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I shake my head. “He had to go to the shop. Is everything okay?”
Jimbo curses under his breath. “Dammit. No, everything is not okay.”
I fumble with my keys, letting us both inside. “Does this have anything to do with…” I can’t finish my sentence.
Jimbo shakes his head. “No. This is about business.”
“Oh.” Why don’t I feel more relief at that? “Do you want something to drink while we wait for him?"
Jimbo nods, following me to the kitchen. As I busy myself making coffee, I can feel his eyes on me.
“You okay, kid?” he asks gruffly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The irony of his words nearly makes me laugh. A ghost. That’s exactly what Jonah is now, isn’t it?
And it’s all because of me.
“I’m fine,” I lie, focusing on the coffee maker to avoid his gaze. “Just tired.”
But as I pour the coffee, my hands shake, nearly spilling the hot liquid. Jimbo steadies the cup, his large hand engulfing mine.
“Fee,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You hear me?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. But inside, the guilt continues to gnaw at me. Because no matter what anyone says, the truth remains. I took a life. And nothing can ever change that fact.
Jimbo studies me for a moment. “You’re feeling guilty about Jonah, aren’t you?”
I nod, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s killing me, Jimbo. I can’t stop thinking about it. I took someone’slife. How am I supposed to live with that?”
He’s silent for a long moment, then sighs. “Look, I don’t usually share this, but I’ve got some psychology training. Never practiced, mind you. It was just to help Angelo’s father cope with managing the family.”
This revelation surprises me as I look up from my mug. “Really?”
Jimbo nods. “Yeah. And let me tell you, what you’re feeling? It’snormal. But it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”
He leans forward, his voice gentle. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself and Lou. That doesn’t make you a killer. It makes you a survivor.”
His words echo Zip’s, and something in me starts to ease.
“But here’s the thing," Jimbo continues. “You can’t let this eat you up. Because if you do, it’ll affect everything—your relationship with Lou, with Angelo, even how you see yourself.”
I take a shaky breath. “How do I stop it?”
Jimbo offers some practical advice—mindfulness techniques, ways to redirect my thoughts when the guilt hits. As he speaks, I feel some of the weight lifting from my shoulders.
Then he says something that catches me off guard. “You know, Angelo suffers from the same kind of anxiety his father had, both of them believing they don’t deserve happiness because they can’t show up when their loved ones need them.”
“But that’s not true,” I protest. “Angelo showed up for me.”
Jimbo nods. “Exactly. And that’s huge for him. You and Lou, you’re good for him. But he might need reminding of that sometimes.”
As I absorb this, I realize Jimbo’s given me more than just coping strategies. He’s given me insight into Angelo, into us.
“Thank you, Jimbo,” I say softly. “Really.”
He gruffly waves off my thanks, but I can see the warmth in his eyes. For the first time since that awful moment with Jonah, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can get through this.
“Well, well. Am I interrupting a kumbaya moment?”
