Page 26 of Loss and Damages

I frown. We’re coming to a fork in the sidewalk. We’ll either cross the road and walk toward the shops and lakeside restaurants or keep going around the perimeter of the lake.

She tugs on my hand and leads me across the street. The sidewalk is busier than the path near the water, tourists from St. Charlotte milking the last of the weekend, unwilling to drive back into the city just yet and face Monday morning.

“And then what, what?”

“What are you going to do with the buildings?”

“Tear them down, probably. There’s not much worth keeping. Strip clubs, some shitty liquor stores. What’s the point?”

A rustic-looking restaurant that has outdoor patio seating sits on the corner of the street and overlooks the lake.

The tables are full of people eating burger baskets and drinking tall beers.

They look delicious, condensation dripping down the glasses.

The scent of French fries catches my nose in the breeze along with the flowers that are growing in huge planters near a low fence that separates the outdoor dining area from the sidewalk.

“Hey, Jemma. Got a new man with you tonight,” the hostess says, grabbing two menus and two sets of utensils wrapped in white paper napkins.

The restaurant is barely air conditioned, and sweat, yeast, and sunscreen sticks in the air.

I have a difficult time picturing Leo enjoying sitting in a crowded restaurant like this, elbow to elbow, eating greasy food and licking salt and ketchup off his fingers.

I place him more easily on Jemma’s porch drinking her wine and picking at a meat and cheese platter as they talk.

“They’re a dime a dozen, Syb,” Jemma says, grinning at me.

“Ain’t that the truth. You want your regular spot? Rusty just cleaned it off.”

“That would be great.”

The hostess named Syb, short for Sybil from what her nametag says, leads us up a creaky set of stairs, historic black and white pictures of Hollow Lake hanging on the walls.

She pushes a wooden door open and steps out onto the rooftop.

People are eating up here too, but the atmosphere isn’t as rowdy as downstairs.

It’s casual, twinkle lights strung on the railing and more potted flowers sitting on the floor.

I follow Jemma and Sybil to a small table tucked into the corner that has a pleasant view of the lake.

I hold a chair out for Jemma, and she sits, nodding a thank you to me.

Sybil sets our menus and utensils in front of us. She squeezes Jemma’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about Leo. He was such a great guy. You must be devastated.”

I want to say something in response to such a careless remark. Leo’s been in the ground only a handful of days, and if Jemma had truly cared for my brother, and I believe she did, then of course she’d still mourn.

“It’s been hard to deal with at times,” Jemma says, staring across the water. “This is Dominic Milano, Leo’s brother. We’re remembering Leo tonight.”

Sybil draws up short, and I smother a smile. Jemma can take care of herself.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Milano,” Sybil says. “Your server will be with you shortly. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“You put her in her place,” I say, shifting in my seat and looking over the water as Jemma does, a water skier in the distance losing his balance and crashing into the waves.

“She’s never meant any ill will, but I think she was a little jealous of our relationship. Leo was so, I don’t know, normal, that I always forgot he had money.”

“To us, that’s a rare gift.” Pushing aside a condiment tray, I hold her hand on the table. “He was lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” She clears her throat. “Leo liked more than the view. The burgers here are really good, and if you like a dark beer, they have some of the best. Their flatbread pizzas are good—Leo was partial to the mozzarella and mushroom—but if you try the Margherita, one of their red wines pairs really well with it.”

“What do you order?”

“French fries, definitely, and sometimes a hamburger. Their bacon cheeseburgers are amazing. I think Leo’s had everything at least twice.”

I scan the laminated menu. It’s extensive for a small restaurant like this, everything from salad to steak and loaded baked potatoes. If Leo has indeed had everything on the menu twice, he spent even more time with Jemma than I thought.

A waitress approaches us, eyeing me appreciatively.

Sybil told her who I am then. I don’t go so far as to think people recognize me off the street, though lately I have made the news more than I’d like.

I prefer to keep my business dealings to myself.

I don’t like people assuming things based on what they hear.

Every story has two sides, and I don’t consider myself evil because I want to purchase the 1100 block.

