Never Gonna Tell (18 page)

I mouth to him to distract his grandfather and get a slight nod as reply. “Hey, Grandpa. Can I make you a cup of coffee? I think there’s some instant in one of these cupboards.”

Marco begins to look, but purposefully in all the wrong drawers. After five times of unsuccessfully finding the coffee, his grandfather stands up and joins him in the kitchen. “Boy, you couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag. Move over.”

I wiggle the rest of the way out but remain on my hands and knees. Checking that the coast is clear, I army crawl toward the front door, regretting that I didn’t take the obstacle course more seriously in gym class.

“Ah! Here it is!” his grandfather announces.

I drop to the floor, flattening myself as I hold my breath. “Great! Now where is the kettle?” Marco opens the stove to his grandfather’s annoyance, allowing me to stand up and open the front door as if I’ve just returned.

“Ah! There you are, babe,” Marco coos. The tone is sugary sweet and sounds bizarre coming from him. He walks up and wraps his arms around me, whispering in my ear, “Just go with it.”

“Uh, hi.” I meet his eyes to try to figure out where he’s going with this.

“Rebecca, I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Sal. Grandpa, this is my girlfriend, Rebecca.”

I raise my eyebrows at Marco, surprised that he lied and gave me a fake name before extending my hand and exchanging pleasantries with his grandfather. Sal’s hand engulfs mine, his grip much stronger than I expected.

“Well, aren’t you … not what I expected.” His grandfather takes in my disheveled appearance, complete with dust bunnies on my pants from lying under the bed for so long and tousled hair from the hot-and-heavy session on the couch earlier. Of course, Marco’s usual girl is a leggy, waif-like blonde with big boobs—the complete opposite of me.

“Well, aren’t you … blunt,” I reply. Marco squeezes my shoulder a bit as if to tell me to knock it off. Knowing he’s right and that we’re in enough hot water already, I smile and clear my throat. “What I meant was, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Marco rolls his eyes at my pathetic cover up and quickly changes the subject. “Rebecca here has never been camping, so I thought I’d bring her up here and show her how to shoot and fish and stuff. Do you still keep your old pistol here so I can show her a few things?”

Now things are starting to click into place. If we can get our hands on a gun, we might be able to protect ourselves from the rest of Marco’s family if worst comes to worst.

“I have that old rifle in the safe in the back of the closet.”

Marco glances at me as I furrow my eyebrows. A rifle isn’t the most convenient gun to carry for protection. Way too hard to conceal. “I’ve shot a rifle before! I’m pretty good.” I smiled, hoping Marco will figure out how to get a different gun.

He steps closer to his grandfather. “What about your old pistol? I want to teach her something new.” I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he winked at the old man.

“I see. Well then, you could use the old nine millimeter. I keep it in the glove box of my car. Extra ammo’s in the trunk. Don’t know how much is in there, but that’s the best I could offer ya.”

Marco smiles. “That would be great. Thanks so much, Grandpa.”

Sal shuffles back over and sits in the chair. “Just put it in the safe when you leave, and I’ll get it when I come back.”

Marco grabs my hand and leads me out of the house. The post-rain air is crisp and smells like a sweet mixture of pine and grass. The only sounds are a few squirrels traipsing through the fallen leaves and birds tweeting away in the trees. It’s blissfully peaceful, and for a minute—just one minute—I want to pretend that we really are here on a weekend getaway and not on the run from mobsters who want to kill me.

But then Marco slams the trunk and I’m forced back to reality. “Got it!” he announces. “That was some quick thinking on your part.”

I can’t help but smile. “Thanks. You weren’t so shabby yourself. I wouldn’t have even thought to get a gun.”

“I knew he always keeps one on him. I’m honestly surprised he let me use it.” He leans against the hood of the car, crossing his ankles.

I step beside him, our shoulders touching. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Five years.” The sadness on his face is evident. I could kick myself for bringing it up in the first place and quickly change the subject.

“Okay, I get the whole ‘let me impress my girlfriend so give me a gun’ thing, but why change my name? If your family already knows who I am, why hide my identity now?”

“The fewer people who know who you really are, the better. If for any reason things turn to shit, at least I can try to keep you from being sucked down with me by keeping your name out of it.”

“Marco…” I try.

“No, I’m serious, Reagan. I’ve already accepted that I will always be plagued by who I am and what my family’s done. I can’t go anywhere without people instantly tensing up just because of my last name. If I could have somehow prevented you from being involved in this, trust me I would have. Maybe if I’d have been a normal kid, I would have been in that library, too. Maybe I could have talked to you then. Asked you out on a proper date. But I’m a Calotta. And we’re not normal. We don’t get the nice girls. We get to break kneecaps and collect gambling debts. And now I guess, clean up murders.”

His shoulders are heavy and I know this is weighing hard on him. I go to Marco and wrap my arms around his waist and just hold him, breathing him in. He’s tense at first, but it doesn’t take long before he squeezes me right back.

“Your family doesn’t define you. You define you. No matter where you come from you can direct your own future. This place?” I wave my hands in a wide circle. “Hope Mills? It’s not forever. Not for me and it doesn’t have to be for you.”

Marco hangs his head. “You don’t understand. My family’s name and influence spread much further than Tennessee. This is just the latest stop.”

“So go to Europe! Guatemala. Australia. Hell, go to Antarctica if need be. Find what you love and find a way to do it out from under your family’s thumb.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I never said it was easy. But it’s possible. And sometimes that tiny grain of hope is all you need to keep pushing forward. Don’t give up on yourself. Your future. Because if you’re giving up already, then what hope do we have of making it out of this mess alive?”

“You sure you don’t want to run for president, Reagan? Because that sounded awfully presidential.”

