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  “Jeff, Annie—I’m gonna tell it to you straight. If you can call getting lucky to be busted for heroin anywhere, it’s good it was here in town,” Tomassi said to her stunned parents. “This is a huge fucking problem everywhere. Don’t think it’s only your kid. Plus, she didn’t overdose, so get down on your knees, thank God and then do it a hundred more times.”

  Rachel had been clean for six months, but the shock of her heroin use and how well she concealed it pulled the rug out from under Jeff and Annie. They fretted constantly about a relapse.

  “Normal,” Jeff snorted. “There’s nothing normal about your uncle.”

  “Awesome, Rach,” Peter said, waving off Jeff’s comment. “When are you done with the program?”

  Jeff shot him a look. “Which one?”

  “Oh, come on. Look, your dad and I are looking for a baking partner in the food truck, but now he wants it gluten-free. Right up your alley, kiddo. Any thoughts?”

  “Again,” Jeff said, “read my lips. Who are you talking to—me or her?”

  Rachel put a hand on her father’s shoulder. “How about both of us, Dad. Stop being so grouchy. It would be perfect for me. I’m gluten-free and I can really focus on specialty baking. But it’ll only work if you fund my share. I’ll pay you back once we make some money—and we will, like crazy.”

  Jeff sighed. “Rach, it could put too much pressure on you. Start-ups are risky and, being honest here, I don’t know if you could handle having to bake on a deadline. Maybe just hire a more experienced baker and be an assistant.”

  “Way to believe in me, Dad. Thanks a lot for your vote of confidence.” Rachel turned her back on him and walked behind Peter’s chair, gripping the back tightly, almost using Peter as a shield. “I’m ready for this. I need this,” she said, her voice tightening.

  Peter tried to get Jeff to lighten up. “Hey, moron. We want your wallet not your opinion. What the hell do you know about start-ups or baking?”

  Rachel stomped her foot. “You don’t have faith in me. What kind of father expects his daughter to fail? Well, it’s not gonna happen.” She appealed to Peter to back her up as Annie came in from the garage holding two bags of groceries. “Mom, Dad won’t help me.” Rachel’s eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip quivered.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Annie asked. She kissed Peter on the cheek and looked back and forth between her husband and daughter. “Tell me why you’re spoiling Pete’s first real morning of freedom. And why my daughter is crying.” Her eyes harpooned Jeff’s, and he squirmed, his face already flushed with emotion.

  Annie had kept the same blonde shag hairdo for years. Although she had put on weight, just like Jeff, she looked ready to shed her cardigan, kick off her clogs and whip his ass if he said one more word to upset Rachel.

  “Easy now, everyone.” Peter held up his hands. “I didn’t come here to rock the boat. I just want to make this a Russo family enterprise. And, truth be told, I’d love for Rachel to be an equal partner in this project. You,” he said to Jeff, “might think of being one who takes a vow of silence.”

  Rachel barked a laugh. “Exactly.”

  “Of course we’ll do it as three equal partners,” Annie said. “This could work out for everyone. We need a baker, a truck and product. Rachel is a baker. Jeff can barter for the truck, and Pete can be chief driver. This’ll be great.”

  “Annie,” Jeff began. “Not—”

  She stopped him cold. “I don’t want to hear it. Let’s sketch out a rough plan.” Annie never met a problem she couldn’t pound into submission; she could have run the country from the back of a napkin. With a velvet fist, she resolved dilemmas that King Solomon would have abandoned as hopeless. The only one she couldn’t decipher was the one that caused her the most pain, Rachel’s drug use.

  Rachel poured her mother a cup of coffee and sat down by her side. Rachel’s purple pixie cut and multiple ear-piercings contrasted with Annie’s head-to-toe LL Bean. Jeff regarded them anxiously and rolled his eyes at Peter who smiled and looked away, reaching down to stroke Brutus as he snored.

  CHAPTER 22

  JOHN TOMASSI TEXTED PETER TO COME OVER FOR A beer the next day. Peter showed up at the Tomassi’s small but well-maintained colonial-style home to find Donna, sweating and surrounded by a cloud of bugs, kneeling on a rolled-up towel and weeding her vegetable garden.

  “Hey, Donna. Want some help?”

