Part 57 (1/2)

”Let's round up Vicky and get down to Amalia's before she starves.”

Gia broke away and wiped her eyes.

”This isn't like me.”

”Well, you've never been in this kind of situation before.”

”Neither have you.”

Not quite true. Jack had been in situations where he hadn't known whether he'd live or die. But those had been different. In those his survival depended on his actions: Make the right move, survive; make the wrong move, gone.

But this... he had no moves, no choices, no decision, no wiggle room. An iron straitjacket.

”Yeah, well... I'm a tough guy, remember?”

Not so tough that he didn't dread dinner with Vicky tonight. Because in the next hour or two he'd have to tell her he was going away.

13.

-11:23.

Jack was glad he didn't have to describe his feelings as he watched Vicky work on her mussels in garlic and wine sauce. He had no words for them. And he'd never be able to get them past his locked throat anyway.

Amalia's... an unpretentious, eons-old, storefront restaurant in Little Italy with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths over long tables for eating family style. Mama Amalia, older than the restaurant, loved Vicky and had greeted her with the usual fanfare-two-cheek air kisses and loud proclamations of what a beautiful child she was. Gia and Jack were an afterthought as she placed them all at a table near the window. No mystery why this was Vicky's favorite.

And here she was, attacking her favorite dish.

As Jack watched her work through the huge platter, pausing only for a sip of Limonata while she arranged the empty sh.e.l.ls into an interlocking daisy chain, he couldn't help thinking of the old Squeeze song.

He sipped a gla.s.s of Valpolicella and poked at a bowl of sauteed broccoli rabe and sausage. Gia had ordered a tricolore salad and a Limonata but had touched neither.

A night out at Amalia's had always been a festive occasion for the three of them, with mmmms mmmms and and aaaahs aaaahs about the delights of this or that. But for Gia and him tonight, it might have been a funeral. about the delights of this or that. But for Gia and him tonight, it might have been a funeral.

Funeral... got to be a better word than that.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Gia, saw her watching him. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Her voice was barely audible as she c.o.c.ked her head toward Vicky. ”Want me to-?”

He shook his head. ”I need to.”

He took a deep breath.

”Hey, Vicks? I need to talk to you about something.”

She didn't look up from working on a mussel that hadn't completely opened.

”Uh-huh?”

”I have to go away for a while.”

Now she looked up. ”Where?”

”Far away.”

”Yeah, but where?”

”It's a place called Shangri-La.”

It was the best he could come up with. He knew she'd never seen Lost Horizon Lost Horizon, and if and when she did she'd think it was a real place.

”Is that like Tralla-La?”

That threw Jack. ”Tralla-?”

”You know-in that Uncle Scrooge comic book.”

Didn't she forget anything? He'd given her that over a year ago.

”Something like that.”

”Where's this Shalla-La at?”

Jack had to smile. Sounded like a Van Morrison song.

”Shangri-La. It's on the other side of the world. Near China.”

”Wow. How come you're going there?”

”I have to visit some people.”

She went to work on another mussel.

”When are you leaving?”

Now the hard part: ”Tomorrow morning.”

Her face tilted up, frowning. ”But that's... tomorrow's Christmas Eve. Are you going to miss Christmas?”

He nodded. ”I'm afraid so.”