Chapter 16: The Number

I woke at seven with the card still standing against the whiskey glass.

Damiano's side of the bed was empty.

Downstairs the kitchen smelled like coffee and burnt toast.

Bruna stood at the counter in her black suit, eating dry cereal out of the box and reading a brief.

Damiano stood at the stove in shirtsleeves, frowning at a pan of eggs.

His suit jacket hung on the back of a chair at the end of the long oak table.

"Sit," he said, without turning around. "I'm making you breakfast."

"He's making you eggs," Bruna said. "It's a different thing. Lower your expectations."

"I can hear you."

"I wanted you to."

I sat at the table in his black T-shirt, barefoot.

I had the card in my hand.

I watched him for a minute.

He broke the eggs one-handed, carefully.

I could have just told him I'd found it.

I wanted to see his face instead.

I picked up my phone.

"Who are you calling at seven in the morning?" Bruna asked.

"Nobody," I said. "Somebody I owe a call."

I looked at the card and started to dial.

Three-one-two.

The next three.

Then the last four, one by one, under my thumb.

Zero.

Four.

One.

Nine.

My thumb stopped above the screen.

Zero four one nine.

My mother's birthday.

I had seen those four numbers once before on a scrap of paper, in Rhett's neat handwriting.

The thought was too big to fit in my head, so I didn't let it in.

It's a common number, I told myself.

I pressed call.

On the other end of the line, it started to ring.

Across the kitchen, inside the jacket on the back of the chair, something rang too.

An old ring.

Not a song, not a buzz.

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