  “Peter, hi.” She waved her dirt-covered hand at him. “Oh my God. The rabbits are eating all my lettuce. I’m so annoyed. And you, Johnny wanted to wring your neck. You’re in for a big lecture; you deserve it, too.”

  “Yeah, he isn’t my biggest fan right now. Listen, I can put up some rabbit-proof fencing and raise the railroad ties higher. It’s not like John’s gonna do it. Scoot over,” he said, bending down next to her and pulling up several handfuls of nasty weeds.

  “Please? Johnny goes deaf when I ask him. I know it’s his hip and because he hates to eat salad.”

  “Very true. He likes to call ketchup a vegetable. How are the kids?” Peter got a real kick out of the two Tomassi offspring because they read their gruff dad like a children’s book and could bend him to their will. “My god-daughter better be staying out of trouble.”

  “Knock on wood, no problems. Cath is coming back for the fundraiser for Becky Fiori’s scholarship. She got a promotion. I’m sure she’ll say hi. I think Mike will be here Saturday, but he’ll be hanging out with Josh Richardson. They were always thick as thieves, but Mike says Josh could be moving to California. I hope not.”

  “You done good. Cath and Mike are great.”

  “Hey, Donna,” Tomassi yelled, coming outside. “Dirtbag bothering you?” Without waiting for an answer, he handed Peter a cold beer and guided him by the scruff of his neck to the rear deck. “Sit.”

  “Is this the big lecture? I already know what you’re gonna say.”

  “Tough titties.” Tomassi drained his beer and leaned against the railing. “You got really lucky. No more childish bullshit, you hear me? You gotta avoid any trouble, and I mean any. Someone’s got road rage because they don’t like how you drive? Ignore ‘em, even if they’re flipping you off with both hands. Someone bumps into you and wants to mix it up? Walk away. You got me? Any violation of the agreement lands you in massive shit.”

  “Loud and clear. And thanks again for looking out for me.”

  “What? I couldn’t and didn’t do anything special even though I knew the assault charge was bullshit.”

  “Exactly my point, Sergeant. I could be in jail until doomsday for all the help you gave me.”

  “Yeah, right. Lori and Vic were on it from the beginning. Even that whack job PI did solid work. But without Carmen? Good thing she still gives a shit. Oops—I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

  “Carmen? You gotta tell me. What do you mean she gives a shit? Oh, wait. No. She didn’t, no way.”

  “Yeah, no—she bankrolled your defense team. You never heard this from me. Swear? She’ll have my balls.”

  “John, no worries. Donna’s already got ‘em framed and mounted on the wall. And you better not be yanking my chain about Carmen.”

  “What chain, douchebag.”

  Peter called Lori as he peeled out of Tomassi’s driveway. Getting no answer, he drove over to Vic’s office and barged in after hurriedly parking his truck across two spaces. He wanted to find out if Tomassi had it right. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Carmen. She jumped up like she had been stung by a swarm of bees, recovered and then regarded him coolly as she resumed her perch on the rollback arm of Vic’s burnished Corinthian leather couch. Vic turned around from his well-stocked cocktail bar, clutching an ice cube in gleaming silver tongs, and chuckled.

  “Look at what the cat dragged in.”

  “Carmen, Vic. If I’d known this was a party, I’d have brought my world-famous onion dip and put on my fancy clothes.” Peter’s jeans and hands were smeared with dirt from Donna’s
garden.

  “Tell you what, I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.” Vic grabbed a handful of nuts and left the room.

  “I need to talk to you,” Peter said to his back before he closed the door.

  “Call me next time. I don’t do drop-ins. Better yet, lose my number—call Lori.”

  Carmen and Peter stared at each other. Neither one blinked until Peter walked over to her and offered his hand.

  “What’s this for?” Carmen asked. “Do you want me to wash it?”

  “Ha. It’s just a hand, my hand. A little dirt won’t kill you.”

  “Yeah, I’m aware. I grow apples.”

  “Look, I just want to thank you for everything, Carm. A little birdie told me.” Peter kept his hand outstretched. “Shaking my hand won’t get you pregnant, despite what the nuns said.”

