All of Me

  Chapter One

  Nathan Drazek slid his Hungry Man meatloaf dinner into the microwave, pressed a few buttons, and stepped back. Arms crossed over his chest, he watched the black, plastic tray slowly turn around and around.

  He mentally ran through the “To Do” list he’d compiled last night; ticking off each item until he was certain nothing had been left undone.

  Of course, it hadn’t been that extensive of a list: picking up his uniforms from the dry cleaner, shining his work shoes, circulating his sprinkler around and the front and back yards, and installing a new radiator hose on the Denali. He’d also done his every-Saturday-afternoon grocery shopping; stocking up on a week’s worth of TV dinners, orange juice, and energy bars. He’d done a load of laundry, cleaned his already spotless house, worked out and showered.

  And it was only 2:30 p.m.

  Three more hours…

  The microwave beeped, Nathan removed the tray, and settled in at the table. He peeled back the cellophane and ate in silence; staring unseeingly out into his well-kept backyard.

  It was a warm, sunny day, which meant people would be wreaking more havoc than usual on the streets of East Cleveland – drinking, brawling, loitering, soliciting, and pushing drugs. But as frustrating and stressful as the job could sometimes be, Nathan loved it. He loved order, he loved structure, and most of all he loved making the people on his beat feel a little safer. His job was his life…his entire life. And it was the only thing he’d ever been remotely good at.

  Well, other than keeping to himself and making people uncomfortable with his quiet intensity.

  Even with chewing slowly, eating the meatloaf, corn, and mashed potatoes only took thirteen minutes. Another two minutes passed as he threw the tray away, washed his fork and put it away, and gulped down a glass of water. That washed and put away, Nathan considered how to spend the next two and a half hours before his shift started.

  He removed his cell from the charging station on his kitchen counter and dialed.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” His partner, Danny McDonough, sounded…rushed.

  “Nothing much. Just wondering if you wanted to hit the court before work.”

  Danny paused and Nathan heard a feminine giggle.

  “Kinda in the middle of something here, D.” Nathan heard another giggle and Danny grunted softly into the receiver. “Can I catch up with you later?”

  “Yeah. Sure. No problem. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Nathan didn’t wait for a response; hitting the “end” button and plugging his phone back in.

  He’d known Danny would probably be busy with his newest conquest, but it had been worth a shot. Because, while some days the solitude and silence were easier to take, other days Nathan felt like he was choking on them.

  And today was one of those days.

  Nathan laid out his uniform on the bed, arranged his polished shoes on the floor, and removed his Glock from its holster on the nightstand. He grabbed the cleaning kit out of his closet and headed to the living room. The Glock was already perfectly clean, but it never hurt to be thorough. Nathan turned on Sportscenter and watched highlights of the Tigers/Indians game from last night.

  Soon - thanks to the mindlessness of cleaning an already cleaned gun and watching footage of a baseball game already watched – Nathan’s mind started wandering.

  He thought of the parole hearing he’d attended last week and the board’s decision to revoke his father’s petition. He thought of how he hadn’t received a phone call from his also-incarcerated little brother in a few months…and how Nathan hadn’t gone to visit or sent a letter in even longer than that. He thought of his mom and how devastated she would have been to see how all of her boys ended up – in prison, dead, and/or dead inside.

  Fortunately for Eileen Drazek, she wasn’t around to see any of it and never would be. She’d been dead for eleven years; strangled to death for daring to smile at the Fed-Ex man when he’d delivered a package to the door.

  Nathan and his brothers hadn’t been able to save her from her death at the hands of her father or all that had come before it. They hadn’t been able to save themselves either.

  But that was life. And a lot more people had it a lot worse than Nathan had.

  Pissed for allowing such unproductive and upsetting thoughts to enter his mind, Nathan decided to go for a run. He’d still be alone and he’d still have to battle the thoughts back into the Things That Made No Fucking Sense mental trash can, but at least he’d be doing something.

  And so he did just that; running for an hour in the 90 degree weather, taking yet another shower, and heading into work an hour early.

