Page 26 of Icing Hearts

We’re still in the center of town, and I know what that means. I tap the brake, bringing my speed to a safer level. My eyes peer in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t see a squad car, but there’s always someone posted up around here. Like clockwork, the inevitable red and blue lights flash. Perfect.

Clara notices a second after I do, after I slow even more to pull over. “Tory,” she gasps, grabbing my forearm. “I…my dad.”

“It’ll be fine, Clara. Just hop in the back and hide under my coat. The blackout windows prevent anyone from seeing in, so they won’t know to look for you.”

“But you’ll probably get a ticket.”

“I got this. Go ahead.”

She unbuckles and dives toward the back seat, crouching on the floor and covering herself with my coat.

The officer comes to my window, and it’s someone I don’t recognize. Double perfect. There’s one officer who knows my father, and this isn’t him.

I hand the officer my paperwork and answer the cursory questions. He’s in the process of writing me a ticket when Officer Paulman walks up and pulls him away. Looks like Lady Luck is on the roster after all. Officer Paulman gestures with his hands and the newbie walks back to his squad car with a nod.

“Thanks, Paulman,” I mutter, worried about what Clara will think and praying he keeps his mouth shut.

“Anytime. How’s your father?”

“Good, good.”

“Now, you know I got you if I’m on shift and I hear your plates get called in. But you gotta be careful, Vic. Especially tonight. Get home and stay in. We’ve had reports of kids getting into trouble already.”

“I got it.”

“And uh…” he pauses, not wanting to ask the question outright.

“I’ll make sure my dad knows you helped me out.” I don’t relish speaking the words. Being my father’s errand boy or messenger is pretty low on my list of desired occupations. But it comes with the territory of being an Amato—a lot of people owe us favors.

Paulman and the other officer drive away. Clara climbs in the front seat. She fixes her hair and re-applies lip gloss in the mirror.

My eyes roll back. This is the lip gloss that makes her lips look good enough to bite. I want nothing more than to grab the back of her head and steal a taste just to see if she’s as delicious as I’ve built her up to be in my head. With my luck, she’s probably better.

Her existence is the distraction I never wanted—never anticipated—never want to be rid of.

“What did he mean when—” she starts.

I panic and cut her off. “Hey, do you need a ride tomorrow morning?” We have to be at school before the sun rises for the team bus to the game.

She shrugs. “I was going to see if the patrol on duty can give me a ride.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll pick you up,” I hurry to say. “You like Marilyn’s?”

Marilyn’s is a local haunt. The owner is a New English transplant. From the looks of it, you’d think she’d plucked the place straight from Gilmore Girls and plopped it in Minnesota. My mom and sister streamed the series dozens of times on the family TV growing up. I’m pretty sure my five-year-old niece came out of the womb singing the theme song. Marilyn’s is open from 5:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m. and makes the most indulgent sandwiches imaginable with fresh bagels and sourdough—breakfast in the morning, traditional vittles in the afternoon. The statement “everyone goes there” is anything but hyperbole.

“Um, yes. Duh.”

“Alright, miss, geez. What’s your favorite?”

“I don’t get to go very often, but if I do, I get the egg BLT on her sourdough bagel.”

“Is your dad going to be home?” I ask. It’s an important question. Every time I see his squad car, I’m tempted to drag him out of it and beat him to a bloody pulp. Not sure I’d be able to handle seeing it in their driveway, knowing the piece of garbage is taking up space inside, especially when I’m trying to keep our budding…whatever this is…under the radar.

“No, he’ll be at the station already. I wouldn’t let you pick me up if he was going to be home…” her voice trails off.

I nod, unwilling to find out why she wants us separate from her side of things. I know why I don’t want to be caught anywhere near Clara by Chief Larsen. But it makes me wonder what lies he may have told her about me. Or what truths he may have told her about my father to make her feel the same way. I shake the thoughts away. If he told her anything, she likely wouldn’t be speaking to me right now. No, if the truth about my father’s business was revealed to Clara, I would have detected some sort of behavior change in her when it happened.

“Then I’ll be in your driveway at 6:15.”

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