Chapter 8 - Nine Hundred TuesdaysPrison did not transform Leo Rossi.
That disappointed people who wanted redemption to look dramatic.
He did not emerge from his first month enlightened.
He was angry.
Then depressed.
Then angry about being depressed.
His letters to Nora were terrible.
The first contained six sentences.
The second contained four.
The third said only:
The coffee here should constitute an additional criminal charge.
Nora laughed for five minutes.
She wrote back:
Your standards remain your worst quality.
Their relationship changed through letters.
Without physical presence, Leo could no longer hide behind silence.
He wrote about Matteo.
Arthur.
His mother, who had left when he was nine because she could not survive the Rossi family.
He wrote about the first man he had ordered beaten.
He had been twenty-three.
The man had stolen money.
Leo had felt nothing at the time.
That frightened him now.
Nora wrote about the café.
Gary finally stopped overcharging her.
The boiler worked.
She hated the new boiler because it was too quiet.
Carlo visited every Thursday.
He still pretended to read newspapers.
Sometimes Nora visited Leo.
The first visit was terrible.
Glass between them.
Telephone receivers.
Rules.
Leo looked thinner.
Nora hated everything.
“You should stop coming,” he said.
“No.”
“This place—”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“Remember when you tried ordering me around?”
“Yes.”
“How did that work?”
“Poorly.”
“Learn.”
The months passed.
The Daily Grind became profitable.
Actually profitable.
Nora almost resented it.
A food blogger discovered the café.
Then another.
People liked the strange old stool at the counter.
They did not know why it remained broken.
Nora never explained.
She hired two employees.
Then a baker.
She expanded the menu.
She lived.
That was important.
She did not make Leo’s sentence her own.
She went to dinner with friends.
She took Sundays off.
She visited her sister in Vermont.
She laughed without guilt.
When she told Leo, he smiled.
“Good.”
“You’re not jealous?”
“Of Vermont?”
“Of life continuing.”
Leo thought about it.
“A little.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being honest.”
He nodded.
“I’m learning.”
After nineteen months, Leo became eligible for early release because of cooperation and good conduct.
Nora received the call on a Wednesday.
She was making scones.
Leo said:
“Tomorrow.”
She dropped the phone.
The next morning, she opened at six.
She did not make coffee.
Not yet.
At 7:14, she stood behind the counter.
The door opened at 7:15.
Leo entered.
He had aged.
Not badly.
Honestly.
His hair was shorter.
His shoulders leaner.
His eyes different.
He carried a small bag.
Nothing else.
He walked to the stool.
Sat.
It wobbled.
Leo laughed.
Nora cried.
Neither tried to hide it.
He reached into his wallet.
Three old dollar bills.
The same ones.
He placed them on the counter.
“I believe these are yours.”
Nora picked them up.
Then made black coffee.
She set it before him.
Leo wrapped both hands around the cup.
“Is it good?”
He drank.
Closed his eyes.
“Nora.”
“What?”
“I may propose to this coffee.”
“Then sleep somewhere else tonight.”
He looked at her.
“Tonight?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You assumed prison automatically restored your lease?”
“I never had a lease.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“What happens now?”
Nora leaned against the counter.
“You find a job.”
“I have money.”
“Not much.”
“I have enough.”
“You find a job.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t care.”
“I have unusual résumé experience.”
“Management.”
“Organized crime.”
“Leave that off LinkedIn.”
He smiled.
“What else?”
“You get therapy.”
Leo’s smile disappeared.
“Nora.”
“Non-negotiable.”
“I’ve spent nineteen months talking to counselors.”
“And?”
“They were irritating.”
“Excellent. You’re prepared.”
He sighed.
“What else?”
“We date.”
“We’ve been dating for years.”
“No.”
Nora shook her head.
“We’ve been surviving for years.”
That landed.
“I want to know who you are when nobody is shooting at you.”
Leo looked around.
“And if you don’t like him?”
“Then at least we’ll know.”
He nodded.
No promises.
No dramatic declarations.
Just agreement.
They began again.
Leo rented an apartment.
A small one.
He hated the kitchen.
Nora loved that he hated it.
He found work consulting for a logistics company that knew exactly who he was and hired him because his understanding of supply chains was apparently transferable when the products were legal.
He went to therapy.
He complained afterward.
Nora considered that evidence it was working.
They went on dates.
Actual dates.
Museums.
Cheap restaurants.
A disastrous bowling night where Leo discovered Nora was violently competitive.
They argued.
Sometimes badly.
Once Nora told him he was controlling.
Leo left.
Then returned twenty minutes later.
“You’re right.”
She nearly checked him for fever.
He learned.
So did she.
Nora learned that independence could become armor.
That refusing help was not always strength.
That sometimes letting someone carry groceries did not create a debt.
One year after Leo’s release, Arthur’s birthday arrived.
Nora closed early.
She and Leo visited the cemetery.
Leo placed three dollars on Arthur’s grave.
Nora looked at him.
“What’s that?”
“He started all this.”
“With oranges.”
“He’d argue it was strategy.”
“He’d be lying.”
They stood quietly.
Then Leo took Nora’s hand.
“I bought something.”
“If it’s another building—”
“It isn’t.”
“If you secretly bought the café—”
“I learned that lesson.”
He reached into his coat.
Nora’s heart stopped.
Leo saw her expression.
“It’s not a gun.”
“History suggests you should stop reaching into coats dramatically.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
Nora stared.
“Leo.”
“I’m not asking yet.”
“What?”
“I bought it.”
He opened the box.
A simple ring.
Nothing extravagant.
“I want you to know I’m thinking about it.”
Nora started laughing.
“You bought an engagement ring to announce a future engagement?”
“I’m trying not to control the timing.”
“This is insane.”
“I’m new at healthy relationships.”
She kissed him.
Then closed the box.
“Keep it.”
“For how long?”
“You’ll know.”
Leo groaned.
“That's deeply unfair.”
May you like
Nora smiled.
Arthur would have loved it.
