Page 47 of Absolution

At least to her.

Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, I take a sip of coffee and then I smile wickedly at my daughter. “I’m coming to get you! Tickle tickle tickle.” She squeals and runs across the room, climbing up on the couch, me chasing after her. I have a coughing fit and fall into a sweaty, coughing, laughing heap, pulling her to me. When she grows tired of hugging, she slithers out of my grip and picks up paper and crayons and starts drawing circles, squares and dots—whatever it is she’s drawing.

The dots remind me of whirling leaves in a late autumn storm, and I shudder from the memory. I wonder how much she remembers—how much she will remember. She hasn’t asked where he went, why he’s gone. Maybe she’s too small to follow up on the ‘Daddy’s gone’ statement. And when she’s older she won’t recall any of this.

Unless I help her.

I don’t know how to keep his memory alive. The easiest would be to just not talk about him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. How will his heritage affect her? She was conceived in deceit, and her father was a murderer, and not just any murderer. He was a professional assassin.

It’s a pedagogical nightmare.

Cecilia comes running and pushes a drawing into my hands, then she runs off to her writing corner again. As I try to think of Christian’s good traits, at least one, I study the multicolored circles on the paper. She trusted him from the first moment. She saw something in him I couldn’t. I’ll tell her about that. About how they found each other despite everything. He did save her life. I cling to the memory. That is something to hold on to and to let her know about.

Night comes. As always horrifying images haunt me. Fear. Darkness. Violence. Death. My daughter sleeps without a care in the world, my worry grows. I’m postponing something. I owe Christian the truth. I need to tell his family that he’s dead.

I have to go to Salvatore.

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