Godless Country by Alaric Hunt

Author:Alaric Hunt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466875883
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tommy Johnson tapped into an app on his phone, quizzed her on preferences, and landed impossible reservations at Acappella while Vasquez was still considering how to fight through the theater district to reach Edison’s for lox. The efficiency needled Vasquez. Johnson loomed as he strolled around the office with his phone, managing details, another card in the same suit as listening to Guthrie, and rolling smoothly in the rut of her teenage life at home—squabbling with her brothers, reading notes from Mamì, and dodging storms of displeasure from Papì. Vasquez didn’t make many decisions, so once she noticed Johnson leading the way, she dug in her heels. That seemed as natural as breathing.

Traffic vanished as they drove down to TriBeCa. The rusty Challenger’s engine rumbled beneath Johnson’s questions while he pried ineffectually at Vasquez. Her smalltalk lurched out in broken pieces, punctuated by hissing curses in Spanish that he didn’t understand but drew out his smile. Vasquez was relieved and annoyed. She didn’t want him inside her head, beyond snapshot glimpses of his sharp profile and blond fade. At least her language was beyond his reach. He kept shuffling his questions, while he slid his hands smoothly on the steering wheel.

She didn’t want to talk about her family, the weather, or the holidays. She hadn’t been shopping. Along the drive she realized that over the summer she had abandoned all of that. She saw Isadora when Isadora came to see her, or Miguel when he poked his head into her room. Only a long handful of overnights from Skinny’s broke the blur of October, September, and November spent sitting on the side of her bed without bothering to turn on the television. Sometimes she didn’t even take off her boots before she curled on the bed. She thought about that as she threw broken answers at his questions and stared out into the cold pools of streetlight in the city.

Johnson parked on Chambers Street, and as they walked down to Hudson Street, Vasquez stumbled onto her anger like an underwater rock. As quick as a footfall, she felt like she was bleeding. “What about you?” she demanded.

Johnson missed a step, caught by surprise. Freezing slush crackled beneath their feet. “I want to keep doing this without going back to school,” he said. The words came out softly, pillowed on a burst of misty breath. “I don’t think that’s going to work.” His gaze dragged along the pavement.

Acappella threw a circle of light onto the sidewalk ahead of them from low, gold-lettered windows fringed with green curtains at the top. A hint of basil and tomato rode the biting air.

“So?”

“I like the job, but I can’t go up. I need that degree.”

“I can see that,” Vasquez said. She lunged forward to catch the door, opened it, and bit off a laugh as his hand fell back to his side. Slow violin and bel canto accompanied the invitation of tomato sauce.

The waiter led them to a round table at the window, offered a smile, and recited the names of the night’s specials.

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