Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (15 page)

"I have to go," Dante said, walking away.

"Where are you going?" Umberto called out.

Dante didn't stop, mumbling to himself, "To see the only friend I've got."

* * *

T
he town was just
a few miles down the highway, not even the size of a Manhattan neighborhood, so small that Genna wasn't sure of its name.
Did they bother to give it one
? A picture-perfect community, the kind she didn't think existed outside of television. No stoplights. No police. It was Mayberry without Andy Griffith.

Parking the Honda in the small dirt lot, Genna climbed out and glanced around. It was quiet.
Too
quiet. Birds chirped in the distance as bugs buzzed by her head, but where were the revving engines? The people shouting? The horns blowing?

She'd never get used to it.

Turning, she approached the square building, eyeing it with distaste. The red paint was chipped, exposing tattered old wood, surrounded by stained concrete and topped with a rusted metal roof, like some sort of makeshift barn. Old gas pumps lined the right side, a pair of garage doors raised to the left, with a span of dingy shop windows between them. It looked as if someone had plucked it right out of the 50s and plopped it down in front of her.

Jerry's Garage

It was still functional. Cars surrounded it, two pulled inside with the hoods raised. A guy in blue coveralls leaned over the front of a little Toyota, checking fluids as he whistled along to some song playing on a nearby radio. He caught Genna's eye. "Can I help you?"

He was young, mid-twenties, with sandy-blond hair that looked dirty as hell, somewhat slicked back on his head. Stains covered the front him, grease streaked down the thighs from wiping his hands. A smell clung to him, like some cologne of motor oil with a dash of body odor mixed in.
Gross
. The guy smiled, his eyes kind, so Genna forgave him for that.

"I was wondering if there were any stores around here where I could buy car parts," she said. "Like a NAPA or a, I don't know... Pep Boys, maybe?"

"I'm afraid not," he said with a laugh before slamming the hood of the car. A small white patch sewn to his chest displayed the name
Chris
in blue stitching. "Closest you'll find one is Vegas."

"Ugh, I was worried about that."

He pulled a rag out of his pocket to wipe his hands. "We might have what you're looking for here, though. Car giving you trouble?"

His eyes flickered to the Honda out in the lot. Genna shook her head. "Oh, that's working fine. There's actually a car back at the house that needs some work. It's kind of, you know, not working.
At all
."

She was guessing, anyway. She wasn't sure what was wrong with it.

Her response surprised him. "Oh, you new in town? I haven't seen you around. Figured you were passing though like others."

"We're staying just outside of town, a couple miles down the highway. The place is kind of by itself in the middle of nowhere."

His brow furrowed. "The old Moretti house?"

"Maybe."
Moretti
. The name sounded familiar to Genna. "If you're thinking about a wooden house that looks like it might be haunted, then yep."

"That's the one," he said. "Never thought I'd see it inhabited. Always heard rumors about a lady living there, though, some crazy recluse. Guess that's not the case. You don't seem to fit the bill."

Live there long enough and I might
. "What happened to the lady?"

"Don't know. Not sure she ever existed. Probably just some local urban legend, but anyway..." He leaned back against the Toyota, crossing his arms over his chest. "This car you've got… what do you need for it?"

"Everything, probably. It's been sitting there, rusting away."

"For how long?"

"Years."

"I'm guessing you're trying to get it running?"

"That's the plan."

He stared at her, almost as if he were looking through her, his mind drifting somewhere. Just when his silence was starting to grow uncomfortable, he opened his mouth and rattled off a laundry list of issues. Battery… fluids… tires… brakes… any gas left in it would need to be replaced… carburetor probably shot, would need rebuilt… an oil change was essential… hopefully the engine hadn't suffered damage… "Basically, if it's liquid or rubber, it's gonna need to be replaced."

She gaped at him. "I feel like I should be taking notes."

He smiled. "I can write it down for you, if that'll help."

"Immensely."

He motioned for her to follow him as he headed through the garage to a small office along the side. Two other guys hung out in there—one behind a desk on the phone, while the other lounged in a filthy plush chair.

Chris walked over to the desk, grabbing a pen and a piece of scrap paper, before meeting her again outside the doorway. He scribbled things down, muttering to himself about wires and rodents and
oh god
—
there might be rats living in the damn thing?
"This is all worst case scenario, of course. If you're lucky, a lot of this will have survived."

"I'm not lucky," she said. "If it's possible for it to be fucked up, chances are it will be."

"The worst thing you can do for a car is to just let it sit there," he said. "I've seen cars start again after thirty years, but I've seen others with a host of problems after just three. Sometimes you've got to consider that it might not be worth it. What kind of car is it?"

"A '64 Lincoln Continental."

He shot her a surprised look before muttering, "Definitely worth it." After writing down a few more things, he handed the list to her. Most of it seemed simple enough… she could change a tire and replace a battery, take old hoses off and put on new ones… but a few things seemed out of her skill range.

"So, how does one rebuild a carburetor?" she asked. "Is there a book I can buy?
Carburetors for Dummies
?"

"I'm sure there are books," he said. "That's best left to a professional, though."