  ***

  “Dear God, Pops, it’s like 5000 degrees in here!” Stella Ciaramitaro tossed her backpack and a bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter and headed downstairs. “What are you doing down there, firing pottery?”

  Stella stepped off the last creaky basement stair, fanning herself. “Seriously, Pops. You’ve gotta turn the air conditioner on. I could hold a Bikram yoga class upstairs. I know you don’t know what that is, but…not good.”

  “Eh.” Pops waved her off from his favorite spot in the world: a forest green recliner he’d acquired sometime during the Ford administration. “What, you want me to be like the medigan? Turning the house into an icebox ‘cause the sun came out?”

  “Uh, no, but I would like to be able to visit without worrying I’ll wind up with heat stroke.” Stella dropped in her mom’s old chair (a perfect match to Pops’) and gestured to her father’s get-up. “And the polyester pants, Pops. Come on, now, we’ve talked about this. If you’re gonna cremate yourself down here, at least put on a pair of shorts. It’s mid-June, for crying out loud.”

  “Eh.” Pops turned his attention back to his half-a-sandwich and a rerun of Diagnosis Murder; both sure signs this conversation was over.

  Stella stood and patted his shoulder. “Okay, but I’m telling you, Gigi is gonna crank that air when she gets here.”

  “You know, I wish you’d girls would get outta my hair with this stuff. You’re driving me pazzo.” Pops took a big ole bite of his bologna sandwich, bald head shaking, and muttered, “Had to have girls, didn’t I?”

  Stella laughed as she headed back upstairs. “Yep. And now you’re stuck with us, Pops. Nice going.”

  She’d just hit the top step when he yelled out, “Ti voglio bene, Stell!”

  Stella called back over her shoulder, “I know, Pops. Love you too.” Under her breath, she added, “You nutball.”

  She put a gallon of milk and some grated Romano in the fridge and a loaf of bread in the cupboard before grabbing her backpack and making her way to the bedroom she’d once shared with two of her four sisters. Both cherry bunk beds were still made up with the faded pink rosebud sheets and mismatched quilts from her childhood, but noticeably absent were the boy band posters (that had driven her sister Kat nuts) and Kat’s weirdo quartz collection (that had driven everyone else nuts).

  Stella toed off her Converse and shimmied out of her jean shorts, replacing them with standard-issue ER teal scrub bottoms and white Nursemates. She pulled her tee shirt off and tossed it into her backpack.

  And hated herself for the hesitation that followed.

  Go ahead. Look. It’s okay to feel anxious, but you still gotta look. Or it’s never gonna get easier.

  Stella faced her mostly familiar reflection. Her hair was still dark chestnut brown, albeit a little curlier. It was shorter than she’d always worn it, but these things took time. Her skin tone had reverted back to olive and she’d slowly crept up to a healthy weight. All in all, she was looking pretty damn close to the old Maristella Josephine Ciaramitaro she’d always been.

  Stella’s dark brown eyes rested on the only thing woefully out of plac
e: a flesh-colored silicone insert stuffed into the bra cup her left breast used to occupy.

  It was impossible to decipher her uni-boob when Stella was dressed, other than those times she was wrestling a detoxing or psychotic ER patient and the prosthetic shifted. Or the one horrible time it popped out.

  Thank God the other nurse, Mel, had a fabulously twisted sense of humor. They’d actually tossed it back and forth a few times once the patient’s sedation had kicked in.

  Good times.

  Stella removed the insert and set it on the antique dresser her mother had supposedly brought from the Old Country. How her penniless, Italian immigrant of a mother had brought anything but the clothes on her back from the Old Country was a mystery, but, then again, Francesca Ciaramitaro had been a mysterious woman. Well, she had tried to be, anyway. Mostly she had just been a warm, witty goofball.

  Stella undid the front clasp and pushed both black bra cups aside.

  The whole drama surrounding her missing breast still blew Stella’s mind. She was a nurse. A health care professional. And as such, she should have been able to view her unilateral mastectomy like any other lifesaving procedure. All her surgeon Dr. Aboud, had removed was a bunch of cancer cells, fat, and some extraneous skin…nothing that should have made any difference.

