Chapter 8 - The Room Above the DinerDominic’s mother had lived in an apartment with yellow kitchen cabinets.
Norah had not expected that.
She had imagined something darker.
More serious.
Perhaps because Dominic wore black, owned furniture in shades that could best be described as expensive depression, and seemed personally suspicious of cheerful interior design.
Instead, Apartment 3B above the former Marlowe Diner looked like sunlight had been trapped inside 1989 and forgotten.
Yellow cabinets.
Blue curtains.
A ceramic rooster beside the sink.
A floral couch.
Norah stood in the doorway holding the old iron key.
“You preserved all of this?”
Dominic entered behind her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He closed the door.
“I don’t know.”
“That is a lie.”
“I don’t know how to answer without sounding sentimental.”
“That must be terrifying.”
He gave her a look.
Norah smiled and walked farther inside.
The building stood three blocks from Il Forno.
The diner downstairs had closed years earlier.
Dominic had quietly purchased the property and left the upstairs apartment untouched.
His mother, Elena Mercer, had raised two sons there.
Norah stopped beside a framed photograph.
A woman with dark hair stood between two boys.
One was unmistakably Dominic.
Maybe fourteen.
Thin.
Angry.
The second boy looked younger.
“Your brother.”
Dominic stopped beside her.
“Julian.”
“You never talk about him.”
“No.”
Norah waited.
Dominic had learned that silence around her was not always an escape.
Eventually he said, “He lives in Oregon.”
“Why?”
“Because I live in Chicago.”
She looked at him.
“That sounds healthy.”
“It isn’t.”
“What happened?”
Dominic walked toward the window.
“My mother became ill when I was twenty-two. Julian was eighteen.”
Norah followed more slowly.
“I had already begun working for men I should not have known.”
He looked down at the street.
“Money became available. Doctors became available. Everything became available.”
“But?”
“My mother hated where the money came from.”
“She knew?”
“She always knew.”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“She worked restaurants for twenty-five years. She could identify a liar before he removed his coat.”
Norah liked her already.
“She refused some treatments because I paid.”
Norah’s chest tightened.
“She died?”
“Eventually.”
“And Julian blamed you.”
“Not for her death.”
Dominic looked at the photograph.
“He blamed me because after she died, I stopped pretending I was doing any of it for family.”
Norah said nothing.
“He told me I liked power.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without defense.
“I liked people moving when I entered a room. I liked never wondering if rent would be paid. I liked that men who once treated my mother badly would have apologized to the floor if I asked.”
Dominic touched the back of a chair.
“I told myself I had earned the right to become cruel because I had once been powerless.”
Norah leaned against the counter.
“And Julian left.”
“Yes.”
“Have you called him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He does not want to hear from me.”
“Did he say that?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“People can change in eleven years.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You are becoming dangerously optimistic.”
“No. I think he may still tell you to go to hell.”
“Comforting.”
“But you won’t know until you call.”
Dominic said nothing.
Norah opened a cabinet.
Inside were mismatched mugs.
She selected one with a faded sunflower.
“Coffee?”
“You are asking if I want coffee?”
“In your mother’s kitchen.”
“Yes.”
She found an old coffee maker that looked older than Lily.
Dominic objected.
Norah ignored him.
Twenty minutes later, they sat at the yellow table drinking mediocre coffee.
Dominic made a face.
“This is terrible.”
“Fresh.”
“That does not make it good.”
“You’ve become spoiled.”
“You caused it.”
Outside, snow moved past the windows.
Il Forno remained under construction.
Silas remained in federal custody.
Dominic remained under investigation.
For the first time in months, nobody needed them for an hour.
Norah looked around.
“What happens to this place?”
“Nothing.”
“That seems wasteful.”
“It is mine.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“You’re making the face.”
“What face?”
“The one that costs me money.”
Norah smiled.
“What if we used it?”
“For what?”
“The downstairs space.”
“It needs complete renovation.”
“So did Il Forno after someone set it on fire.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Norah touched his hand.
“He’s in jail.”
“I know.”
“Stay here.”
Dominic exhaled.
“What are you proposing?”
“A training kitchen.”
“For whom?”
“People who need restaurant work.”
He frowned.
Norah continued.
“Teenagers aging out of foster care. Single parents. People coming out of shelters. Anyone who needs experience before somebody will hire them.”
“You have been thinking about this.”
“Since Lily told me two of her classmates dropped out because they couldn’t find jobs with schedules around school.”
Dominic looked around the old apartment.
“My mother would like that.”
“Good.”
“She would also criticize every decision we made.”
“Even better.”
“What would the apartment become?”
“Office space.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“This remains.”
Norah studied him.
Dominic’s voice softened.
“This is the one room in Chicago I never changed.”
She understood.
“Then it stays.”
He looked surprised.
“You expected an argument?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not trying to renovate your mother.”
“Good.”
Norah drank the terrible coffee.
“Call your brother.”
Dominic sighed.
“Perhaps I preferred the argument.”
He waited twenty-three minutes.
Norah did not remind him again.
Then, while she examined old photographs, Dominic removed his phone.
He found a number.
His thumb hovered.
Norah pretended not to watch.
He called.
It rang five times.
