Chapter Forty-Three
Terra
I sipped my drink and then looked around the coffee shop. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here.”
We were sitting in the same seats we sat in the night Michael and I met for the second time. The words he’d spoken came back to me, and sent a chill down my spine.
Tonight? Tonight I decided I want to devote a portion of the time and effort needed to eventually earn the right to watch you get dressed in the morning.
I looked at Michael. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Why did we come here?”
His eyebrows rose slightly, and he inhaled a shallow breath.
“I’m not complaining,” I said. “Just asking. I like it. It’s weird, but I really like it. It brings back good memories.”
“Like what?”
“When you got out of your car. When you said, ‘I don’t give a thimbleful of fucks who you are. But you damned well need to understand who I am.’”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You sure did.”
“Did I?”
“Those exact words. And then Vincent said, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ You took off your jacket, tossed it on your trunk, and said, ‘I’m that guy. The one you’re going to wish later that you listened to.’” I chuckled at the thought of what happened next. “And then, you punched him in the throat.”
Michael laughed. “I remember that part. He was a dick.”
“He was. So, why did you decide to come back here for a cup of coffee? And, in the middle of the day?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You complaining?”
“No, it’s nice. It’s just... I don’t know. You’re always working during the day. I never see you. I like this.”
“You like relaxing during the day?”
“Love it. I mean, it gets boring doing it alone. I can only go shopping so much. Seeing you during the day is special. I like it.”
He cleared his throat. “Your father and I talked this morning. We would like to make some changes to the family’s business. Big changes. Changes that would potentially change where we live, what we do, how our lives are lived, everything.”
I felt sick. I knew the day would come when my father decided to go back to Philadelphia. The thought of it made me ill. My hormones got the best of me, and before I could respond, I started crying lightly. “We’re going to Philly?” I murmured.
He touched my shoulder. “No, babe. We’re not going to Philly.”
I wiped my face, embarrassed that I’d cried in public. “We’re not?”
“No.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
“What would you think about this? Well, before I tell you, let me preface it with this. From what we’ve been talking about, and how your father would like to implement the plan, I would probably work one day a week, if that. It might be one day every other week, I don’t know...”
He continued talking, but I heard nothing.
One day a week?
If he worked one day a week, he would have time to be an active part in our child’s life. We would be together during the day, enjoy our lives together, and make memories that we’d cherish for a lifetime.
Instead of concentrating on making money.
I felt hot.
I grabbed my wallet from my purse, and began fanning my face. “Where would we have to move?”
He grinned. “Belize.”
He must have misunderstood me. “No, where would we move to? Where would these changes take place?”
“Belize. We’d move there. Permanently. The family would have business there, and I, for the most part, would run it.”
My mind raced. My heart went aflutter. The feeling lasted a short period of time, and then I realized Michael and I would be raising our child in a foreign country, alone. No family. No friends.
Just us.
“When? Um...what—when could we—what about the baby? The baby would grow up without grandparents. We’d have to... I mean, I like the idea of the—”
“Your parents would come with us.”
“Wait, what?”
“Your mother and father. They’d move there. Permanently. Your father, unofficially, would retire.”
It was a dream come true.
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could be more perfect. According to Michelle, no one retired from the Mafia, they only died or went to jail. To have my father walk away from the risk of going to jail, and to have Michael work one day a week while we lived in paradise?
My mind conjured up images of Michael and me walking along the beach with our children while my father relaxed in the sun and drank little drinks with umbrellas in them.
My mother and I could open a clothing boutique and work when we wanted, and relax when we didn’t feel like working.
We would live the island life.
“Terra?
“Terra?”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “Terra!”
“Huh?”
“This is something we’d like to do immediately. Immediately, as in right now. Your father believes when he cut his arm that he had a premonition. A sign, if you will. He’s ready to make a change. So, what do you think?”
“We’d all move down there?”
He nodded. “We would.”
“What about Cap? And Peter?”
“Funny you ask. Cap would run the family business here, and Peter would be second in command. Sal would remain in place, acting as a—”
I swallowed hard. “Peter? Dad is going to let him—”
“He insisted on it.”
It was perfect. Simply perfect.
“Can we come back from time to time and visit?”
“Sure. Any time we feel like it.”
“And holidays? We can all get together?”
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe have them come to the island for Christmas? Leave the snow and come to the warm weather? Cap and Michelle would like that. So would Peter.”
“We could do all of that. So...”
I fanned my face again, and realized as soon as I did, that I was crying. I coughed out a laugh, wiped my tears, and met his gaze.
The changes he was talking of were a dream come true.
I stood. “I’m ready. Do whatever you have to so we can move. I’ll support you one hundred percent. Now, and always. That’s what Mafia wives do.”
“There is no Mafia,” he said with a laugh.
There was a Mafia, and after spending a lifetime denying it, I was married to it.
And, I was proud.