  But it had made a difference. A big one. Because, as Stella was learning through therapy, it wasn’t really about the missing breast. It was about what all those cells and skin signified. And she couldn’t even reconsider reconstructive surgery until her body completely healed from all of the radiation-induced cellulitis and skin damage.

  And so here they all were – one big, happy family: Stella, her uniboob, and her overactive brain...slogging through. Getting by. Patience had never been Stella’s strong suit, but Stage III invasive ductal carcinoma and psychological healing didn’t really give a shit, so going was slow. But steady. Oh, and she was alive. And as long as that remained true, Stella had faith everything else would eventually fall into place.

  She applied some Mederma to the scar and put her bra/fake boob back on. Right after she slipped her scrub top over her head, her cell rang. Stella dug it out of the backpack and wedged it between her ear and shoulder. “Hey, Nina, what’s up?”

  “Eddie put his hands on Fi again.” Stella’s second oldest sister, Nina, sounded incredibly pissed, which was right where Stella was in two seconds flat.

  “What? When did that happen? I thought she was done with him!”

  “A couple of hours ago, I guess. He showed up at their apartment while Kat was at work.”

  Stella’s inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly in an attempt to lower her blood pressure and curb the adrenaline surging through her blood stream. Through gritted teeth, she said, “What are we doing about this, Nina? I need a plan. Because right now all I can think about is driving over there and tearing him limb from limb.”

  “I know. I feel the same way. But we can’t.”

  “Can you and Jay go over there and scare him?” Stella asked.

  “Honestly, Stell, I’m afraid to go over there. Because if that idiot looks at me sideways, I swear to God I’ll kill him.”

  “Do it! And then claim he resisted talking to you or whatever!”

  Nina snorted. “Resisting talking to a police officer is not an excuse for fatal force, babe. Sorry.”

  “What does Carla think?”

  Carla, Nina’s wife of nine years, was a social worker in Cleveland, which was almost as dangerous as being a cop. They had two adorable little girls, Sam and Gabby, they’d adopted from Guatemala and a nice little two story in North Collinwood.

  “Carla’s vote is for an ass-kicking, which tells you something. She’s normally all ‘let’s talk this out,’ but not where this kind of shit is concerned.” Nina paused and Stella knew she was running a hand through her short, dark, spiky hair. “She asked if Jay and I could talk to him too. Like I said, I can’t handle it and Jay is my partner, so he shouldn’t be involved. But maybe I could get some of the other guys to talk to him.”

  “Where’s Fi? Is she okay? What exactly happened?” Stella pulled her iPhone away to check the time and grabbed her backpack.

  “I don’t know the details yet, just that Eddie manhandled her. Fi’s at my place with Carla, Kat, and the girls. She’s pretty shaken up, but she was afraid to tell you because she knows you’ll wig out. But I promised her you wouldn’t do anything stupid, Stell. Right?”

  Gigi and her three boys – Carlo, Gianni, and Anthony – came through side door and into the kitchen as Stella came in from the hallway.

  “Listen, Gigi and the boys just walked in and I have to get to work. I’ll call you after I get off tonight,” Stella said, giving each of her nephews a quick side hug.

  “I’m on duty. I’ll pick you up at the hospital at 11. We’ll grab a coffee if it’s slow.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  Nina paused again. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, right, Stella? Promise me? ‘Cause I can’t be worried about you and Fi at the same time. I’ve got a long shift to get through and I don’t want to have to wonder about what nonsense you’re up to.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk to you later,” Stella replied.

  The second Stella hung up, Gigi asked, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Gigi favored their mother’s Petruzzio heritage with her tall, sturdy build, DD breasts, and an affinity for smothering anyone who got close enough. She had the kindest, softest brown eyes Stella had ever seen and a firm hug that had been her shelter during many storms.

  She was also pushy as hell.

  Gigi herded the boys toward the basement stairs and grabbed Stella’s arm. “Is it you? Is it back?”

  Well, it might be, but that was beside the point.

  “No, it’s Fi. And Eddie.”

  Gigi’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! What happened?”

