Sempre (Forever) (29 page)

Startled, Carmine sat upright and clutched his chest as he tried to get his heart to slow down. Glancing beside him in the dim room, he saw Haven’s eyes were wide open, her expression layered with concern.

Falling back onto the bed, he ran his hands down his face. Sweating and shaking, his breathing erratic, he half-expected Haven to flee as he reached out to her. She didn’t, though. Instead, she allowed him to squeeze her in a hug.

He felt tears building as he cleared his throat. “I was eight, and it was my first and only piano recital. It was late when it was over, and my mom wanted to walk home. She didn’t want to wait for a car to pick us up. We took a shortcut through some back alleys, and a car pulled up—a black car with dark windows.”

He could still see it. Generic, just another undistinguishable black sedan, but it stood out to them.

“I saw it and thought my father sent it for us, because he didn’t like us out at night without protection. But my mom saw it, and she knew. I don’t know how, but she did. She told me to leave, to go straight home. I didn’t want to, but she said if I loved her I’d run. And I fucking loved her, so I did. I ran.”

The tears fell down his cheeks, and he didn’t fight it—they’d come whether he wanted them to or not.

“I made it to the end of the alley when she screamed, and I turned around in enough time to see the man pull the trigger. She dropped to the ground, and he pointed the gun at me. The burning tore through me. At first, I seriously thought I was on fire. I hid behind a dumpster at a pizzeria around the corner, too scared to go on. I thought they were following me. I thought I was gonna die.”

He paused to clear his throat, taking a deep breath. “We were almost home… so close that my father heard the gunshots. He didn’t know what it was, though, so he didn’t come to look. The guy that owned the pizzeria found me. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. I’d never seen my father cry before that day. He just sat beside my bed, chanting, ‘it’s my fault,’ and fuck, I felt the same way. I ran. I just left her there to die.”

He let out a shaky breath and squeezed Haven tightly, feeling her warmth and life. Her hand stroked his chest as she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “I ran, too, you know. My mama told me to run away and leave her there. I only did it because she asked me to.”

“So you know the guilt I feel.”

She nodded. “But you didn’t let her down, Carmine. You did what she needed you to do.”

Carmine brushed away her tears. “And what’s that?”

“You survived.”

Chapter 18

The first time Haven helped cook a meal, she’d been seven-years-old. It was Thanksgiving, and Miss Clara made a big turkey with all of the fixings—stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, and macaroni and cheese, with homemade yeast rolls and cranberry sauce. There was even pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream. It was more food than Haven had ever seen before, the savory smells making her famished stomach burn with hunger pains. Miss Clara repeatedly smacked Haven’s hand when she reached for food, time and again admonishing her for trying to steal. Haven hadn’t understood, being as young as she was. She thought if she was hungry, she ought to be allowed to eat.

She did her best to help, fetching anything Miss Clara asked her to get. She was nearly finished when she asked Haven to grab the eggs, and the little girl snatched them from the refrigerator, eager to please. Her grip wasn’t strong, though, and the carton of eggs tumbled from her hand. They hit the floor with a splat, gooey yolk seeping out everywhere. Miss Clara gasped and rushed over to her the same time Frankie stepped into the kitchen.

He glared at the mess on the floor. “Who did this?”

Haven’s heart rate spiked as Miss Clara spoke. “Me, sir.”

Frankie looked from Miss Clara to the frightened child. Haven could tell he knew the truth, that she’d been the one to cause the mess, but he ordered her out of the kitchen as he removed his belt. Haven barely made it to the next room before she heard the first crack, a phantom sting on her skin as she listened to Frankie punish Clara for her mistake.

It was Haven’s only memory of the holiday, as every other year she’d been banished to the stables. And as she stood in the DeMarco’s kitchen early that Thursday morning at the end of November, all she could think about was what a disaster that Thanksgiving turned out to be.

A few weeks had passed since her encounter with Nunzio. Haven tried to put the incident behind her, not wanting him to have any power over her life. Enough people controlled her. She didn’t need him to be another.

