Page 22 of True North

But I’m done with these eggshells. With this pandering to a man who doesn’t deserve the family he’s been gifted.

Done.

I briefly consider cutting the brake lines the next time the old man needs the vehicle. But the fear of being caught and leaving Ma all alone squashes that erratic thought.

Any chance I have of seeing Louisa again would evaporate.

So, we stay stuck in this pattern, until life grants us the miracle of change.

ChapterSix

LOUISA

I’m so late.

My first date back home with Brad the accountant and I’m fifteen minutes late. I check my wristwatch again and wander to the front window. The parking by the curb outside the restaurant, which is bustling with patrons, is occupied. He’s probably already here.

I grab a light sweater just in case, and I walk out the apartment door and lock up. Padding down the stairs, the delectable fragrances of all things Italian cuisine float up the greet me. It’s absolutely heavenly.

Picking my way around the full tables, I find Mama Mancini waitin’ on a table, her hands full with an oversized pepper grinder. Her small frame looks ridiculous holding up the gigantic wooden utensil.

“Let me,” I offer, filing in beside her.

“Oh, Louisa, your date is still not here?” Her worried eyes glance from me to the street outside.

“Most likely outside.” I hold the grinder up and smile at the couple seated at the table. “Pepper?”

They both nod. Pretty sure these folks run the craft store down by the convenience store. I crack pepper over each plate until I get thethat’ll dohand signal from each.

“Where else do you need me, Mama?” I ask, turning to face the old Italian lady who’s already done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Letting me stay in her apartment at such short notice. The recipes she slides under my door when I mention loving a particular flavor or dish.

If ever there was a godsend, this woman is it.

A horn honks outside. A red car slides into a parking spot that freed up.

Okay, so I’m not the only one late.

Mama Mancini’s brows drop at the same time mine do, when we watch Brad sit in his car, not moving.

He’s not even coming inside?

Okay, then. I wave to Mama and push through the restaurant’s front door.

“Hi, sorry I’m late.” His voice wobbles when he leans over and calls through the open passenger window, and his eyes flick from my face to straight ahead looking through the windshield. Annoyance lances my veins but dies out quickly as I see his hands white-knuckling the wheel.

“Um, hi.”

He nods stiffly.

He’s nervous. A small smile wants out over my face, and I school it back.

“You look nice, Louisa.”

Well, that’s something, at least.

“Thank you,” I say softly as I drop into the low, plush bucket seat of his car. By the smell of it, it’s pretty new. It’s nice. He leans back into his seat and starts the car.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to recover from the last minute.

---