When I reopen my eyes, I see Karissa standing there.
She's wearing a pair of jeans and a tight black tank top, tall black boots and a pink scarf. Her hair is pulled along the side, loosely braided down her shoulder, just a touch of makeup on her face. She looks a lot like the woman I first encountered, the one who charmed me.
She proves me wrong yet again.
"I tried to get the blood out but it sat too long and I didn't know what to use," she says, motioning toward the interior of the car. "I thought… well, I figured you had more experience at that than me."
There's not an ounce of sarcasm to that statement.
It's the truth, anyway.
"You shouldn't have."
She shrugs. "It's the least I could do."
No, really, she shouldn't have…
Sighing, I turn back to the car, ignoring the stains as I climb in behind the wheel. I wait until she's buckled in the passenger seat before starting the engine and pulling away.
Karissa's quiet as I run errands all over town, spending an ungodly amount of time trying to get a new copy of my driver's license at the DMV. She sits beside me the entire time, following me from place to place, her presence loud even if she's low on words.
"Just one more stop," I tell her eventually. "I need to have the car dealt with."
Her eyes trail over the fractured side window. "Are we going to Donizetti's Body Shop?"
My brow furrows. "Where?"
"Donizetti's," she says again before looking at me. "I think that's what it's called. I found the business card…"
She starts to reach into the center console, and my stomach drops, realizing what she's talking about. Shit. Before she can pull out the business card, I stop her, shutting the console once again as I shake my head. "I get all my work done at the dealership."
"Oh." She settles back into the seat. "I figured he did your work for you."
I say nothing to that.
I'm grateful she drops the subject.
It's late afternoon when we make it to the Mercedes dealership in Midtown East. The lobby is quiet, only a few people hanging around, talking to salesmen or waiting for their cars. A strange blue glow surrounds the desk as I stand in front of it, leaning against it, waiting as the receptionist finds room in the schedule to squeeze me in.
"It should just be a few minutes, Mr. Vitale," she says, bright red lips smiling widely, flashing her inexplicably white teeth at me. It's forced, and fake, the kind of smile that's bought and paid for. I hate when people smile needlessly, like their faces are puppets and corruption pulls the strings. "Just take a seat and someone will be right with you."
She takes my only spare key and waltzes away as I let out as a sigh and turn away from the front desk. Karissa is sitting in a blue chair across the lobby, right in front of the television, fidgeting distractedly.#p#分页标题#e#
I stroll that way, and she glances up at me, but I step past her to the counter along the side, to the small Dean & DeLuca set up, grabbing two shots of espresso before strolling back toward Karissa. She watches me warily as I hold one of them out to her.
"Here," I say. "We might be here a while."
They say minutes when it's always more like hours.
"Thank you," she says quietly, taking the little paper cup from me, offering a small smile of gratitude. Unlike the one that greeted me just minutes ago, this one is genuine.
I like this smile.
I miss it.
"You're welcome," I say, sitting down in the chair beside hers, stretching my long legs out as I take a sip of the espresso. It's thicker than usual, a slight bitter edge to it. I grimace, the taste lingering in my mouth, and glance at Karissa to see her do the same.
She scrunches up her nose. "This coffee is terrible."
"It's espresso."
She scoffs, taking another sip. "Same difference."
"Same difference? Really?" I shake my head. "You're a disgrace to Italians everywhere."
She laughs. "Good thing I'm not really Italian."
"Oh, but you are," I tell her. "Your father was an Italian citizen, so by default you would be, too."
She hesitates, taking another sip. "Is my mother an Italian citizen, too?"
"Uh, no, she's not," I say, leaning back in my chair as I regard her. "Her parents... your grandparents, as it is... were second or third generation."
Karissa's eyes widen. "My grandparents?"
"Yes," I say. "You have some of those, you know… most people do."
I can tell looking at her that she never thought about it, never considered the fact that she'd have more family.
"They're dead, though, right?" Her voice is quiet. "Growing up, my mom always told me her parents passed away."
"Yeah, they died in a car accident."