Page 52 of Run

Eighteen

Giovanna

Within fifteen minutesI was huddled in the back of an SUV, headed to Daniela’s house I presumed.

As the car moved, I watched the sunrise, realizing it would probably be the last time I would do so when so close to those I loved. This night had only proven why.

When I had left, I saw two men on Vincent’s floor, thought I recognized one of them.

I hadn’t bothered to look too closely, though, not interested in what I might see, and even less interested in what it might make me feel.

Because it made me feel nothing. For the first time, I accepted that I was okay with that. Before, I would have been racked with guilt, recrimination, would have taken my numbness as a sign of something broken inside me. It was avoiding that feeling, not wanting what I had so long feared to be confirmed that had driven me away from the people I loved. Now, I felt nothing but the tiniest sliver of regret.

As the car got closer to Daniela’s, I idly imagined what would be happening to them. The dead one would be disposed of, the live one questioned and then disposed of, and life would go on as normal.

All in a night’s work.

It wasn’t normal, and even more than I had feared my father, even more than I had loved Vincent, I’d always had the desire to be the kind of person that it did matter to, the kind of person who did care.

Tonight had proven that I wasn’t. The only question was if I could live with that.

I could.

I’d fought against accepting that for years, but in this moment I had no doubt.

I also knew I couldn’t stay, knew that I would be eaten alive with worry for Vincent each moment of each day. And I had to decide if I could live with that.

Right now, I didn’t think I could.

The car stopped in front of the house we had left just hours ago, and this time no one patted me down.

Instead I got out and walked toward the front door, where Daniela was waiting for me. She led me inside and then closed the door quickly.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded, and she smiled. It had always been like this between us, Daniela the caregiver, me the lucky recipient.

“It’s very early, but I figured we might as well have breakfast,” she said.

My stomach rumbled and she laughed and then led me into the kitchen.

I sat on a barstool and watched her as she moved, noticing that this was far less opulent than the home we had grown up in.

“You left the house?” I asked.

She paused a moment and then turned back to the stove.

“Yes. Too many memories there. I wanted to start fresh,” she said.

“Right. Is it working?” I asked.

She looked at me sharply but I shook my head. “I’m not being a jerk, Daniela. I just want to know. Are you happy? Are you getting the start you wanted?”

She sighed and then turned off the stove and came to perch on the stool across from me. I looked at her, worried about the height of the stool, but she waved me off.

“I’m fine,” she said. She looked far off and then sighed again. “But to answer your question, no, this isn’t the start I wanted.”

I frowned, but held my tongue.

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