Chapter 13: The Cedar Closet

Through the slats I could see a strip of my own bedroom.

The foot of the bed.

My yellow bedspread on the floor.

The doorway to the front room, and a slice of the couch.

The front door shut.

Two heels hit my walnut floor, one, then the other.

"Get me a drink, sweetheart," Sergio said. "Not the cheap stuff. The bottle he sent you."

Ice went into a glass in my kitchen.

I had my phone against my chest.

I turned the screen down so the light wouldn't show through the slats.

Then I called Annette.

I felt it connect against my breastbone.

A tiny voice came out of it, muffled by my shirt.

"Giada?"

I pressed it harder against me and didn't breathe.

The voice stopped.

Annette had known me since second grade.

She stayed on the line and said nothing.

A match struck in the front room.

Cigar smoke came through the slats, thick and sweet.

It was the smell from Mrs. Zito's parlor.

"Your nephew asked me again," Gabriella said. "About the night of the window. Where I was."

"And?"

"I said a pill. I said I sleep like the dead."

Sergio laughed.

It was the christening laugh, low and warm.

"He'll swallow it. He swallowed Ma Zito."

"She almost cried on him."

"She did cry on him. On cue, like an actress." Ice clinked. "I've paid that woman's rent for two years. She knows who her landlord is."

I closed my eyes.

I saw Mrs. Zito's hands shaking on her rosary.

"When do I get out of this dump?" Gabriella said.

My dump.

My floors, my curtains, my sink.

"Christmas week," Sergio said. "Your agent gets the box. Every page with the kid's initials on it."

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