Page 89 of Letters From Victor

I twisted in my seat, craning my neck toward the house. “Yeah, but…” I squinted, but Gino had already turned the corner. “I’m pretty sure that was my sister’s car.”

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror from under the brim of his driving cap. “You’re sure?”

“Not one hundred percent. I didn’t get a good enough look, but I think so.”

Gino slowed for a moment, then turned the block sharply. “Okay, I’ll drive by again. If it’s her and it’s clear, I’ll drop you off.”

“You know this is all so unnecessary.”

“Maybe, but orders are orders.”

He coasted toward the curb, the engine idling low as we approached my house. Plain as day, Edith’s sky-blue Cadillac sat in the driveway, its whitewall tires and chrome accents gleaming under the late afternoon sun. The car looked like it belongedthere—unruffled, poised, as if it had nowhere better to be. I let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s her,” I said. “You can stop.”

Gino pulled to the curb and parked. I reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped me.

“Mrs. Evans, let me walk you inside.”

I turned to him, exasperation clear on my face. “Gino, really. This is my family.”

He removed his cap and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I get that. But until Mr. Cardello says otherwise…”

I slumped back in my seat, defeated. “Fine.”

Gino walked around the car and opened my door, offering a hand I reluctantly took. As we moved up the walkway, his head stayed on a constant swivel, his sharp eyes scanning every window, every car, and every shadow.

At the front porch, he stepped aside but stayed within arm’s length, his presence a silent but solid wall between me and whatever danger he thought lurked nearby. I fished my keys from my handbag and unlocked the door.

“Barbara!” Edith’s voice rang out before I even stepped inside. “Please tell me that’s finally you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I turned back toward Gino to thank him, but he didn’t move. He lingered at the threshold, stance still firm, as if waiting for an all-clear that hadn’t been given.

“Where have you been?” Edith’s voice cut through the air, sharp and frantic, as she stormed toward me. Frankie was perched on her hip. She was as striking as ever, but worry lines were carved into her forehead. “I’ve been calling for hours!” Edith’s eyes flicked to Gino, assessing him in an instant before locking back onto me. “Who is this?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“He’s just leaving,” I said, my tone measured. “Thank you, Gino.”

He hesitated a moment longer before giving a short nod. He turned and walked down the steps slowly, deliberately. I closed the door behind him.

Edith shifted Frankie to her other hip and looked at me expectantly. “Where have you been?” she repeated, her tone calmer now but still urgent.

I took a deep breath. “I was at Victor’s,” I said, bracing for the inevitable lecture. “It was all spur of the moment.”

“Barbara,” Edith started, then stopped. She set Frankie down gently and kissed his forehead. “Go play in your room, sweetheart.”

Frankie toddled off, casting a curious glance back at us. His small footsteps disappeared down the hall.

I crossed my arms, already weary from what I knew was coming. “Why are you so bent out of shape?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You knew I was spending the weekend with Victor. You and I arranged it, for Pete’s sake.”

Edith rubbed her temples, closing her eyes for a moment. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, slow and measured. When she finally opened her eyes, they weren’t angry. They were soft. Sad.

“Barbara, it’s not that. It’s…” She let out a breath through pursed lips. “Something happened.”

A prickle of unease ran up my spine. “What do you mean?”

Edith swallowed hard. “Mother had a heart attack early this morning.”

A pause, thick and suffocating.

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