Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (13 page)

I take the dead flowers and sweep the fallen leaves off her grave stone.
 

"I'll come back, Mom, bring you some fresh flowers soon," I mutter. All the love I ever felt for her explodes in my heart, my mind. It's similar, but different to the love I felt for Scott, less sharp, more eternal, and thick tears are flowing down my face now. I feel homesickness, longing, and happiness all rolled into one big lake of warmth.

"I wish you were still here, Mom," I murmur. "I need you so much."

But she already knows all that, I know she does. And she knows I will be just fine on my own too. And so I know it too.

I dig in the dirt where I buried the bracelet, my heart racing as I don't find it right away. What if someone took it? What if it's lost forever?

I actually laugh out loud when the glint of silver finally emerges. But the bracelet is more black than silver now, and I wish I'd thought to wrap it in a plastic bag before I buried it here. I brush the dirt off the little charms, the ballet shoe, the bow, the tiny seahorse with diamonds for eyes. I put it on, and it connects with my skin like I never took it off, like my mom had just given it to me.

I stand over her grave for I don't know how long after that, not thinking of anything, just letting the peace and serenity of her presence fill me.
 

Gravel crunching just behind me makes me turn sharply, butterflies already erupting in my stomach. Could it be Scott?

But it's just an elderly lady, bent almost double, and my heart sinks to somewhere around my feet. Of course it isn't Scott.
 

I whisper a goodbye to my mom, and leave, tossing the dried roses into the bin by the gate. It's almost three, and I still have to get to the city to take Dad to the airport. The last thing I need is to meet Scott right now. If he wanted to see me he would call. And he's not doing that.

I wasn't going to tell Dad I went to Mom's grave, but he notices the dirt under my fingernails and on the edges of my sleeves and asks about it.

So I tell him, and we talk of her for awhile, grief spinning a web between us, but not as thick and unmovable as it was in the past. We can even laugh a little at how nervous she got when she had to fly anywhere. But it soon gets too painful, so we talk of other things. Like my school work and Dad's new job.
 

He has two large suitcases with him, and when he loads them onto the belt at the checking counter tears ball up in my throat. But I cough them away before he notices.

"You'll be alright, won't you?" he asks as we're having a drink at the bar. His eyes are a little bloodshot, but still sparking in the overhead lights.

"Yes, Dad, I'll be fine," I say, trying to sound bemused or annoyed, but it comes out kind of flat.

"Call me anytime, if you need something," he says. "I'll give you all my new numbers as soon as I get them, and until then I'll have my old phone."

I nod and fiddle with the edges of my napkin, tearing it to shreds.
 

"And book a ticket to come visit me in July," he adds. "Then send me the details."

"Will do," I manage, wishing it was July already. But it won't be, not for another two months.

He hugs me tightly at the security check point, and I hug him back, burying my face in his shoulder. I know I'll cry lots tonight, but I won't do it yet.
 

"Have a safe flight," I manage, my voice cracking a little. "Call me when you get there."

He kisses my cheek and lets me go, staring at me like I'm still just a little girl.

"I'll be fine," I mutter, even though he hasn't asked anything.
 

I wave to him as he clears security and then he's gone around the corner. The hum of other people’s conversations, their yells, crying and shuffling is suddenly so loud, I just want to run out. But I stay at the airport until my dad's plane leaves, watching it take off from the observation deck, clutching my mom's bracelet, wishing Scott was here with me. That his strong arms were wrapped around me and I could lean against him. Then all this noise, this sadness, this homesickness would not be as cutting, and I'd truly know that I will be fine. Know it for a fact. But all I know for a fact right now is that I'll cry when I get home.

"What, Mike?" I bark into the phone, picking up on the first ring.

"Well, someone's grumpy," he sniggers back. "How did you like the present I sent you?"

The blood rushing to my head is so hot beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I have no idea how to play this one. I promised Amber I wouldn't tell anyone that nothing happened, but I'm so angry I could strangle Mike.

"Don't send me any more escorts," I finally say, in a middle of the road attempt.

"You didn’t like her?" he asks. "I spent hours searching for just the right one."

"Whatever. She was fine. But I'll pick my own women from now on, if you don't mind."

"Like you did on Friday night?" he asks. "Better be careful, else they'll think you're gay. And that won't fly."

"Let me worry about that too," I mutter. "Is that all you wanted?"

"No. There's a meeting today at four. Vlado wants you there," Mike says and I know he's not happy about that at all.

"Does he?"
 

"You wanted in on the planning and this is your shot," he snaps. "Don't mess it up."

"Or else what?" I ask.

"You know very well!"

"Are you ever gonna stop this shit? I'm right where you want me. Can you lay off Gail now?" I'm saying it in the wrong tone, and at the wrong moment too. But I can't help it. Amber's visit last night just busted everything open again and I hardly got any sleep because I wanted to touch Gail so bad.

"Nope, I can't," he says. "But I spoke to Dad. He knows I'm out and that we're cool. So you should go visit him."

"You should go visit him," I bark back. If he was standing in front of me I'd punch him.

