Page 65 of Mine

Forty

Sabine

Astor returns from the kitchen carrying two gold-rimmed dinner plates.

The smell is heavenly. Veal parmesan, roasted artichoke hearts, and angel hair pasta, each portion plated like it’s being photographed for a magazine.

He sets the plate in front of me. “Good?”

I look up. “Yes. God, yes. It looks amazing.”

Pleased, he returns to his seat with his own plate. “Now I have an assessment of you, Miss Hart.” He smooths the napkin on his lap. “You’re a hypocrite.”

It’s my turn to choke on the wine.

“It’s true. You judge me for killing people for money, yet the business you do with Carlos is corrupt and illegal, and you do it for the money.”

“It’s different.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. One, lives are not at stake, and two, I grew up dirt poor and have vowed to never find myself in that kind of lifestyle again. The motivation to never be poor again is a strong one.”

“The note . . .”

“What?”

“The sticky note in your purse.”

“Ah.” I look down. “Yes, that was her last handwritten note to me.” Money for lunch on the counter. You’ve got this. Love you, Mom. “I carry it everywhere. Until now, you asshole.”

“It’s safe, I promise. What was she talking about when she said you’ve got this?”

“I had a math test that morning that I was stressed about.”

“Ah.” He nods. “That’s telling.”

“How so?”

“You turned math into a career.”

“Why is that telling?”

“Because you subconsciously clung to that last moment. It’s defined you.”

“What’s defined you?”

“Death. Back to the subject. What makes you think I grew up more comfortable than you?”

“Your mom was a hot-shot district attorney.”

“She wasn’t always an attorney,” he says to clarify. “My mother got pregnant with me at age fifteen, and my father left not long after I was born. She was a waitress during my entire childhood. We lived under the poverty line in the slums of Brooklyn. One day she got sick of it, decided she wanted a better life, and put herself through college, through law school, all while working a full-time job and raising a child. It took her more than twenty years to become a respected district attorney. She never gave up.”

“That’s amazing. Good for her ... I understand she passed away, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“How did she die?”

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