Chapter 17: What She Wants

They buried the old man on Wednesday, in the rain, under a green tent.

My uncle gave the eulogy.

He wept real tears, and he held the widow's hands in both of his.

"A brother to us all," Corrado said. "Taken by cowards. We will find them."

The widow stared at him over the coffin with a face.

She did not take her hands back.

Eight capos stood in a row behind her, in black coats, looking at the grass.

The ninth was in the box.

I stood at the back of the crowd with the cigar box in my bag and Teo's hand on my elbow.

Corrado caught my eye across the grave and lifted his chin, kindly.

I made myself nod back.

When the priest was done, the widow walked past me and didn't stop.

"A week," she said, so low I almost missed it. "He told you a week."

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there in his place."

Back at my apartment I stood in the hall with my wet coat dripping on the floor and couldn't make my fingers work the buttons.

Teo took over without a word.

He unbuttoned the coat, took it off my shoulders, and hung it on the hook.

Then my sweater, then my black dress, a zipper going down my spine one inch at a time.

I stood there in my slip and stockings with my teeth chattering.

"You're frozen," he said.

"I keep seeing him sit down on that step."

"I know."

He turned the shower on and tested the water with his wrist.

It was hot and loud, and steam rolled up the tiny bathroom.

He undressed himself, quickly and matter-of-fact, and put me under the spray first.

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