Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

I can hear her smile as she says, “You know I’m your favorite.”

I tip my head under the water again, thinking of pointing out that lately I only see her two or three times a year. But I don’t want to rain on her parade.

“Let’s go out tomorrow night,” she says. “Just the two of us.”

I grunt as I rub the soap bar around in my palm.

“You know you want to.”

“But do I?”

“Of course you do. Anyways, we both know you don’t have any hot plans.” I laugh as she pulls a stool out from under my bathroom counter. Through the upper part of the shower wall, which isn’t hazy, I can see her opening one of my drawers. “So are you going to twist my uncle’s arm and help him feel the burn? Or go a less direct route, chat with E baby, and bust my little cousin’s bubble?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Even the word “bust”…as it pertains to Elise…

I grit my teeth. Exhale so I’ll sound normal. “I’m not worried. Nobody’s ever had shit on me, and I don’t think they do now.”

Isa is quiet for a moment, and I know what she’s not saying. She found me in bed during the day—or early evening?—so she’s wondering what’s wrong.

I decide to offer up a bullshit answer, just to keep this shit short. “Couple long days with those shipping contracts your dad had all backwards; don’t tell him that. Meditated myself into a nap.”

“That’s good.” Her voice is gentle. “Naps are always good.”

“You’re such a mother hen.”

“I’m your sorella.” I see her stand. “I’ll come back tomorrow night about this same time, dressed for dinner at Le Bernardin. I’ll bring something that matches my dress.”

“Always love a suit,” I say sarcastically.

“You look impeccable in a suit. Don’t deprive the world of that view.”

I can’t help a soft chuckle.

“I love going out together, seeing all the heads turn. We make a fantastic-looking couple. Even though one of us is a monk.”

I rub the soap bar over my chest, blinking down at the drain. “Have fun on your date, Isa.”

“Take care of yourself, mio fratello.”

She blows me a kiss and sees herself out. I sit on the shower bench, think of Elise’s body pressed between mine and a Central Park tree trunk, and do exactly that.* * *EliseWhen I was little, my mom used to tell me stories. For years, I thought they were fables in the Bengali tradition. One day when I was a teenager, I asked her if they were from a book. She told me she made all of them up.

“I chose the things I thought you needed,” she said simply.

In the one that was my favorite, two rabbits set off from their warren, each going a different way. They both traveled far and wide. One rabbit was a free spirit, doing what she wanted and trying to have fun. She made good choices when possible, but she didn’t live an overly thoughtful rabbit life. I think I remember my mom saying she was always munching on a carrot; Mom would mime a rabbit munching with her front teeth. The second rabbit thought long and hard about everything. She was obsessed with doing things right. She cried when she made missteps and took life very seriously. She spent most of her time thinking about how she could be the wisest rabbit to ever come from her home warren.

The rabbits both lived long lives, and near the end of their lives, they both decided to return to the warren. The do-good rabbit—as my mother termed her—asked the carefree rabbit how her life had turned out. She said, “Wonderful,” and asked the do-good bunny how her life had been. She said it had been wonderful as well.

“In the end,” my mother used to ask me, wide-eyed, with a slight shake of her head, “who made the right choices?”

I would feel my heart kick in my chest, and whisper, “Who?”

My mom would throw her hands up and say, “I don’t know! Do you know? Who can know!” And she would grin like it was all a great joke.

I think about the rabbits as I move through the revolving gold door into the sleek, black lobby of the Columbus Building.

I ride an empty elevator up, watching the lobby shrink through the single glass wall before blinking at my reflection in the three mirrored ones. I look like I’m going to an underworld ball—because I am.

Gabe Arnoldi is presenting a lifetime service award to one of my dad’s oldest friends, who’s stepping down from the board of the Most Holy Redeemer charity due to a cancer diagnosis he’s still keeping quiet. Dad got one of his headaches and couldn’t be here tonight, so his secretary called and asked if I was coming. It didn’t take much to read between the lines: Dad was hoping I might come here in his place, so here I am.