Perhaps the way I’m going about it now would give another person pause, but Wilkins and Pitts have brought that on themselves for giving me a hard time.

“What are you drinking tonight, Jemma? We got in a new rosé I think you’d like.”

“Sure, that’d be fine. Eight ounces, not the six. Dominic?”

“I’ll take a Guinness. A tall one.” If Jemma’s settling in, so will I.

“Did you take a pain pill today?” Jemma asks as the waitress walks away.

“Only one this morning after I came back from your place.”

She blushes, and I push back a hit of triumph. She’s so...stoic isn’t the right word, but I’m not sure what is. She hasn’t hinted at all how she felt about me kissing her this morning, and the fact that she feels anything other than fear relieves me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“I don’t see what good that would do. It’s not like we’re going to start a relationship, and I don’t sleep around.”

I never took Jemma Ferrell as the type who would go to bed with anyone just for the hell of it. She has too much class and dignity to do that.

“What if I wanted to date you?”

The waitress serves our drinks and scribbles our orders down on a little notepad: chicken strips and fries for her and a burger and fries for me.

Jemma sips her wine and says mildly, “You want to date me so you can fuck me? That seems like an awful lot of work when you can have any woman you want.”

An older gentleman sitting at a table near ours looks between us, his forehead crinkled in concern. I glare and he turns back to his meal.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then? This morning you told me I was too young for you. I understand that. Twelve years is a lot, and as far as I know, we don’t have anything in common besides missing your brother.”

“I don’t understand what Leo was doing. You weren’t sleeping together, weren’t in a relationship, yet he spent every second he could with you.

For at least a year, maybe longer, he kept you from finding someone because he asked you to invest all your time in your friendship.

I don’t want to do that to you. I like spending time with you, but if I give in, I want it to go somewhere so it’s worth it for you. ”

“Don’t I get a say?”

I want to tell her no, she doesn’t get a say.

I don’t want to hear she doesn’t enjoy my company and that after tonight there’s no reason for me to drive out to Hollow Lake.

That we’ve had a meal to remember Leo, and now she wants me to leave her alone to cut ties with the Milano family for good.

I don’t want to hear any of those things come out of her mouth.

I need her. I need her warmth and her strength.

It’s more than her connection to Leo now.

I need time to explore what’s happening and it couldn’t have come at a worse time than in the middle of the 1100 block negotiations.

“Yes, you get a say, but not if you’re going to tell me that after tonight you don’t want to see me anymore.”

The waitress chooses that moment to serve our meals, and feeling the heavy atmosphere at our table, she scurries away.

Jemma stares at her basket, the breading on her chicken strips still sizzling. She sips her wine, sighs, and meets my eyes. “I like spending time with you, too.”

“Why do I think you think that’s a problem? And don’t say it’s because we’re too different.”

“It’s not that, well, maybe it is a little, but don’t you see what you’re doing?

Buying the 1100 block? Buying Oakdale Square like it’s a box of pasta you’re throwing in your cart at the grocery store.

You only think about the buildings, not the people inside them.

The 1100 block is full of families who have lived there for years.

Most of those apartments have been passed down from parents and grandparents. Oakdale Square is full of trailer—”

“Trash,” I interrupt.

“Trailer homes . Those trailers are people’s homes, Dominic, they aren’t all meth labs.

The strip joints, the liquor stores, the fast food places.

They make a living for the people who own them, and once you buy the buildings and they’re forced out, then what?

What are they supposed to do? You’re ripping away their livelihood. ”

“I’m cleaning up the neighborhood, Jemma. I’m surprised you can’t see that.” I jab my fork into a French fry.

“I think what you’re doing would be wonderful if you went about it in a different way.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“I don’t want to say I wouldn’t date you because of the way you do business, but I can say we have very different values that would cause problems in the long run, so why not accept it for what it is?”

“I’m not going to change for you.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Her voice is soft, and her hands tremble as she unwraps the napkin around her fork and knife. “Leo did.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Angrily, I push my basket away.

This is not how I expected my evening with Jemma to go.

None of the women I have ever dated cared one fuck about the way I did business.

They didn’t care about anything except how long I could screw and how much money I spent on them.