Page 2 of Capo

Eighteen months later

San Francisco

Chloe

* * *

R.I.P.

George and Samantha Bourne.

Gone but never forgotten. Eternally missed.

* * *

Same date of death. A date that’s etched into my mind.

The plane from Atlanta bounces along the tarmac of San Francisco International. My mind is still stuck on the image of the gray granite headstone. The wind makes the plane shudder even as we come to a stop by the gate. It was a rough ride.

I visit them every few months, year after year, putting fresh flowers in a vase, brushing off dried leaves, cursing my fucking asshats for brothers for leaving me alone with this.

When I come home, I do what I always do. I take a leaf that I saved from the grave and put it in an envelope. Then I do the same with a second leaf. I write two different addresses to correctional institutions, put on a stamp, and send them off. No sender. I love how it irks the wardens when they check the mail, but there’s also a deeper meaning for my brothers who eventually receive them. It’s a little hug from me to them, and a little reminder that they came from somewhere, that we had parents, and a life.

Preparing a cup of tea, I hesitate between calling Gayle to see what she’s up to or starting up my computer. I have two deadlines for tomorrow, and two more for the day after. Handling the accounting for small businesses comes easy for me. I have a way with numbers. It’s as if they speak to me. I see errors as if they were written in glaring red, a missing invoice calls for me to find it. It’s like detective work. My friends call it boring, but I love it. I will always miss the light-hearted hours at the center, though. The kids. Working with Kerry was a blast, always funny, always kind, always compassionate. We were younger, more innocent. Those were good times.

On the other hand. Grave. Grumpy over my brothers. Tired and a long journey. Screw working. I call Gayle.

“What’s up, girl?” She’s panting hard.

I quickly swallow my mouthful of tea. “Heya. What’s with you?”

“I’ve been out running.”

I nearly sputter. “Running? You?”

“Gotta get in shape.”

There’s something in her voice that makes me narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“Just—So, are you home? Trip went all right?”

I sigh. “Yeah, meeting the family is always a hoot. Lots of food and talks.” The lie comes easy as always. It’s been ingrained in my being. “Wanna go out?”

“Sure. I need to shower.”

“Me too.”

We decide on a time and place and hang up.

My little two-bedroom apartment is foggy with steam when I’m done. I pick through the wardrobe and decide on a pair of antique-looking, brown leather pants and a white blouse with a lacy back. I pass on makeup and put my hair up in a messy bun. I just can’t be bothered. I’m not out to flirt. I want one glass of white wine with a friend and leave it at that.

Lying alone in bed that night, like every night, I feel the sting of sadness over life passing me by. Gayle has a new lover. I’m twenty-six and I have no one. I have yet to meet anyone who can fulfill my needs, my longing for heat, passion and a little dose of danger. Pulling up the dating site on my phone only enhances that feeling. I flip through one kinky ad after the other and nothing resonates with me. They all seem like little boys playing Doms. I want someone who can show me the ropes, so to speak. I have no experience, I only know that I need something more, something that can compensate for the lack of tension in my life, that can sate me. The only ones who seem to be for real are already in a relationship but are willing to take on more subs for training, and I’m not interested in that. I want someone who is for me, and me alone.

I want what everyone wants. I just want to be seen. There’s more to me than the tall, generic blonde. A lot more. But the secrets I carry will stay mine it seems, because no one has dug, no one has asked.

Luciano

They eat my food, drink my wine, and fuck my whores.

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