"All in good time, Scott," he says. "The meeting's at that warehouse I showed you. Can you find it on your own?"

"No," I say, the memory of that poor man getting tortured making me shiver.

Mike proceeds to give me the address and directions, but I hear none of it.

"Just fucking send it to me," I finally say and hang up.
 

It's almost two. I have to get dressed, but I can't even decide what to wear. This shit is so messed up and I'm about to wade even deeper into it. All I want to do is run away. Somewhere far, just disappear. But what happens to Gail then? To her dad? How the fuck did I end up here?

I manage to pull it together, mostly because Vlado warned me about running again. I'm in front of the warehouse at ten to four. Greg's there too, standing a few steps away from a group of heavily muscled guys. I recognize a few from the dinner, but I'm not sure they know who I am. They only glare at me as I walk up, none of them saying hello. Mike's not there.

"You made it," Greg says, as I walk over to him.

I nod.
 

"This shouldn't take very long," he says. "At least I hope it won't. I have plans later."

A tall blonde about my age walks out of the warehouse, her heels clanking against the metal railing. She's got the clearest light blue eyes I've ever seen, and her hair is actually more platinum than yellow. She's built like a model, and could actually give Janine a run for her money, which is saying a lot. So it makes no sense that none of the six guys standing around me so much as glance at her.
 

She descends the steps, her gaze lingering on Greg all the time. He's looking at the far side of the complex though, like she isn't even there.

"Vlado's ready for you all now," she says in a ringing voice. Which answers my question from before perfectly. I guess we're not supposed to be checking out the boss' girlfriend.
 

"Nice to see you, Greg," she says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her purse. "Do you have a light?"

I move to file in with the others. Greg squints at her as he lights her cigarette for her, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here.

"Thanks," she says, blowing smoke into his face, making him cringe even worse. But she's looking at him with that look Gail sometimes got when she wasn't sure about me. It was the last look she ever gave me, and I'll never forget it.
 

"Let's go, Greg," one of the men calls, holding the door open.

It's all the urging he needs. He jogs up the stairs past me, and leaves her looking at his back. Like Gail must've done when I left.

"You too," the man at the door barks, and I do my best to snap out of the memory, but it's not easy.

"There." The guy points at a door then strides toward it, not waiting for me. It leads to a large room with a long wooden desk running down the center, lined with comfortable looking chairs. Mike's already there's, sitting with his back to the large grimy windows. There’s a TV screen on one wall, and a couple of greyish whiteboards. Maybe if the floor wasn't raw concrete and the room wasn't filled with a bunch of dangerous looking thugs, this could be just another meeting room.
 

Vlado walks in through a side door, the sleeves of his light grey suit rolled up, and the buttons of his jacket undone. The room falls silent, and my chair scraping against concrete sounds as loud as a scream. Mike flashes me a dirty look, but I ignore him.

Vlado pulls a manila folder from the stack at the end of the table and shakes it at us. "This will be a simple job, so I expect it to go smoothly."

A few of the guys mutter agreement. I assume those that don't say anything are the ones that fucked up the last job.

"The cars will be arriving to the showroom on Thursday night, then be transported for the show on early Saturday morning," Vlado goes on, handing a stack of papers to Mike who takes the first sheet and passes it along. I suppose any second now, Vlado will start drawing diagrams on the board. This is too weird.

"The heist will happen on Friday night."

I finally get my own paper. It's just a list of ten cars with an address and a small, grainy map with a route through the city outlined on it.
 

I don't like it one bit. The showroom is way uptown, and traffic will be horrendous. My heart starts racing when he announces the drop off is in Brooklyn. Even if we can get the cars out without triggering one of the thousand alarms they'll have set, it'll be a nightmare getting them all the way across town on a Friday night. Prison, here I come.

But all the others are just nodding along, like this will be as easy as a cake walk. One of the guys gets up and starts talking about the best possible route, his Jersey accent so strong I have trouble following along. He wants to take the FDR. The fuck? On a Friday night?

"No," I say, surprised to hear my voice. They all turn to me, Mike's eyes full of dark warning. But Vlado smiles, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

"You have a better suggestion?" he asks. The guy I interrupted is shooting me murderous glances now too.

"The 59
th
Street Bridge and through Queens. That's how I'd do it," I elaborate.
 

Greg pulls a map from one of the folders and spreads it out across the table. "Show us."

I get up and walk over, my heart sinking deeper into my stomach with every step. I can't believe I'm doing this. I swore a million times I'd never steal another fucking car. It takes me awhile to get my bearings on the map. It looks old like it's been used a lot, and it's already covered by circles, crosses and lines from other jobs. I could do this easier on a computer but no one's turned it on yet. I guess Vlado likes things old school, and I'm pretty sure not all the guys in the room can actually read.
 

"We're waiting," the guy I interrupted snaps just as I finally see the path I'd take if I had to do this. Which I do.

I explain it to them, and some of them argue. But Queens will be empty if we're coming out of the city at that hour and none of them can really argue with that.

"Sounds like a good plan," Vlado finally says, eying me with a mix of curiosity and interest. "Work it out."