The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(37)

Eddie flipped through the pages, shaking his head as he relived the history.

“You should take these,” Eddie said. “Read them, if you want. Burn them. I don’t care. I just think you should have them. Now that you’re out, I don’t need them anymore.”

Eddie put the newspapers back in the box. Mason took his last hit off the beer, then put the can down on the table.

“I’ll get out of here,” Mason said, “before I get you in any more trouble.”

Eddie reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders again. This time, he pulled him close and gave him a hug. “It’s good to see you, man. I still can’t believe it.”

“Take care of yourself, Eddie.”

“Listen to me,” he said, looking Mason in the eye. “If you ever need me, I’ll be there. Anything, anytime. Whatever it is. I will be there.”

“Okay.”

Eddie took out a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote down his number. “Here,” he said as he gave it to him. “I mean it, Nick. I owe you.”

Eddie gave him one more hug. Mason picked up the box of newspapers and walked back down the narrow side yard, back to the street. He glanced at the window but didn’t see Sandra looking out at him.

Mason put the newspapers in the backseat of the Camaro. Then he got in and left Bridgeport behind him.





19




As Nick Mason was nervously getting dressed for his first date, he silently prayed that Quintero wouldn’t call him during dinner. He knew if he suddenly had to get up and leave, there wouldn’t be a second date.

He showed up at the pet store at exactly seven o’clock. He was wearing his single-breasted Armani suit. A white dress shirt, no tie. Lauren was closing up the shop, but somehow she’d already changed into a summer dress.

“You look great,” Mason said when he saw her.

“Thank you,” she said. “So where are we going?”

“Maybe we just park on Halsted,” he said. “Walk around.”

Max was pawing at his gate the whole time. Mason went over to put a hand on his head, and Lauren kissed the dog on the nose. She stood up close to Mason. She smiled to break the tension. Then they both left the store and got in the Camaro. She knew enough about cars to be impressed.

“I can’t imagine what it cost to restore this thing,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, leaving more questions than answers.

She looked over at him, her expression saying she still hadn’t figured this guy out yet. Mason put the car in gear and they headed down the avenue. They parked in a lot, got out, and started walking north on Halsted Street. Tall brick buildings had shops and restaurants on the first floors, apartments above them. It felt a little strange to Mason because although this same street ran all the way down through the city, across the river, past Bridgeport, along the western edge of Canaryville, down there it was just a wide street with empty, weed-filled lots on one side, low, faceless buildings on the other. It’s like he was in a different city now with a street name that made you think of home.

They walked under the El just as a train rushed by above them, then found a restaurant on the eastern side of the street and stepped inside. It looked like the right kind of place—a bar and some tables, nice enough without being too much, and mostly full. The greeter promised them a table if they wouldn’t mind sitting at the bar for a few minutes.

Mason ordered a Goose Island. Lauren had the same. They sat there and clinked their bottles together and there was another awkward silence. Mason couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood next to a woman in a bar and tried to make conversation.

That made him think about all the nights he was out with Gina, just standing close to her, the way they didn’t have to say anything at all. And then when they got back home . . . No, he said to himself. Don’t go there.

“So Max stays there in the store by himself?” he said to Lauren, looking for something, anything, to talk about. “Every night?”

“He’s fine. The cats keep him company. And he guards the place at night.”

“What happens when he comes to live with me? Who’s gonna guard the shop?”

“It’ll be a little strange not having him there,” she said, “but he’s going to have a new home. That’s what he needs.”

“He’ll like the town house.” Then he thought about Diana. Probably should have said something to her, he thought.

“Maybe I’ll get the chance to come see him there. Or if you want me to just bring him over . . .” Lauren gave him a little shy smile and he was about to say something, but then the waiter came over and showed them to their table.

After fitting them with menus and lighting the candle, the waiter walked away and they were back to the awkward silence.

“So I’ve been trying not to ask,” Lauren said, “but you live in a Lincoln Park town house and you drive around in a vintage Camaro. What exactly do you do?”

“I’m the assistant manager of a restaurant.”

She looked surprised. “Which one?”

He fumbled on it for a moment, blanking on the name. That wouldn’t be the greatest answer to give her. Funny, I don’t even remember.

“Antonia’s,” he said. “On Rush Street.”