Someone answered.
Dominic stood.
“Julian.”
Silence.
Norah could not hear the other side.
Dominic’s face changed.
“Yes.”
More silence.
“No. Nothing happened.”
Pause.
“I know that is usually why people call after eleven years.”
Norah looked away to give him privacy.
Dominic walked toward the window.
“I’m calling because I should have called sooner.”
A long silence.
His shoulders stiffened.
“No. I’m not asking for anything.”
Another pause.
“I’m seeing someone.”
Norah’s head snapped around.
Dominic looked at her.
A faint smile appeared.
“Yes, a woman.”
Pause.
“No, she is not being held against her will.”
Norah covered her mouth.
Dominic’s smile grew.
“She would object to the suggestion.”
Another long pause.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I know.”
He listened.
“I know.”
His voice became quieter.
“You were right.”
Norah looked down.
It was perhaps the hardest sentence she had ever heard him say.
The call lasted thirty-seven minutes.
When it ended, Dominic remained by the window.
Norah approached carefully.
“Well?”
“He called me an arrogant criminal with a martyr complex.”
“Accurate.”
“He said you sound imaginary.”
“Rude.”
“He wants to speak to you eventually.”
“Why?”
“To determine whether I have suffered a neurological event.”
Norah laughed.
Dominic turned.
“He also said he may visit.”
Her smile softened.
“That’s good.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to.”
For a moment they stood close without touching.
Then Dominic said, “My attorney called this morning.”
Norah’s expression changed.
“And?”
“The prosecutor is offering an agreement.”
Her heart accelerated.
“What kind?”
“Plea to financial conspiracy. Full cooperation. Restitution. Eighteen months.”
Norah went still.
“Prison?”
“Possibly twelve with credit and conditions.”
She looked at him.
Dominic’s face was controlled.
Too controlled.
“When do you decide?”
“Three days.”
Norah pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit.”
He sat.
She took the chair opposite.
“What does your attorney recommend?”
“Take it.”
“Do you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
His laugh was quiet.
“Because twelve months is twelve months.”
Norah swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Il Forno will reopen without me.”
“Yes.”
“This project downstairs can begin without me.”
“Yes.”
“You will be fine without me.”
Norah’s eyes narrowed.
“Careful.”
He stopped.
“I am not fine with you leaving,” she said. “I will function. Those are different.”
Dominic looked at her.
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
“What if you decide this is too much?”
“Then I decide that.”
“What if—”
Norah stood and walked around the table.
She sat on his lap.
Dominic looked genuinely startled.
“Are you attempting to interrupt my anxiety?”
“Yes.”
“It’s effective.”
She put both hands on his face.
“You do not get to earn love by being useful.”
Something in him went still.
Norah continued.
“You don’t lose it because you’re inconvenient. You don’t lose it because you have consequences. And you don’t get to disappear emotionally before you disappear physically because you think that makes leaving easier.”
His eyes closed.
“Your mother worked too hard raising you for you to be this stupid.”
Dominic laughed.
Then his arms went around her.
He buried his face against her shoulder.
Norah felt his breathing change.
He did not cry dramatically.
Dominic did very little dramatically unless contracts were involved.
But one tear touched her neck.
She held him tighter.
Three days later, Dominic accepted the agreement.
Ten days later, the court approved it.
Sentencing would occur in six weeks.
He would serve fourteen months in a minimum-security federal facility, potentially less with credit and compliance.
The newspaper headline called it the fall of Dominic Mercer.
Norah read the article once.
Then folded it and placed it beneath a wobbly table leg at Il Forno.
Lily discovered it.
“That is disrespectful.”
“It finally has a useful purpose.”
The restaurant reopened three weeks before Dominic reported.
Every table was full.
The communal table hosted firefighters who had responded to the arson.
Marco served them dessert personally.
Valerie attended quietly with her father’s attorney. Richard Vale faced his own charges and had entered treatment after his kidnapping.
She and Lily exchanged a nod.
Nothing more.
It was enough.
After closing, Norah found Dominic alone in the kitchen.
He stood beneath the repaired ceiling.
“You rebuilt it.”
“We rebuilt it.”
“I caused the danger.”
“Silas caused the fire.”
“My history brought him.”
Norah sighed.
“We have discussed this.”
“I know.”
“Then stop trying to turn regret into narcissism.”
Dominic stared.
“That was harsh.”
“It was accurate.”
He smiled.
She stepped closer.
“When do you report?”
“Monday.”
Four days.
Norah’s throat tightened.
Dominic touched her cheek.
“I will come back.”
“You’d better.”
“I have a reservation.”
“You do not.”
“I was hoping prison would earn priority seating.”
“No.”
“Compassionless.”
“Fourteen months does not erase restaurant policy.”
Dominic kissed her.
Slowly.
When they separated, Norah looked at him.
“Call me every day you can.”
“I will.”
“Write.”
“I hate writing letters.”
“Learn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And when you come back—”
“What?”
She looked toward the dining room.
“We build the training kitchen.”
Dominic followed her gaze.
His mother’s old building waited three blocks away.
His past no longer looked like a room he needed to hide.
Maybe it could become something useful.
May you like
“Yes,” he said.
“We build it.”
