Chapter 7 - Someone Is Always Looking for You
Six months later, the Harbor Room closed for a private party.
Not for politicians.
Not for businessmen.
Not for anyone Vincent wanted to impress.
For Dad.
It was his fifty-sixth birthday.
The same dining room where I had first noticed Vincent’s tattoo now looked completely different.
Flowers filled the tables.
Mom chose the music.
Marco brought a cake too large for thirty people.
Dad complained about everything.
“This is unnecessary.”
Vincent adjusted his jacket.
“You faked your death for twenty-two years. You don’t get quiet birthdays.”
Dad pointed at him.
“That logic makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
I walked over carrying a small envelope.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
“What’s that?”
“Your birthday card.”
He immediately became suspicious.
I smiled.
“Open it.”
Dad pulled out the card.
On the front, I had drawn the lighthouse.
Badly.
Vincent looked over his shoulder.
“That lighthouse is crooked.”
“I’m a waitress, not an artist.”
Dad opened the card.
Inside were the words:
No matter how dark the water gets, someone is always looking for you.
Dad became quiet.
Mom touched his shoulder.
Vincent looked away.
I smiled.
“Too emotional?”
Dad shook his head.
“Perfect.”
Vincent lifted his glass.
Everyone looked toward him.
“I’m bad at speeches.”
Marco coughed.
“Very.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Twenty-two years ago, I lost a brother.”
Dad lowered his eyes.
Vincent continued.
“Six months ago, a waitress interrupted my dinner because she noticed an old tattoo.”
I smiled.
Vincent looked at me.
“She gave him back.”
The room went silent.
Vincent raised his glass.
“To Daniel.”
Everyone followed.
Dad looked at him.
“And to Nora.”
Vincent nodded.
“To Nora.”
Glasses touched.
Mom whispered.
“To second chances.”
Dad kissed her cheek.
Later, after everyone left, the four of us stood beside the harbor.
Dad leaned on his cane.
Mom held his arm.
Vincent stood beside me.
The lighthouse across the water flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Vincent looked at his tattoo.
“You know something?”
“What?”
“If you hadn’t said anything that night, I might never have known.”
I smiled.
“I almost didn’t.”
“Why did you?”
I looked toward Dad and Mom.
“Because the lighthouse looked familiar.”
Vincent nodded.
Then he said quietly, “Sometimes familiar things are trying to bring you home.”
Dad heard him.
“That was surprisingly poetic.”
Vincent rolled his eyes.
“Don’t ruin it.”
Mom laughed.
I looked at the three of them.
A year earlier, Vincent Caruso had been a name people whispered.
Dad had been a man hiding from his past.
Mom had carried secrets she thought would protect us.
And I had just been a waitress trying to finish my shift.
Now Arthur Vale was facing federal charges.
Dad no longer looked over his shoulder.
Mom no longer worried about old enemies finding us.
Vincent no longer carried a photograph of a dead friend.
He carried new pictures instead.
Most of them terrible.
Most of them taken by me.
And the lighthouse?
Dad still drew it on every birthday card.
Only now he added four small figures beneath it.
Mom.
Dad.
Vincent.
And me.
Because the promise had changed.
It no longer meant:
If one of us disappears, the other will find him.
May you like
Now it meant something better.
Nobody disappears again.