"I'd rather just buy a book."

"Okay, then." He laughed. "Most of that stuff we can get for you. We have shipments that come in a few times a week, so tell us what you need and we'll order it."

"How about we start with whatever's easiest and go from there."

Twenty minutes later, Genna had the makings of a plan, a few parts ordered along with some tools the guy suggested. Chris filled out the rest of the order sheet, jotting down details. "Do you have a number I can reach you at when all this comes in?"

"Uh, yeah…" Reaching into her pocket, Genna pulled out the burner phone Matty had gotten for her when they first got on the road. She'd never used it, having no reason to, but Matty insisted she carry it. As soon as she flipped it open, she saw the message:
Missed Call
. Matty.
Shit
.

Scanning through it to find the number, she read it out loud for Chris to write down.

"908," he said, repeating the area code. "Where about is that?"

"That would be New Jersey."

"Yeah? You a Jersey girl?"

"Something like that."

"What brought you to Vegas?"

"What brings
anyone
to Vegas?"

She'd gotten kind of good at deflecting, she thought.
Answer a question with a question and you never have to lie
. Her brother had taught her that. Of course, it never worked with him. Dante always knew that meant she was hiding something.

"Good point," Chris said with a laugh. "Anyway, I'll give you a call when it's in. Shouldn't be more than a week or so."

Genna left then and drove straight to the small diner across town. It was a little white building with big windows and blue awnings,
Morningside Diner
written in block letters along the glass. The clock in the Honda showed it as a few minutes past six, stuck on east coast time. Matty had been working at the diner for a week, from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon, Monday through Friday. She drove him there and picked him back up at his insistence, making her keep the car just in case she needed it.

In case my invisible friends and I want to go for a joyride.

She parked in front of the diner and walked inside, a bell above the door jingling to announce her arrival. Bright colored booths lined the walls, blue barstools dotted along the counter, as the black and white checkered floor glistened. There was even a jukebox in the corner.

A
jukebox
.

All that was missing were those little white hats that kind of looked like paper boats. The first time she'd walked in, seeing Matty at work, she'd said that to him. He hadn't found it funny.

"You're late."

Genna rolled her eyes, finding Matty perched on one of the stools near the register. "I'm like, three minutes late."

His eyes flickered to a clock up on the wall.
3:16 pm
.

"I was worried," he said. "Thought something might be wrong."

"Sorry." She pulled the phone out to wave it at him. "I'm not used to this thing. It flips and has all these buttons. I don't even know if it works, honestly, because I didn't hear it
ring
."

He took it from her, flipping it open, and handed it right back. "You had it on silent."

"Oh." She glared at it, pressing random buttons. "How did I do that?"

Laughing, Matty blocked her hand before she could press anything else. "Probably by doing
that
."

Rolling her eyes, Genna slid the phone back into her pocket before plopping down on the stool beside him. She felt Matty's eyes studying her, like he had something else to say.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Starving."

"Order something," he suggested, grabbing a menu off of the counter and holding it out to her.

Genna glanced at it, settling on the first thing she saw. The middle-aged woman behind the counter approached.
Doris
. "You ordering something, sweetheart?"

"Uh, yeah… can I get the grilled cheese platter?"

"Sure," Doris said, grabbing an ordering pad from her apron to jot it down.

"And can I add some bacon to that grilled cheese? Like, inside of it? Oh, and some pickles, too?
Oh my god
. Pickles. Inside the grilled cheese."

Doris looked at her with confusion before writing it down. "Grilled cheese, add bacon and pickles. Something to drink?"

"Strawberry milkshake."

Doris nodded. "Anything for you, Matt?"

"I'll take what she's having... minus the pickles and bacon."

"Matt," Genna grumbled when the woman walked away. "It just sounds so generic."

"Okay,
Jen
, you're not much better."

She rolled her eyes, childishly sticking out her tongue.

It took a few minutes for their food to arrive. Genna dug in right away, devouring every bite, while Matty picked at his, his attention more on her.

"Not hungry?" she asked, snatching one of his fries and popping it in her mouth.

"Not really," he said, pushing his plate her direction. "Help yourself."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

* * *

"
Y
ep
. Okay. Uh-huh."

Gabriella nodded, even though nobody was around to see, as she glanced at the cell phone on the kitchen counter. The chipper voice babbled through the speaker about everything imaginable: a new chick-flick was coming out that weekend, a neighbor was pregnant, it was supposed to rain on Tuesday…

Or was it Wednesday?

Gabriella wasn't really listening.

She glanced in the small foggy window on the oven, glaring at the frozen pizza. Was the dang thing even
cooking
? Six o'clock in the evening on a Friday, Gabriella's first night off after a grueling rotation at the hospital. She had the weekend off and planned to do nothing except sleep and eat… after she got her mother off the phone.

"And your Aunt Lena, oh my goodness, you won't believe this… she called to tell me they were having a potluck this Sunday for Bobby's birthday. She wanted to have it here.
Here
, at the house! I told her, you know, that was fine, I'd be happy to host, but if he didn't show up because of the location, that wasn't
my
fault, you know?"