Page 70 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

I rushed through packing my things, checked around to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything, checked out on the TV, then made my way down the elevator to meet Aurelio in the lobby.

That strange feeling in my chest seemed to stretch wider the whole ride to the repair shop.

I tried to tell myself it was just some lingering concern about Traveler’s safety, even if her father did seem wholly capable of taking care of her now that he was out of the hospital again.

I knew it wasn’t that, though.

Our cars were parked next to each other, and we packed our trunks in unison then walked toward our doors.

“I’ll see—“ I started.

“For the record, you’re a fucking idiot,” Aurelio said, getting in his car, slamming the door, and pulling off before I could even process what he’d said.

I climbed in my own car numbly, pulling out of the lot, then out of the town, leaving Traveler further and further behind with each mile driven.

And that black hole in my chest?

It felt like it had swallowed me whole by the time I pulled into Navesink Bank.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Traveler

From the outside, it seemed like my life went right back to usual the following day.

If there was one thing you could say about my father, it was that the man could hustle.

Not only was one of my “uncles” at my house when we got there, but a patrol car was parked on the street as well.

And, apparently, guys were already down at my shop repairing all the glass, and installing a more rugged security system.

I should have cared that all of those things were being paid for with dirty money handed over from the very organizations that were tearing our community apart with drugs and violence.

But, honestly, for the first time in my entire life… I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about the criminals, the dirty money, the shop.

I didn’t care aboutanything.

“You alright, Travy?” my Uncle Chuck asked as I walked zombie-like through my house the following morning.

I hadn’t slept.

Just lay in my bed, staring at the TV screen, disassociating for hours on end, trying my damndest not to feel anything at all.

“I’m fine,” I said as I made a beeline for the coffee pot.

According to my father, I was opening my shop again this morning.

Heinformedrather thanaskedme.

And since I was desperately trying to keep my mind and body occupied, I didn’t even argue for once.

“Honey,” Uncle Chuck said, shaking his head at me, “if there is anything three marriagesanddivorces have taught me, it’s that a woman is never ‘fine,’” he said.

Of my “uncles,” Chuck was probably my favorite.

He, like my father, had an atrocious personal life. Three divorces, three alimonies, and a whole trunk full of baggage. Like my father, he also had one child. A son who was several years younger than me, and following in his father’s footsteps, working his way through the Academy.

---