Free Consequence by Madeline Sloane Page B

why did you park in the alley behind a
big truck? I suppose we’re using the back entrance, too?”
    He smiled. “I told you I’m not worried. I’m
not stupid, either.”
    He reached over the seat and plucked his coat
from the back. He stepped out of the car and slid his hat into
place. Bridget opened her door, trying not to bang the side of the
truck, then squeezed out the narrow opening. She rounded the back
of the car, then reached for his outstretched hand and they walked
to the back of Dante’s.
    Using the door meant for deliveries, the
couple walked into the restaurant and down the narrow hall parallel
to the kitchen. They heard people talking and laughing as they
cooked, and the “ping” of the bell when a new order was slapped on
the counter bridging the kitchen and the dining room.
    As they rounded the corner, they bumped into
Angelina, the owner’s wife. She paused, her eyes widening at the
sight of Boone. He removed his hat and held it behind him. He kept
his free hand on Bridget’s elbow. “Hello Angelina. Do you have an
open table? Something in the back?”
    She jerked her chin down and made an abrupt
turn. She plucked two menus from a plastic bin and placed them on a
small table next to the far wall. It was a discreet section,
partitioned from the rest of the dining room by the large bar.
During lunchtime, the only people who sat there were staff who
worked folding napkins, separating cutlery and filling saltshakers
and olive oil cruets.
    Angelina waited impatiently, looking towards
the dining room while Boone and Bridget read the menu. “Would you
like something to drink?” she asked in a theatrical whisper.
    Bridget snickered and lowered the menu. “I’ll
have an iced tea. I know what I want, also. Can I go ahead and
order?”
    Angelina reached into her black apron pocket
and removed a small tablet and a pen. “Ready when you are,” she
said, her voice husky and low.
    Bridget pointed to an item. “I’ll take a bowl
of red pepper bisque and an order of fresh tomato bruschetta.”
    “Is that to share?” Angelina asked.
    “Nope. It’s all for me. What are you having,
Boone?” Bridget asked airily, her voice rising on the final
syllable.
    He moved the menu to the side and glared at
her. Angelina peeked over her shoulder in horror, then turned back.
“Nobody heard,” she assured them.
    He dropped the menu on the table. “Angelina,
you don’t need to worry. It’s not against the law for us to be
here.”
    “For me to be here, maybe,” Bridget taunted.
“You? Not so sure.”
    He ignored her jibe. “I’ll have the lasagna,
an order of ‘shrooms and a cannoli.”
    Angelina froze, then shook her head. “Not the
lasagna. You don’t want that.”
    Boone sighed heavily. “Yes, I do. I really
do.”
    She crossed herself then moved to the counter
and smacked the bell. “New order,” she called to the chef.
    Bridget leaned back in her chair and studied
Boone. “Why do you always put her in the middle?”
    “She didn’t have to marry Dante. Mama had
someone fine lined up, but no, she wouldn’t listen,” he said,
watching his older sister hissing through the window at her
husband.
     
    Although school was out for the holiday, a
cheerful Phyllis Surratt complied with Bridget’s request to meet
her at the elementary school. Bridget pulled into the lot and
parked next to the lone vehicle there, a blue minivan in the
bus-only lane. She exited her car and mounted the concrete steps to
the front of the building. A mint green awning spanned the walkway,
leading up to the double glass doors at the front of the school. A
miniature Liberty Bell cast in iron and painted with a bronze
finish squatted to the left of the doors. She read the inscription,
the state motto: “Virtue, Liberty and Independence,” nearly
invisible after generations of schoolchildren had rubbed it
smooth.
    She walked into the quiet building and turned
right towards the principal’s office. She could see Phyllis