  “I never believed them. But I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Peter gently took her hand. “‘Right. Is that the story we’re going with? Well then, thank you for doing nothing. I’m grateful from the bottom of my heart.”

  “You’re welcome.” Carmen reclaimed her hand and took a step back.

  “I’m still hoping we can talk. I mean, it’s been way too long.”

  “Yeah, well, no. There’s really nothing left to say. How about we just take a raincheck.”

  “Come on. We’re not getting any younger. I could drop dead tomorrow.”

  “Look, Pete—no. And you’re not going to kick off any time soon. I’m not going there. No offense.”

  “Some taken. You look fantastic, by the way.” His eyes scoped down her body and, immediately, he flashed back to how much he loved to hold her hips when they made it doggy-style. She smoothed her hair, and the movement drew his gaze to her breasts.

  “Thank you. Eyes here,” she said pointing to her face. “Look, we might as well try to act like somewhat normal people. Maybe set up some boundaries so things aren’t so awkward.”

  “Awkward doesn’t even begin to define whatever this is,” he said, gesturing at the two of them. “Let me guess—you get to define the boundaries. Are we going to sign an official peace treaty, too?”

  “Here’s how it’s going to be. We keep it light. A ‘hello,’ a ‘wow can you believe this humidity.’ Easy. Nothing deep or heavy. And I want to make this beyond clear—no going out together and definitely no sex.” She crossed her arms across her chest and waited for his reaction.

  “Geez, you’ve thought about this. You miss me.” He reached over to give her a hug.

  “No touching!”

  Peter held his hands up. “Come on, you know I’m a hugger. These are some strict rules. So no make big whoopee soon?”

  “Cut it out.” But she couldn’t suppress a low chuckle.

  “Carm, I always meant to tell you this—you’ve got a filthy laugh, dirty as hell.”

  “Boundaries, Pete.”

  “OK, boundaries. If I see you, I can wave. If we happen to be going to the movies at the same time, at the same movie theater, I should sit a few rows away. And if you’ve stopped breathing and need mouth-to-mouth and I’m the only living soul around, I should call 911 and wait for the ambulance. Is that it?”

  “Exactly right. You’re getting much less feebleminded. A miracle.”

  “Aw shucks, it was nothing.”

  They stood face to face, neither of them saying anything. Peter knew he had to make an exit before he prostrated himself at her feet and either clung to her ankles like a toddler or tried to pleasure her right then and there.

  “Hallelujah—it’s a new day.” He blew her a kiss and walked towards the door.

  “Wait. I thought you came here to see Vic.”

  “And spoil this moment? Not a chance. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  Carmen opened the door for him. “Good thinking. Vic doesn’t do drop-ins.”

  PART 2

  PRESENT TIME

  CHAPTER 23

  PETER HIKED UP A ROCKY TRAIL ALONG THE horseshoe-shaped perimeter of the old dam when suddenly Brutus started pawing frantically in the wood.

  “Easy, boy,” Peter said to Brutus, who in no time, had excavated a crater.

  Peter used his walking stick to investigate and poked some daylight into the mass of dirt, sticks and leaves.

  “What the hell?”

  He stared in disbelief at what looked like a festering bundle of black leather tied up tight with rope like a bulky parcel.

  “Jesus.” Peter crouched close enough to eyeball his discovery, still poking with his stick. “Ugh, it stinks like something dead.” Peter covered his nose and mouth with his bandana and squatted down even closer.

  Peter unearthed the jacket, but he couldn’t pull it out of the hole. He got down on his knees and leaned into the hole until he tugged it free. Brutus drooled puddles onto the putrid leather jacket.

  Breathing heavily, Peter took out his pocket knife and cut the rope attached to the cinder block. He held the package gingerly by the remaining rope that still encircled it like a present. “Now, let’s get out of here, B. You never know who’s watching.”

  They walked to the trailhead where Peter parked his pickup.

  Peter rummaged on the truck’s floor for some old newspapers and spread them out on the Jeep’s hood. He cut the remaining rope after putting on his ancient work gloves and untied the black bomber jacket’s sleeves to get at what lay inside

  “What the—?” Peter tossed the jacket to the ground and held up a carefully taped plastic garbage bag wrapped around something rectangular and hard. Peter ripped open the garbage bag and extracted a 9 x 12 cardboard mailing envelope bulging with papers and a small zippered pouch.

