The Arrangement Anthology 2(115)
I turn the paper over, hoping for more on the back, but there’s nothing. Quickly, I grab the rest of the jars and cans from the space and shove it shut. Sitting on the living room floor, I empty each can, one by one. There are no more letters to explain, only jars full of money and a set of fake IDs, one with my mother’s picture. She looks like me. This must have been taken years before they died, maybe even before I was born. I blink at it, not knowing what to think.
“Mom, what is this?” I shuffle through more papers, and when I open the last envelope I gasp. It’s stuffed with one hundred dollar bills. I pull a few out and look at them. They’re the old style, but they’re real. There must be a few thousand dollars here, easy.
Why didn’t she tell me about this? Did she ever try? I think about catching her on the step stool, and she always had a rag in her hand, balanced over that spot, but the contents look as if they’ve sat untouched for ages.
I don’t know what to think. My first reaction is to talk to Sean—he’d know what to do—what this stuff means. I feel overwhelmed. My mother hid this, and from the looks of it, Daddy didn’t know. This letter is addressed to him.
I have to spend some of the money. I can’t walk around like this covered in a ripped costume stained with blood. I still have Trystan’s jacket, but it won’t distract people from blood, even in Babylon. I need to blend. Stuffing one of the bills into my pocket, I decide to walk down the street to the little line of shops. I have to buy some clothes and I need to try to see Sean. I need to tell him I’ve been an ass, but I’m done now. The manhunt for Marty probably ended already. For once, we’re safe.
Chapter 6
I know how to be frugal when needed, mom taught me well. A couple of hours later, I’m walking purposefully through the hospital lobby and wondering how far I’ll get before someone interferes. There’s not a Ferro in sight and Trystan is gone.
I walk into the elevator like I know what I’m doing. Sean must have been admitted last night. I just hope he’s still here. I get off at the fourth floor and attempt to walk past the desk when a nurse stops me.
“Excuse me, dear, do you have permission to be here?” The nurse is middle aged with bags under her eyes from a lifetime of working the nightshift.
I walk over to her, ready to cry. The lump in my throat tightens. “I think so. Sean Ferro is on this floor, right?” When she only stares at me with those dark brown eyes, I stammer on, making it up as I go. “Peter called and told me what happened. He said I could come down now. Do I have the right time? Unless, oh God, has something gone wrong?” I start shaking and cover my mouth to muffle a sob.
The nurse comes around the counter. She drapes an arm over my shoulder. “No, honey, I didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s stable, but he’s not on this floor anymore. They moved him to the east wing on five. Would you like me to take you to him? His mother may still be there. She was here earlier.”
“Constance was here?” The nurse nods and starts walking me toward the elevator. “Martha, I’ll be right back,” she calls to another nurse.
When the elevator doors slip shut behind us she says, “It’s terrible that no one knew the truth all these years. What that man must have lived through.” She shakes her head. “It’s clear that you’re a friend of the family, because no one calls Pete Ferro, Peter.”
“I am. Actually, Sean and I were engaged.” I tell her the truth because it’s pressing on me so hard that I might burst. “I broke it off with him and then this happened.”
The nurse’s jaw drops. For a second, she does nothing. Then, suddenly, I’m in a bear hug and smashed against her soft body. “Oh, honey! The guilt you must feel. I can’t even imagine it.” She prattles on about how it’s not my fault and that there’s a chance for every couple, something about stars, and I zone out because it’s all a lie. Everything she assumes is wrong.
I’m silent, wiping tears that roll down my cheeks until we stop in front of his door. The name plaque says S Ferr. She smirks at me. “We took off the last letter so people would leave him alone.” When I don’t reach for the handle, she prompts me. “Go on honey.”
I lift my hand, but it trembles. My fingers rest on the lever, but don’t push down. I can’t. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“What if, is a horrible question. Besides, the only way to find out the real answer is to walk into that room. If you want, I’ll wait right here, but I don’t think he’ll protest—not with the amount of medicine he’s had. That bullet skimmed his rib and dislodged a chunk of bone. They spent the better part of the morning in surgery removing the shard so it didn’t puncture his lung. He’s a lucky man—in regard to that, anyway. Go on in and I’ll wait here in case he throws you out.”