Chapter 5
“Hey, Angelo.”
Jo noticed that he’d parked his Tuscan-yellow restaurant van with dark blue lettering next to her car’s passenger door. Glancing over at her he dropped his keys. He leaned down to fetch them, then stood up under the van’s mirror. He whacked his head good and hard, then slid nervelessly out of sight.
She sprinted around her car to see if he was still alive.
He sat on the ground beside his dropped gym bag and keys, with his back against the van’s door. His head was between his knees and his hands were wrapped around the back of it. A string of Italian that sounded beautiful, but she’d wager was actually some serious invective, streamed out into the air. She’d studied French, which gave her some of the roots, but the sound of the traffic rolling along on Eastlake