  “Brutus, we’re not far from Nancy’s. Let’s drop by and try the flash drive on her laptop. She’s nosy.”

  Peter picked up the jacket with a stick and threw it in the open back of the pickup.

  “Let’s go.”

  They drove away from the dilapidated dam, known as Devil’s Falls, once vital to Bridgeville’s textile industry. It had turned into a costly and practically useless eyesore that the state pressured Bridgeville to repair after almost a century of damage to the rivers it fed. Some of them had trickled to a halt, bled dry by overuse, others were hopelessly befouled by pollutants. A few had been repurposed, like the heavily used dry riverbed racing track, fought over by dirt bikers and BMXers.

  Town Council after Town Council town balked repeatedly at the state’s demands; suits and counter-suits created stalemate. Even the most litigious environmental organizations were thwarted by bureaucratic inertia. They didn’t give up, but they did move on to more newsworthy disasters like the Colorado River practically running dry, and the Wikileaks revelation of underground nuclear bombing in New Mexico to access natural gas during the 1960’s by the Department of Energy.

  Bridgeville didn’t have gas; it had land and water. And soon it had a big natural gas pipeline running through it. The easy money of the 1980’s fueled a feeding frenzy that almost transformed the town from rural farm country to suburban hotspot. It became a coveted place to raise a family or do business. But the metamorphosis created a whole new array of problems. Bridgeville’s amazingly fertile farmland and open space disappeared by over one-half.

  CHAPTER 24

  NANCY WAVED PETER AND BRUTUS INTO THE KITCHEN, a steaming mug of black coffee by her pile of papers on the table.

  “Give Brutus some water on the porch.” Nancy pointed to an empty bowl she had set aside after getting Peter’s call.

  “Nance, damn that coffee smells good.” Peter took a cup out of a cabinet, very familiar with the layout of Nancy’s kitchen.

  “There’s a couple of packages of cream and sugar from Dunkin Donuts over there. Long time no see. How come? Don’t tell me it’s your busy love life.”

  “Busy alright, just not with love. The food truck takes up like half my day, plus Rachel is maxed out—baking like mad. I g
otta help.”

  Rachel also ran the commissary like a four-star general. She’d inherited her mother’s need for order—alphabetized, labelled, color-coded, and entered on Excel spreadsheets kind of order.

  Once Rachel won over Peter and Annie to start the food truck, Annie staggered Jeff with just how obsessed she was with helping Rachel. Their guilt about Rachel’s addiction had created a painful dialogue that never seemed to get anywhere until they settled on the food truck.

  “I know everyone screws up their kids somehow, but we gave Rachel and Sean the best, most loving childhoods. But somewhere we must’ve done something wrong with Rachel. I still can’t get over it—heroin?” Annie choked on a sob and shook off Jeff’s attempt at a hug. They stood with Peter on the farmhouse’s front porch, the breeze from the ceiling fan barely cooling the humid air.

  “Annie, it’s nothing you did or didn’t do. You’re awesome parents. It’s the times.” Peter stepped in as Jeff bit his lips hard and teared up.

  “Bullshit.” Annie inhaled shakily. “I mean, I started working full-time at Park and Rec way back when the kids were little so we’d get great benefits and I’d be home when they came home from school. I volunteered for everything. But look what happened.”

  “That fucking dentist giving her oxy.” Jeff balled his hands into fists, ready for a fight.

  “Exactly. It wasn’t you. Tomassi says it’s like an outof-control freight train, getting faster and faster. First the pain pills get prescribed, then they hijack people’s lives. Prescriptions dry up but the addiction’s got control. That’s what happened with Rach. She had to get it from the street.” Peter stopped talking as he heard Brutus barking ferociously. Craning his neck, he saw the Fed-Ex driver drop off a package and toss Brutus a biscuit before taking off.

  Jeff kicked a plastic deck chair over onto its side with a resounding thud. “My sweet baby got stuck between a rock and a hard place. All alone, at least in her head. Why didn’t she tell us?” He wiped his blood-shot eyes roughly on his sleeve. “And don’t get me going on her so-called friends who got her on the shit.”