act of second nature to me, at this point.
“Can we meet somewhere to talk?”
For a moment, Dean’s paranoia about my safety gives me pause. “Well, could you tell me why you slipped me your number?”
“You’re a Witch, right?”
So much for nothing coming of Lucinda’s outburst in the middle of our grocery store.
“I need help… I don’t know what to do.” She goes on. “I was hoping you could give me a reading. Witches do that, right?”
It’s been a while since I’ve consulted tarot cards for anything, and this is more Laura’s area of expertise. “You’re welcome to come to the Ametrine Cauldron for a reading.” I say, trying not to sound like I’m blowing her off. She said she needs help… I’ve been there before. As she lets out a quivering sigh, I get the strong impression, we may have something in common.
“I can’t get there, it’s too far… He tracks my car. He watches my mileage and my money.” She whispers.
“Okay.” I say, before I can think this through.
“You’ll meet with me?” she sounds hopeful.
“Yes… Where and when is it safe to meet?”
“Tomorrow? The coffee shop on my lunch break at one. It’s in the same shopping center, he won’t know.”
“I’m working tomorrow. But I’m usually home by six. I could try to leave a bit earlier.”
“That’s cutting it close.” She says. “He gets home right around six.”
“Alright… let me see what I can do. Can I text you at some point tomorrow, before one, to let you know whether or not I can make it? Or is there any way you can meet me earlier? Maybe before work?” I ask. It would be easier for me to go in an hour late, than to inconvenience Laura for two hours or so in the middle of the work day, battling lunch hour traffic back and forth.
“That could work…” She says, though speaking more hurriedly now. “How about ten, at the coffee shop?”
“Alright.”