I push off the car and head back toward the cabin. “Nah. I like to use my powers for good. And God knows there’s nothing good about politics.” He chuckles and begins to follow me up the stairs. “Now show me how to hold that thing before I accidentally shoot myself in the foot.”

“I thought you said you’ve shot before?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never even held a gun. My lying skills are just that good.”

Marco rolls his eyes teasingly. “Oh, great. I hope your shooting skills are better than your table tennis skills.”

“Ha, ha.” I stick out my tongue. “You better show me some of your mad skills before it’s your foot I take off!”

“C’mon. Let’s go get some cans.” He grabs my hand once again as we make our way back into the house, but somehow it doesn’t feel pretend or put on just for his grandfather. And neither is the cheesy smile that I just can’t wipe off my face.

AFTER SEVERAL FAILED attempts to shoot a coffee can off the tree stump, it was pretty obvious to Marco, the random squirrel I almost hit, and anyone else that I was lying about my prior gun experience. I gave up after one shot clipped the outhouse, happy that I at least now know how to aim the gun and take the safety off. We’ll just have to hope I never need to actually use it, because then we’ll both be screwed.

Sal left shortly after we returned from our failed shooting escapade. Marco and I ratcheted up the level of cutesy, cuddly “look how in love we are” to an over-the-top level where his grandfather could have caught diabetes from how sickeningly sweet we acted. It was no wonder he didn’t try to stick around any longer, and while I feel bad that Marco didn’t get a better visit with his grandpa, we needed to get rid of him for the next part of our plan to work.

Stripping the sheets off the bed, I argue, “I really think we should head toward Chattanooga. It’ll be so much easier to get lost in a crowd, and we won’t have to worry about looking over our shoulder every two minutes.”

Marco tosses me a clean pillowcase he finds inside a hope chest. “I don’t know. We’re low on cash, and we can’t use credit cards. We wouldn’t last two days. We might as well head back to Hope Mills.”

“One day. We can make it one day just getting situated and figuring out a plan. We can’t stay here, we’re out of food, and your grandpa will be back. Besides, we don’t know who the crooked cops are in Hope Mills. If we go to them, we could end up right in your uncle’s hands.”

Marco doesn’t look convinced. “I see your point, but my uncle has just as many connections in Chattanooga. If not more. At least if we head back to Hope Mills, your mom will help us. She can cut through the red tape before my uncle even knows we’re in town, and we know for certain she can be trusted. It’s the best plan. You need to trust me here.”

I toss the empty box of doughnuts in the trash and sigh. “Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Marco slides in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Mmm. As long as we’re agreeing to do things my way, why don’t we…” He nibbles my ear, eliciting a moan from me.

I pivot and lean my head back. Marco doesn’t hesitate to follow the path, kissing down my neck and onto the slope of my shoulder. His hands slide up the back of my shirt, searching out the clasp on my bra.

My eyes fall shut, happily lost in enjoying the moment until a shot rings out in the distance, causing us both to jump.

“It’s just hunters. That shot was at least a few miles away. We’re okay.” Marco holds me tighter, my body still trembling.

I pull back. “We need to go. I need to get this over with. I swear I’m going to get an ulcer if I have to live like this for much longer.”

Marco pulls me tight again, just holding me for several long moments before finally placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “This will all be over soon. For both of us. C’mon, let’s finish straightening up and hit the road.”

We drive for a few hours, weaving through the mountain’s narrow roads with steep drop-offs that make my heart race as I look over the edge. The cabin must be even farther out than I originally thought, and I idly wonder if we’re even still in Tennessee. The radio hums softly in the background, some old country song about a man and his dog. I wonder if Marco’s as nervous as I am about actually going to the Feds. It’s one thing to think about it or even plan it, but it’s a whole other ballgame when it comes to pulling the trigger, so to speak.

The closer we get to Hope Mills, the more nervous I’m becoming. What if we have to enter witness protection, and I never see my family again? What if something goes wrong, and Nicky gets off or escapes, and comes after me for ratting him out? I need to break the tension before I explode and decide a nice game of twenty questions—investigative journalist-style—will be a great way to pass the time.

“Really, Reagan? Twenty questions?”

I shift in my seat, bringing my leg up to sit on it while resting my back against the passenger side window. “Yes, it’ll be fun. I don’t know anything about you really beyond the rumors that were spread around, and I’d like to hear the truth. Plus, if I have to sit and think about having to dig my own grave as your uncle holds a gun to my head for another minute, I might have a nervous breakdown.”

“Fine, I’ll play. How does this work?”

A smile breaks out on my face. “Well, it’s a little different than the traditional game. I’ll ask you twenty questions. You have to answer with the first thing that comes to your mind. One word. No pausing, just blurt out what you think. Then, we’ll switch, and you can ask me.”

“No thinking, just blurting. Got it.”

“Okay, here we go. I’ll start out with some softballs. Cake or pie?”

“Pie.”

“Beach or mountains.”

“Mountains.”

“Batman or Captain America?”

Marco chuckles. “Um, Batman, I guess.”

“Titans or Volunteers?”

“I don’t watch football.”

I huff. “That’s more than one word. And what do you mean you don’t like football? You are, let’s just say, ‘heavily involved’ with the game.”

Marco rolls his eyes. “And that’s exactly why I don’t like football. All sports for that matter. It’s all rigged. What’s the fun in watching a game if the outcome has been pre-determined by the sharks who control the spread?”

I nod. “I can see how that might turn you off sports.” I pause and just stare at Marco for a minute. His face is sad, and I can tell that all of this is taking a hard toll on him.

“Can I ask you a real question, Marco?”

He glances at me, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “And what would that be?”

“I get that you have to put on this persona in front of your family so they think you’re a team player and all, but why continue to perpetuate it behind the scenes?”