Moonstone: Gems of Wolfe Island One

“I’m at least ten years older than you are, Barone,” I say.

“So? I’m legal and all.”

And a hot mess in Chuckies.

“I’m not going to be anyone’s rebound guy,” I say. “You need to get over your ex first.”

“Him? I’m totally over him.”

“Right. That’s why you almost fell off the wagon because of him.”

She cocks her head and smiles. “Come on, Luke.”

“You’re a sweet kid—”

She winces at the word kid.—

“—but you and I aren’t going to happen.”

We were never going to happen anyway, but now that I’ve met Katelyn? Never takes on a new meaning.

She flounces off in a huff.

Yeah, that’ll show me you’re old enough to date me.

I resist rolling my eyes.

Lynne approaches me then. Now Lynne is a knockout—curve-a-licious figure and shiny chestnut hair—but I feel nothing. Not a damned thing. I haven’t been attracted to a woman since I got out of rehab.

Not until Katelyn.

Lynne didn’t come over to flirt, though. “Hey, Luke. Thanks for coming this morning. I hope it works out for you with the woman.”

I swallow my bite of donut. “Strangely, I do too. I could have sworn I wasn’t ready for this yet.”

“I hear you. Sometimes when you meet the right person, things fall into place. Just remember to be careful. It’s awfully soon for you.”

Lynne moves on to the next person. She’s a good group leader. She takes the time to talk to everyone personally after the meeting.

I guess that’s why we all keep coming back.

Keep coming back. It works.

The mantra.

And the other mantra…

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I try to live by that. I’m not big into religion or anything, so I’m praying more to my own consciousness than to any higher power.

But damn, there are things I can’t change. I wish I could change big parts of my past, but they’re already set in stone. The only thing I can change is the present, which I hope will lead to a better future. A future where I’m a good man—a man who’s proud of who he is.

I believe I’ll get there.

I have to believe it.

I finish my donut and trash the rest of the bad coffee. I’ll stop at Starbucks and get a drinkable cup. I wave goodbye to Lynne and the others. Barone’s back is turned. Just as well.

I mean nothing to her. The only reason she came onto me was because she knew I was interested in someone else. She’s hung up on her ex, who seems like an asshole, but what do I know?

I head to the park for my jog.

And I try to accept the things I cannot change.

21

Katelyn

You don’t have to do this, I tell myself. You don’t have to do it. You can turn back now. No one will ever know you were here.

I go so far as to open my mouth to tell the cabbie to turn around, but the words don’t materialize.

They stay in my head, chanting in a guttural chorus.

The drive through the Brooklyn streets takes me back. It’s a chilly March day, but still some kids are out playing stickball.

For a moment, a smile curves my lips. How I loved those summers.

But my smile is short-lived.

The familiar brownstone looms in the distance. When the cabbie jerks to a stop, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest.

“Here you are, lady.”

I slide my credit card and add a tip of fifteen percent. “Thanks.”

“You want me to wait?”

Yes, please. Except I can’t pay for wasted time. “No, thank you.”

This is a pretty safe neighborhood. At least it was. My fate wasn’t sealed because of a safety problem. No. It was sealed because my cousins got in with a bad crowd. I’m not sure why they did what they did, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.

I walk up the concrete steps to the door. The concrete is spalling, and grass and weeds grow through the cracks.

I consciously avoid the cracks. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Funny. I’ve always avoided the cracks since I was a little kid, even when I was mad at my mom—which happened a lot. This time the act takes work, as the cracks are so numerous.

The door knocker. It’s brass, with a wolf’s head. I remember it. It always fascinated me. Brooklyn is so different from LA. East coast versus west coast. But so much more than that.

I inhale, touch the knocker, pause a moment, and then let it clank. Twice. And then a third time.

The peephole looms large in front of me, and I imagine eyes looking through it, assessing me.

The door opens, finally, and a young man stands there. “Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Agnes DeCarlo.”

“She lives upstairs. I’ll buzz her for you.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”