Page 111 of Chicago Sin

“Yes, I will be there,” I promise my mom as I put together a red, white and blue horse wreath. Mary Alice had this gig every Fourth of July making wreaths for the horses in the parade downtown. What sucks is she took their fifty percent deposit before she left, so by the time I pay for the cost of the flowers, I won’t make a red cent off this deal. But hopefully, they’ll book again next year.

“We missed you last week,” my mom complains. She’s miffed I didn’t come over last Sunday night for dinner. I hate obligating myself to go this Sunday—I’d rather hang with Armando, and I doubt he’d go anywhere near my parents’ place, but there’s no putting my mom off.

“Your dad had some medical tests done. He has high cholesterol and blood pressure,” she tells me. “They’re doing stress tests on his heart.”

“Anything I should worry about?”

“Well, he was getting short of breath. But I got him in to see a good specialist.” My mom is a nurse at a pediatrician’s office, so she knows all the best doctors in Chicago.

“Could just be because he’s fifty-five and out of shape,” I offer drily.

“He’s not that out of shape. Your dad is still solid muscle.”

“Solid muscle with a beer gut,” I observe, but my mom is right. My dad works hard, and his body is in better shape than most guys his age.

“So what’s new for you?” my mom prompts.

I nibble my lip, debating whether I should tell her about Armando. I hate keeping stuff from her, but what am I going to say? This mobster is hiding out at my apartment, and he can’t leave because my life might also be in danger?

“Mary Alice is giving me a break on payments for a couple months, so I can get business boosted.”

Thanks to Armando getting me to renegotiate.

“Are you having trouble?” My mom’s voice gets tight and concerned. My parents were worried about me taking on the business. They helped me put together a down payment and wanted to help more, but my little sister, Kiana, is at SIU, and tuition is killing them.

“No, I think I’m going to be okay.” I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but it sure feels more true than it did a week ago. But then, everything seems easier with Armando around.

Screw it, I had to tell her. “I’m sort of dating this guy.”

“You are? Bring him on Sunday!” my mom exclaims.

“Um, no, Mom. It’s way too soon for that. And he’s kind of anti-social at the moment.”

“What do you mean, anti-social?” she asks suspiciously.

I exhale, weaving another flower through the mesh. “I don’t know. He’s got some PTSD going on. He says he doesn’t feel anything.”

“Is he military?” my mom asks.

“Not exactly. But it’s kind of like that. I don’t want to tell his story without his permission.”

“Well,” my mom says slowly. “Sounds like his brain chemistry is off. You should get him to get his neurotransmitter levels checked.”

It’s so obvious I wonder why I didn’t put a scientific explanation to Armando’s malaise. Of course it’s a brain chemistry thing. Depression probably set in in prison, and the change in neurotransmitter levels wouldn’t just instantly shift back because he’s out. It makes perfect sense. I’m not sure he’s the kind of guy I could convince to get tested or help, though.

Still, it made me feel better. It seems like Armando thinks he has some kind of fatal flaw. Soullessness. Like he’s dead inside and nothing will bring him back. Maybe knowing it’s just neurochemical would help him.

“Thanks, Mom, I will talk to him about it. That’s a good idea.”

“Well, if he wants to come Sunday, he’s welcome. And we won’t make a big deal about it.”

“No chance, Mom. I’ll see you then.”

“All right, sweetheart. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I end the call as Josie breezes in late again. My stomach cinches up the way it always does when she’s around these days. My beautiful best friend who’s killing me as an employee. I think about Armando. What he would say. How he urged me to text Mary Alice as soon as I’d arrived at the decision. My mouth goes dry just thinking about what has to be done here.