Chapter 18 - Fireworks Over Chicago
Marriage did not make Octavio less annoying.
Nomi considered that reassuring.
Three months later, he appeared at Sofia Studio at noon.
“Lunch.”
“I have a client.”
“At one.”
“How do you know?”
“The schedule is online.”
“Stop using publicly available information against me.”
“I brought sandwiches.”
Nomi looked at the bag.
“From where?”
“Your place.”
“My terrible place?”
“Yes.”
She kissed him immediately.
Octavio looked satisfied.
“You can be trained.”
“I dislike that phrase.”
They ate on the studio floor.
Sunlight filled the room.
A group of teenage art students would arrive later for Nomi’s free Saturday workshop.
The scholarship fund had expanded.
Octavio never attached his name to it.
Nomi loved him more for that.
Marco taught bookkeeping twice a month.
Slowly, father and daughter discovered ordinary life.
He still apologized too often.
Nomi still became angry unexpectedly.
But there were good days now.
Coffee days.
Grocery-store days.
Days when they spoke about Sofia without grief swallowing the entire room.
Valentina started college again.
Axel joined a touring band but refused long tours without her.
Octavio had opinions.
He kept most of them to himself.
Major progress.
Vincent received a reduced sentence because of extensive cooperation.
Octavio eventually visited him.
Nomi did not ask what they discussed.
Some conversations belonged to the people inside them.
When Octavio returned, he sat beside her on the couch.
“You were right.”
Nomi looked up from her sketchbook.
“That could describe many subjects.”
“Do not ruin this.”
“Continue.”
“Forgiveness and reconciliation are different.”
She closed the book.
“Yes.”
“I don’t forgive him yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I don’t hate him anymore.”
“That sounds lighter.”
“It is.”
Nomi rested her head on his shoulder.
They remained there.
Silence had changed too.
Once, silence helped Nomi disappear.
Now it allowed her to stay.
In June, federal investigators formally closed the largest part of the Sarno case.
Emilio faced decades in prison.
The networks he built fractured.
Families he controlled through fear began speaking.
Malcolm reunited with his son.
Elena entered witness protection temporarily, then started over elsewhere.
Daniel continued pretending he did not have a personal life.
Nomi suspected otherwise.
She observed.
She did not interfere.
Mostly.
One summer evening, Octavio invited Nomi to dinner.
Not mansion dinner.
Just dinner.
At a rooftop restaurant overlooking Chicago.
Nomi wore the black sparkling dress from the winter operation because Octavio reacted to it entertainingly.
He saw her.
Stopped.
Nomi smiled.
“Still works.”
“You are manipulative.”
“I observe cause and effect.”
They stood near the bar.
Champagne.
Candles.
Warm city lights.
Fireworks from a summer festival began beyond the domes and towers.
For a moment, the scene looked almost exactly like a photograph from another life.
Octavio stood behind Nomi.
His hand settled around her waist.
She looked over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m married. I have rights.”
“Limited rights.”
“Extensive rights.”
“Negotiable rights.”
He smiled.
Nomi lifted her glass.
“You know what’s strange?”
“Many things.”
“I used to hate New Year’s Eve.”
“Why?”
“Everyone treated midnight like proof their life was changing.”
Octavio listened.
“But nothing changes because a clock moves.”
“No.”
“People change because they decide to.”
His thumb moved lightly against her waist.
“You changed.”
“So did you.”
“More impressively.”
Nomi laughed.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The ego.”
“I was worried marriage had weakened it.”
“Never.”
They watched fireworks.
Octavio leaned closer.
“Do you miss being invisible?”
The question surprised her.
Nomi considered.
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“I don’t miss being unseen.”
Difference.
Octavio understood.
“Do you miss control?”
“Constantly.”
She laughed.
“I appreciate the honesty.”
He kissed her temple.
“But letting go became easier.”
“Why?”
“Because the things worth keeping stayed.”
Nomi’s eyes softened.
“That was good.”
“I practiced.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Rosa?”
“Yes.”
“Much more believable.”
They laughed.
At another table, a young woman sketched the skyline.
Nomi noticed.
The artist looked nervous when a server approached.
Nomi recognized that posture.
Trying not to occupy space.
Nomi excused herself.
She walked over.
“Sorry,” she said. “I like your drawing.”
The young woman looked startled.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“It’s unfinished.”
“Everything is.”
Nomi gave her a card for Sofia Studio.
“We run open workshops.”
The young woman stared.
“I can’t afford classes.”
“They’re free.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody should tell artists they’re worth seeing before they believe otherwise.”
The girl’s expression changed.
Nomi returned to Octavio.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The emotional one you pretend not to have.”
Octavio looked toward the young artist.
Then back at Nomi.
“My wife is impressive.”
“Your wife knows.”
“Yes.”
Nomi leaned against him.
Fireworks reflected across the glass.
Years earlier, she had drawn explosions before they happened because anticipation interested her.
Now she understood something more.
The future could not be perfectly drawn.
People surprised you.
They failed.
Returned.
Changed.
Stayed.
Loved badly.
Learned to love better.
There was no way to shade all of that onto paper in advance.
And perhaps that was why Nomi no longer needed to.
May you like
She could simply live it.
---
