Chapter 2 Marchetti

The Diner was busy in the mid-afternoon. It was loud enough that every sound blurred into every other sound, besides plates and voices.

"…. And I’m telling you, the guy left a two-dollar tip on a sixty-dollar order," Lenny droned. Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed he was clearly delighted by his own outrage. "Two dollars, Marina. I did the math, that’s like, three percent."

Lenny and Martin were my new co-workers. Luckily for me both seemed to make friends easily, unluckily for me Lenny talked a lot.

"That’s rough," I breathed, refilling the ketchup bottles in a neat row along the counter.

My mind kept moving back to what had happened the night I moved in. My window had been opened.

On the surface I knew I was probably being paranoid. If I had a dime for every time I was certain I had someone following me, someone had opened my window, someone moved my mug.

Many times the people at witsec recommended therapy but I refused.

"It’s criminal is what it is," Lenny shook his head, then perked up like he had just remembered something. "Oh, speaking of criminal, Martin, tell her about the guy from table nine last week."

Martin who was at the grill didn’t even look up.

"Marina doesn’t care."

"I might care," I said with a casual smile, mostly to be polite.

"See? She might care." Lenny grinned at Martin.

Martin flipped a burger with more force than necessary. "The guy asked another girl for her number. Twice. In front of his girlfriend."

"That’s the best part, there was a girlfriend—"

"I remember," I said. I went back to the ketchup, screwing the cap on the last bottle, lining them up.

"She should’ve given him a fake number," Lenny said. "That’s what I would’ve done."

"I don’t give out numbers," I told him, unprompted.

"Real or fake?"

"Either."

Lenny made a face like that was the most tragic thing he had ever heard, and launched into some story about his cousin’s terrible dating life. I let the droning continue, not really listening.

I was in the midst of packing my things to end my shift.

That was when the prickle started right at the base of my skull, as if someone’s eyes were on me.

I kept arranging my stuff in my bag, but my keen eyes started moving on their own, booth by booth, face by face. Nothing seemed wrong, nobody seemed to be looking at me.

But the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it sharpened. Someone was watching.

"…. Right? Marina?" Lenny was looking at me.

"Sorry, what?" I breathed.

"I said you’re like never on your phone, it’s weird. Everyone’s always on their phone."

"I don’t really—" I started, and then my keen eyes caught on something near the back of the Diner and the rest of the sentence just stopped.

An older man was sitting alone in one of the corner booths. He had a broad-shouldered frame, grey hair at the temples, and a face with hard lines. He wasn’t doing anything, he just sat there with coffee untouched in front of him. But he was facing my direction, and it felt like he was looking right at me.

My chest went tight. I told myself I was being ridiculous, people sat in Diners, people faced directions.

"Daddy!"

A little girl came barreling past me. The man’s whole face transformed and he opened his arms as the little girl climbed into the booth beside him. He was just a dad.

I knew that, watching him ruffle her hair and laugh at something she had said. But my body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

My pulse was loud in my ears, my hands had gone clumsy around the ketchup bottle, and the Diner suddenly felt like it was pressing in from every direction at once.

"Marina?" Lenny asked.

"I need a minute," I said, already moving towards the back door that led out to the alley.

"You good?" Martin called from the grill.

"Bathroom," I lied, keeping my pace.

Coming out of the restaurant, I pressed my back against the brick and slid down until I was crouched, wrapping my arms around my legs to just breathe.

My chest had turned into something too small for my lungs, and my hands were shaking. A voice that sounded like my Father was saying breathe, except my Father wasn’t here, my Father hadn’t been anywhere in four years.

"Rough shift?"

The voice caused me to blink and look up so fast my neck cracked.

A few feet away, leaning against the wall was the guy from across the hall. He had a tall frame. On his body was a leather jacket open over a plain shirt, with ink crawling up his bare forearm. A cigarette dangled between two fingers. He had a sharp jaw, and dark messy hair that looked entirely deliberate falling over his face.

He wasn’t looking at me like I was having a meltdown, he was looking at me normally. His expression was completely blank, just like last night.

"Sorry," I managed, already pushing myself up.

"I’ll—"

"No need." He took a drag, exhaling away from me. "Nobody’s claimed this alley. Far as I know."

I didn’t move, my legs weren’t entirely convinced they wanted to hold me yet.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," I stated automatically.

He nodded slowly. He took another drag, looking up at the strip of grey sky between the buildings.

"Theo," he said.

"What?"

"My name. Theo." He held out a hand, the one without the cigarette, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

He acted normally, without mentioning the awkward encounter yesterday , and I quickly concluded that he genuinely didn't seem to remember our brief encounter in the hallway.

I blatantly stared at his hand for a second. Marina Cole. Hi, I’m Marina. I had said it so many times it had stopped meaning anything. I took his hand into mine for a shake.

"Marina," I said.

His grip was warm, swallowing mine entirely. For one strange second something in my chest loosened just slightly. I pulled my hand back from his.

"Marina," he repeated. "Nice to meet you, Marina."

There was something about him, his cold and unfathomable air made him seem magnetic.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, exhaling smoke through his nose, and answered without hesitation. "Sì, lo so. Dammi un minuto."

The words hit something in me before I could stop it. My whole body went rigid.

Italian.

It wasn’t even what he said. It was the cadence, dredging up something from years ago, a kitchen table, men’s voices low and fast, my Father’s hands shaking around a coffee cup.

Theo glanced at me with his phone still pressed to his ear. "Un minuto," he said again, lowering the phone slightly. "You good?"

I forced my shoulders down. "Fine," I breathed. "Sorry. Zoned out."

He held my gaze for a beat longer than the moment really called for, then put the phone back to his ear, saying a short word, and hung up.

He pushed off the wall. "I’ve got a game to catch," he stated, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out under his boot. Then his grey eyes locked right on me. "Hope I’ll be seeing you around, Marina."

"Maybe," I said with a casual smile.

He grinned, and walked off down the alley with hands in his pockets, leaving me alone in the environment.

Careful, I told myself, watching him disappear around the corner.

I finished packing up my things in a daze, and by the time I had gotten back to my Apartment the sun had already dropped behind the buildings.

I reached for my key, but my hand froze halfway to the lock.

The deadbolt was already open.