Impossible Odds

12

Chapter 6 Giada “Why do we promise God we’ll try to be good every week, then go out and do whatever we want until next Sunday’s Mass?” I breathed the question to Camilla, who sat next to me on our family pew. For as long as I could remember, we had occupied the same pew at the front of the church every Sunday without fail. My sisters and I sat in order of age with Mom the farthest in by Val and Dad on the outside next to me. Mass usually lasted an hour, but today’s homily must have been personal to Father Jacoby because he’d been rambling for nearly thirty minutes. Normally, he gave us a quick fifteen-minute pep talk of a sermon and sent us on our way, but the issue of immigrant rights had apparently lit a fire under him. I’d spent the past half hour lost in my own thoughts. Camilla eyed me curiously. “It’s called Catholicism. Look it up.” Someone listening in might have thought Cam was rude, but I was well acquainted with her brand of dry humor. I snorted a laugh, covering my mouth and glancing warily at my mother, who had thankfully not noticed the commotion. Deciding to push my luck, I leaned in and continued our banter. “I’m familiar. Twelve years of Catholic school was plenty of education on the subject.” “Apparently not if you think this is more than ritual. Maybe you needed to pay attention better in school.” “I paid attention just fine. Just because I wasn’t the principal’s lapdog didn’t mean I wasn’t a good student.” I used to tease Camilla endlessly about being a Goody Two-shoes because she was always helping in the principal’s office. “Exactly what I mean.” Cam turned and glared at me. “You needed to pay better attention.” My forehead scrunched in confusion. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She shook her head. “Just that if you think we’re all here for some kumbaya betterment of our souls, you’re the only one suffering a delusion. Church is about discipline and order—keeping the masses in line and on a certain path—not spiritual growth and enlightenment. I’m pretty sure Catholic guilt never helped anyone grow.” “Well, that sounds rather jaded if you ask me.” She huffed out a laugh. “Don’t I know it.” I peered at my sister out of the corner of my eye, but she kept her gaze fixed on the dais ahead. She’d always been a little odd, at least from my perspective, but I’d never given it much thought. She had her friends growing up, and I’d had mine. Even though we were only a year apart in school, our circles rarely overlapped. Had something gone on during high school that I’d been unaware of, or was my middle sister just being dramatic? The middle of church was hardly the place to hash it out. I made a mental note to bring it up again later and did a silent cheer when we all stood at the close of the homily. After church, I had a quick lunch with my parents and excused myself for some retail therapy. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mystery casino man, so what better way to distract myself than clothes? Nothing like getting lost in a Nordstrom to take a girl’s mind off her worries. Three hours later and my protesting feet had brought me back home for a rest. I felt somewhat better, but my thoughts never settled. I didn’t want to tell anyone what had happened, but as an external processor, I needed to talk through my problems before I went crazy. Things festered and stewed inside me until I said them out loud and could discuss them with another person. I’d often debated whether that quality was a gift or a curse, but I’d never reached a concrete conclusion. It was good to know how I functioned best, but I wasn’t crazy about needing to tell people my problems to work through them. Regardless of the merits, I needed to spill. Digging my phone out of my purse, I sent Alessia a text, setting up a lunch date for the following day. Once the arrangements were made and relief was in sight, my anxiety eased. Wine helped, too. Three glasses in, and I was sure I could handle anything. *** “You know how back in May you told me all about meeting Luca and how you learned he was in the mafia and you made me promise not to tell anyone?” We’d been at lunch all of five minutes when I hit Alessia with my confession. Her sandwich stopped its momentum toward her mouth, and her eyes flicked up to mine. “Oh s**t, G, what have you gotten yourself into now?” “Hey! That’s not fair. You act like I’m some kind of trouble magnet. I wasn’t the one who got kidnapped a few months ago.” “Okay, you’re right,” she conceded, lifting a hand to calm me down. “Although, you do have a history of far more drama than I do but go on.” I glared, brow raised. “Are you done?” She motioned for me to continue. “I need you to keep an open mind. This may sound a little crazy, but it’s not as bad as you might initially think. So … back on our last night in Vegas a couple of weeks ago, I met a guy.” “You met a guy? When? We were together the whole time.” “It was quick, just a short conversation on my way back from the restroom before dinner on the last night. I approached him, and we talked briefly. It wasn’t worth mentioning when I got back to the table because I’d never see the guy again. Except …” “Except?” Her eyes rounded. “The other night at the club, he showed up.” I bit my lip, waiting for her to freak out. “Holy cow, that’s crazy! What a coincidence that you’d see him again. Did you two talk?” “Al, you’re not getting it. It wasn’t a chance encounter. He somehow found out who I was and tracked me down. We didn’t run into each other, he found me.” There was no way I was admitting that he’d tracked me down because I’d stolen from him. Leaving that tidbit out made him look that much more dangerous, but it couldn’t be helped. She stopped breathing. “Oh, shit.” “Now, before you freak, try not to get carried away. I don’t think he’s dangerous. I admit, him finding me was a surprise and maybe a tad stalkerish, but he’s not like some weirdo off the street.” “Not dangerous? Giada, what the actual f**k? How did he find you? Did you give him your name or number?”