  “Nina said he ‘put his hands on her again.’ Not sure what that means exactly, but I intend to find out. And then I intend on strangling Eddie with my bare hands.”

  “Dear God, Stella, don’t do anything stupid.” Her brow quirked; hanging there until Stella finally nodded a grudging acquiescence. Gigi sank down into a kitchen chair, shaking her head. “I can’t understand why this is happening. How in the world did one of us end up with a guy like that?”

  It had never been wise to mess with a Ciaramitaro girl because when you messed with one, you messed with all. And any/all of them would not stand for disrespect or nonsense because that’s just how their Ma and Pops had raised them. So Fiorella getting involved with a guy like Eddie – a loud, arrogant medical supply salesman originally from New Jersey – was way outside the norm. Thankfully, when Eddie had gone from a regular jerk to an abusive jerk a few months ago, Fi had ended it.

  But apparently Eddie hadn’t gotten the memo.

  “I’ll have Marco go over there again. Maybe get a little meaner this time,” Gigi said.

  Stella thought of her 6’2,” 300 lbs teddy bear of a brother-in-law and smiled. “Marco was plenty mean last time. Or at least as mean as Marco can be.” She squeezed Gigi’s shoulder. “I’ve gotta run. My shift starts in a few. But we’ll talk later.”

  Gigi waved her off, distracted. But as Stella was walking out the door, Gigi called out, “Don’t do anything stupid, Stella!”

  I should have Don’t do anything stupid, Stella tattooed on my ass.

  Driving south toward St. Mary’s Hospital, Stella did her best to force the Fi mess onto a back burner because there was nothing she could do about it now. Friday nights were notoriously busy in the ER and Stella’s absence would really leave her co-workers and patients in the lurch. So, as angry as she was and as desperate as she was to exact revenge, it would have to wait a while.

  Stella tried concentrating on her upcoming shift. Her childhood buddy and current unit supervisor, Christopher, was working tonight and the cafeteria was serving the tuna noodle casserole Stella secretly loved. She woul
d probably have another crazy, exciting night doing a job she mostly loved with co-workers she mostly liked.

  All of that was very good.

  Almost as good as the shit storm that would soon be descending upon on Eddie Porter courtesy of a particular Ciaramitaro sister.

  Stella smiled wide.

  Chapter Two

  “You’re disgusting, you know that right?” Nathan adjusted the two way police scanner and shot his partner a look. Danny’s ‘who, me?’ expression earned him a raised brow. “You are so twisted, it’s a miracle you’re still walking the streets.”

  “Can’t be picked up for being a stud, buddy. Not my fault the ladies can’t get enough.” Danny scanned State Street through the passenger window as if said ladies might happen walk by just looking for his studliness.

  Unfortunately for Danny, there was nobody out in this corner of the city at 10 p.m. but homeless people, drug dealers, and a transgendered prostitute named Go-Go Jones.

  Danny waved at Go-Go before turning his attention back to his Burger King smorgasbord. He popped an onion ring into his mouth and took a long drag of Coke.

  “I never understood the need to be in bed with more than one person at a time,” Nathan said, causing Danny to choke on a laugh and spray the dashboard with Coke. “The need or the configuration of it.” Nathan nodded at Go-Go as he sashayed by the driver’s side of the cruiser while Danny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and the dashboard with a napkin. “You have one part that goes into one part…how in the hell do you do that with more than one person at a time? And why would you even want to try?”

  Danny’s look of incredulity reminded Nathan why he typically kept his thoughts to himself. “Jesus Christ, Drazek, haven’t you ever watched a porno? Two chicks and a guy is a classic! The guy is doing one chick while the other one-“

  Nathan lifted a hand. “Alright, alright, fine. I believe you. Having sex with a shitload of people at once is normal and fun and I’m really missing out.”

  “Nah, you’re not missing out.” Danny grinned. “Much. And I’m sure you’re doing just fine with Little Miss Runs-A-Lot.” Danny shot Nathan a glance. “You are hitting that, right? Please tell me you and Miss Calculator are knocking crazy boots. Please. ‘Cause if there was ever a woman in need of sex, it’s that one.”