CHAPTER 15

GIOVANNA SAT ON THE EDGE of the tub and watched her mom primp. “Isn’t it a little late to go out for dinner?”

“Just going out for drinks.”

Giovanna eyed the glass on the counter. Mom had an early start.

Mom leaned in toward the mirror and pouted her lips. “How’s my lipstick?”

Too much. Too red. Too glossy. “Perfect.”

Mom turned her head to one side and then the other, looking to bury any flaw under her makeup mask. She smiled at herself in the mirror. A slow smile meant to send a flirty message without saying a word. Disgusting.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Nobody you’d know.”

They were never anybody Giovanna knew —or wanted to. Where did Mom even meet them? “What’s he like?”

“He’s a real beauty,” Mom said.

What —was he a horse?

Mom smoothed the skirt clinging to her hips. She stood to one side to get a profile view, and then adjusted her deep V-neck sweater to make sure the V was centered.

Sick. Did all single moms act this stupid? Ah, the correct answer would be a big fat no. She’d never seen Maggie’s mom go out for drinks with some middle-aged buffoon.

Mom took a sip of wine —through a straw. Heaven forbid she mess up her lipstick. “Top this off for me, will you, sweetie?”

Her mom had been topping it off as long as Giovanna could remember. She grabbed the glass, walked downstairs, and found the open wine bottle on the cabinet above an insane assortment of harder stuff. She added an inch of the dark red to the glass. Giovanna checked over her shoulder . . . then stepped into the kitchen and added a tiny bit of tap water. She sloshed it around with the straw and walked back.

Mom had two purses on the bathroom counter. Last night’s, and tonight’s. Why she had to switch purses, Giovanna had no idea. Even if she was going out with the same guy two nights in a row, it wasn’t likely a half-drunk guy was going to be looking at her purse.

Mom took a sip of the wine and started moving things from one purse to the other. Keys. Lipstick. Wallet. Glock.

Giovanna’s stomach lurched. “You really think you need that?”

Mom held the pistol by its grip and used the barrel to poke around her purse to be sure she wasn’t forgetting anything important. “A girl has to take precautions. Men can be animals, precious.”

Maybe Beauty was a horse.

If Giovanna was really so precious to her, why was her mom always going out with guys who were potentially that dangerous?

“Maybe you’re going out with the wrong men.”

Mom laughed. “But I wouldn’t know that until I’ve been out with him. That’s the point of bringing the Glock, sweetie.”

Would her mom really use the gun? Sure she would —although there was no telling how good her aim would be with the drinking.

“When you start dating, you’ll carry too, baby.”

Giovanna stared at the gun. “I don’t think so.”

Mom laughed. “I’ll buy you a brand-new Glock 19 —just like mine.”

“You already have three.” One in her bedroom somewhere, another hidden on the first floor, and of course, the one she carried in her purse.

“Redundancy,” Mom said. “Always have a backup. If I can’t get at one gun, I’ll get to another. I gotta protect my girl.”

Protect her from what? Maybe if she didn’t bring total strangers home, she wouldn’t need the arsenal.

Mom tucked the pistol into the concealed carry holster built into one side of tonight’s purse. The handgrip was turned up, an easy grab if her Beauty turned into a Beast.

“Don’t wait up for me.” Which meant she’d likely be bringing this “beauty” home with her —or she wouldn’t come home at all. Sick.

Mom’s phone rang, and she chatted her way right out the front door with a backward wave over her shoulder.

See ya, Mom.

Giovanna wandered back to the kitchen and took a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cabinet. She unscrewed the cap and wrinkled her nose at the smell of the whiskey. At the sink, she added just a bit of tap water until she’d raised the level in the bottle barely a half inch. She swirled it around and studied it in the light. The color still looked real enough. Would diluting the alcohol content —even this tiny amount —make a difference? Mom would be furious if she found out. But the risk was worth it. She just might be saving her mom’s life. She did the same to every other bottle in the cabinet that was already open.

Giovanna gave one last look to be sure she had all the bottles back in place before retreating to her bedroom. Once inside, she started her “date night” ritual. Door closed. Locked. She took a small wooden doorstop and jammed it tight under the bottom edge of her door. She took the wire from an eyebolt she’d screwed into the door trim and wrapped it around the base of the doorknob a couple of times. Then she dragged her desk chair over and wedged the back under the doorknob.

Mom wouldn’t check in on her when she got home. She never did. Giovanna just wanted to be sure another drunken Mr. Beauty didn’t stop in for a visit.

Giovanna sat on her bed and scanned her room. Everything was set. She wondered what Maggie Baldocchi was doing at this very minute. Crying, if she’d seen the OneInAMillionMaggie.com site. And her mom would be there —stroking Maggie’s hair the way she always did, the way she’d done Giovanna’s hair when they’d had overnighters. Giovanna closed her eyes. Felt Mrs. Baldocchi’s fingers running through her hair. Just one more reason she hated Maggie.