Page 11 of Now or Never

I changed into a navy skirt with a matching jacket and a simple white sweater. I retied my ponytail, swiped on some lip gloss, and I looked at myself in the mirror. “You’re supposed to have a glow when you’re pregnant,” I said to my reflection. I didn’t see a glow. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I wasn’t glowing because I was a big fibber. Now I had to go to a viewing tonight with Grandma so I didn’t get caught in my fib. I sniffed at my jacket sleeve. Most of my clothes burned in the fire, but a few things, like the skirt and jacket, survived. The survivors smelled like campfire and cremated marshmallows. If Jo Malone could bottle it, I’d buy it. As it was, I had it for free.

I called my mom. “I need to go to the Luger viewing tonight,” I said. “I thought I’d mooch dinner off you first.”

“I’ll have Grandma set a plate. We’re having shells in red sauce, and your grandmother bought a chocolate cake at the bakery.”

“Great. I’m on my way.”

I slipped my phone into my handbag along with a canister of pepper spray and some flexi-cuffs. Just in case I ran into some bad guys. A girl can’t be too prepared. I had a gun, but it wouldn’t fit in my little bag, and anyway, I didn’t have any bullets.

My parents live in a modest two-story house that has a postage-stamp front yard and a backyard that’s only slightly larger. Hydrangea bushes border the small front porch. Trash and recycling receptacles border the small back stoop. The rooms inside are arranged shotgun. Living room, dining room, kitchen. The furniture is overstuffed and comfy. The end tables are cluttered with framed photos of family. The dining table seats six but has been known to feed twelve. The kitchen is the heart of the house and the sole domain of my mom and Grandma Mazur.

Dinner is always precisely at six o’clock. Everyone had just come to the table when I rolled in and took my seat.

Grandma leaned forward when I sat down. “Let me see!” she said to me. “I bet it’s a beauty.”

“What’s a beauty?” I asked.

“The ring. Let’s see the ring.”

“I don’t have a ring,” I said.

“Of course you have a ring. We heard you were engaged.”

I got a cramp in my stomach. “Who told you I’m engaged?”

“Everyone,” Grandma said.

“Who am I engaged to?” I asked.

“Joseph Morelli,” my mother said. “Is there a problem? Did you break up already?”

I shook my napkin out and took some shells and red sauce. “No,” I said. “Of course not. I just didn’t realize it was public knowledge. It just happened. And we didn’t pick out a ring yet.”

“How about a date?” Grandma asked. “Do you have a date set?”

“Green beans,” my father said. “I need the green beans.”

I passed him the green beans and spooned some grated cheese on my shells. “No date yet.”

“A Christmas wedding would be nice,” Grandma said. “The bridesmaids could wear red.”

I poured myself a glass of wine, raised it to my mouth, and stopped. Were you allowed to drink wine if you were preggers?

“Your mother said you’re going to the Luger viewing tonight,” Grandma said to me. “It’ll be a good one. They’re expecting a crowd. They’re putting him in slumber room number one. Emma Wasneski was going to pick me up, but I can ride with you now. We need to go early so we can get in when they open the doors. I want a seat up front on this one so I can get a good look at thewidow. I heard she had some work done by that new cosmetic dermatologist on Hamilton. I’ve been thinking about giving her a try. They say she works miracles with Botox and fillers.”

But then, maybe I wasn’t preggers, I thought, my wineglass still poised in midair. I didn’t have the glow. And I only felt nauseous when I got a phone call from Morelli or Ranger. I mean, who wouldn’t under the circumstances.

“Red sauce,” my father said.

Grandma passed him the red sauce and I considered my glass of wine. It would be a shame to waste it.

“You only go to viewings when it’s business,” Grandma said to me. “Who is it this time? A serial rapist? One of those tattooed gang killers? Do I need my gun?”

My mother went rigid in her chair. “You aren’t taking your gun,” she said to Grandma. “No one is taking a gun.” She cut her eyes to me. “No one.”

“Not me,” I said. “No gun.”

“Well, let’s have it,” Grandma said. “Who are you hunting down?”

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