Twenty-Six Years Ago
“Give me my stuff, Angelo.”
He won’t meet her eye as she scrabbles through bags, snatching whatever looks useful and stuffing into a holdall. “Mitch, I’m sorry. He threatened me…”
She looks up; the briefest of eye contacts. “It doesn’t matter. You were scared. I get it. I’m scared. I’m going.”
“Where to, Mitch? Where will you go?”
But she doesn’t answer…
He’s already betrayed her once…
“Mitch, there you are!” She swivels to see Frank propped against the bar. He gives her that big, all-American smile of his. “I was beginning to think you and Larry had run off into the sunset together.” Turning to the barman, “Beer and a whiskey chaser, please, Angelo.” Then, “What can I get you, Mitch?”
Her eyes dart to his and then, flushing, she looks away again, shoving stuf
