I turn off the radio and listen to the silence in the car. In a few minutes, a few streets away, I'm going to see him. What am I going to do then?
I swallow hard and take a sip of my water in the tall turquoise water bottle, the kind that you have to suck up to get any through the straw. The light turns green and I step on the accelerator after someone honks at me because I'm reluctant to go.
And then, despite my protestations, but perhaps in spite of them, another part of me takes over and I can't help but remember all the good times that we had.
Was everything a lie?
Was Dante pretending to be this person with me this whole time and for what reason?
What was the end game?
I shake my head no as tears start to well up at the back of my eyes. I don't think that's quite it. I think what we had was real and that's what makes it even more painful.
I think he cared about me, perhaps he still does, and I just hope that that's enough leverage for him to tell me the truth. I look at the time, five minutes until our meeting. I park in the parking lot behind the coffee shop, throw my green vegan leather bag over my shoulder, and put my chin up high in the air.
The air smells of baked goods and perfume and the weather has turned for the worse, the drizzle intensifying. It reminds me a little of the night of our breakup. I hate thinking back to that night in Seattle. I walk into the cafe, walk up to the counter, and order a latte. I look around everywhere for a sign of him but I don't see him.
It's not in his nature to run late and I wonder if he's watching me from somewhere far away. I don't know what comes over me, but I also order a muffin.
I'm not a big fan, but I want something to pick at and taste if I feel uncomfortable and a biscotti just seems too hard to do the job. I take a seat in the corner next to the front door and glance up every time the little bell rings. A few minutes later, he appears in a suit, a nice pair of black dress shoes, and hair just a little longer than I remember.
Dante looks like the man that I met all that long time ago, but yet something seems different. It's like he is surrounded in a cloak of mystery. He takes a seat across from me. I ask if he wants some coffee, and he shakes his head no. I offer him a bite of my muffin, and he sits back in his chair with a casual, nonchalant expression on his face and asks me why he's here.
"Is something wrong, Jacqueline?"
"Um, I just needed to talk to you about something.” I bite my lower lip.
I immediately force myself to stop, but the gesture has already been done and I see him watch me.
"How's everything?" he asks, giving me some time to think.
Maybe this is why Sergeant Mallory didn't want me to do this. I'm supposed to interview him. I was supposed to get to the truth, but how? All I want to do is pull out that picture that I have on my phone and show it to him and ask him why he and his brother were there but neither of them have had the decency to tell me.
But that's probably the worst way to go about this. If I don't do that, then what are my other options?
13
Dante
From the outside looking in, I watch her sitting there. She still doesn't know that I'm here. This is my chance to walk away, but I need to talk to her. She sounded desperate on the phone and I don't know if she needs my help or not. At first, our conversation is rather forced. She seems to avoid eye contact with me, looking over at me occasionally. I ask her about how she's doing, dancing around our breakup. That's really what I want to know is how she's holding up. Because when it comes to me, I can barely put up with it.
A drizzle turns into big, pounding raindrops outside, and she offers me part of her muffin. My mouth runs dry and I regret not grabbing something to drink, and now it feels like I almost can't.
"So what are you doing now?" I ask.
"You know what I'm doing."
I shake my head no.
"I'm working for Vasko."
"You are?"
She nods, leaning closer, leaning over the table and finally meeting my eyes. Hers twinkle and then she looks all around. I suddenly have an urge to kiss her. I lean a little bit closer and our faces are almost touching. "I'm going to get some coffee," I say, pulling away.
Jacqueline clears her throat as I get up to walk away. A line has formed in front of the counter, and as I wait I glance over at her. Her hair's pulled up into a loose bun at the nape of her head. It's not particularly glossy or shiny, but it's shoulder-length and beautiful, nonetheless.
She's wearing just a little bit of makeup around her eyes and her lips are bare, pink, and plump. She's dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a black V-neck, basic but nevertheless attractive. It hugs every curve and is quite flattering to her figure, and for a moment I lose myself in the memory of what it was like to hold her. When my iced coffee is ready, I return to the table and Jacqueline looks up from her phone. Her muffin has been picked all to bits, but half of it is still standing.
"Tell me about Vasko," I say, sitting up straight back across from her, drinking from the edge of my coffee instead of a straw.
"I took the job that he offered. It paid well, and I wanted to help you in spite of everything."
I shake my head a little. There's still so much that has been left unsaid between us. It's difficult for me to process everything that she's saying. "I don't understand. You've been working for him this whole time?"
She nods.
"Why didn't you tell me that?"
"You never answered any of my calls."
"I would have."
"You don't want to hear anything." She leans over, raises her voice just a little, but it's still a whisper. She's trying to keep the conversation just between us. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you answer any of my calls?”
"You know why. I was upset."
"And so that was it? We were over?"
"Yes.” I nod.
"And you don't care about me anymore?" she asks.
I swallow hard. This one is difficult to answer truthfully. "I don't know what you want me to say. Is this why I'm here, to talk about the past? To make amends? To forgive you?"
"No. We're here because ... I don't know how to say this."
"What?" I ask. "Is it about Vasko?" I follow up when she hesitates. Her eyes light up. "Did you find out something?”
"Yes.” She nods. "He's embezzling the money."
"He is. How can you know for sure?"
"I saw the payments he was making. I overheard a conversation about a million dollars that was going to an account in the Cayman Islands."
The sweat runs over my forehead. I can't believe that I was right about him all along. I had a hunch. I suspected that something was off and that Cedar was up to no good, but I never thought that the evidence would be so easy to find.
"It wasn't easy to find," she says, as if reading my mind. "I was there to do a job, and if I hadn't been looking I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but I was."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because despite what happened ... No, because of it, I want you to know that you have always been a very important person in my life. I really appreciate what you did for my mom, and I wanted to help you."