When the oven was preheated and the turkey was cooking, Haven started working on the rest of the food. She opened the refrigerator and glanced inside for some milk, seeing none in its usual spot. Squatting down, she pushed stuff around and panicked. There was no way she could make dinner without milk. “Ugh, damn milk!”

A cough behind her made her jump up, and she spun around so fast she got dizzy. When her vision adjusted, her gaze fell upon Dr. DeMarco in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed casually, his hair damp and slicked back on his head. She stared at him, her heart racing.

He raised his eyebrows. “
Damn
milk?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It just slipped out.”

“It’s all right,” he said, shrugging. Her eyes widened, and he laughed at her expression. “What, did you think you were in trouble?”

She nodded. “I’ve never said a word like that before.”

“That was the first time you’ve ever cursed?”

“I knew better than to say those things at the Antonelli's,” she said. “Not that I don’t know better here. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that it was different there, and here isn’t different…”

He held up his hand, and she stopped babbling. “It’s not a big deal. It was a tame word in comparison to what I usually hear around here. I consider it a side effect from hanging around my youngest so much.”

He eyed her intently like he was trying to gauge her reaction, so she treaded carefully. “Yes, Carmine does like colorful words, but I try to avoid them so I don't accidentally say them in the presence of my mast—uh...” She stalled, knowing he didn’t like that word. “…in the presence of those that deserve respect.”

“You’re quick on your feet.”

She smiled to be polite, but he made her nervous. “I meant it.”

He sighed. “You don’t have to feed my ego, child. I appreciate it, but it’s unnecessary. My children curse at me all of the time.”

“But I’m not one of your children, sir.”

“No, you’re certainly not,” he said. “So, why were you cursing? Is there a problem?”

“We have no milk.”

“Well, put on your coat, and we’ll go to the store then.” She just stared at him as the word ‘we’ sank in, and he sighed. “Today, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, sir.”

She grabbed the lightweight navy blue coat out of her closet and slid on a pair of brown shoes before meeting Dr. DeMarco in the foyer. He opened the front door as she approached, and she shivered the moment the cold air hit her. Dr. DeMarco walked out behind her and glanced at the driveway, groaning. “Wait here. Carmine has my car blocked in.”

Dr. DeMarco went back into the house. She glanced around, stunned he’d left her there alone after what happened. It only took him a minute to return, but it would’ve been long enough for her to escape into the woods.

Not that she could’ve gotten far. He would’ve found her.

Dr. DeMarco headed toward Carmine’s car with a key in his hand and unlocked the passenger door for her. She buckled up while he got in and moved the seat around to get comfortable.

Dr. DeMarco seemed pleased after a moment and opened the center console. He closed it after a second and leaned over for the glove compartment, glancing inside. After scouring the crevices, he reached underneath the seat and pulled out a gun. Haven stared at it, her stomach churning like she was going to be sick. She waited for him to point it at her, but he simply checked to see if it was loaded before sliding it back under the seat.

Because it was a holiday, every business they passed on the drive was closed. After an hour they finally found a store with a florescent “open” sign flashing in the window, and Haven followed him inside.

He walked toward the dairy section, grabbing the first gallon of milk he spotted. Haven fought back the urge to warn him to check the date, knowing it wouldn’t be right to tell him what to do.

“Anything else?” he asked. She shook her head, and he strolled toward the register, in no hurry now that he had the milk in his hand. He paid, thanking the cashier politely as he grabbed the bag and headed toward the car. He held open the door for Haven before climbing into the driver’s side.

“So, you and Carmine seem to get along pretty well,” he said as he started up the car. “When I first retrieved you, I was worried. Carmine can be abrasive, and you were so timid I was afraid he’d frighten you, but you seem at ease with him. I wonder why that is.”

He had an expectant look on his face, as if he were seeking an explanation from her. “Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe because he’s straight-forward so it doesn’t take a lot of guessing to know how he’ll react.”

“I suppose I can see the logic in that,” he said. “Never thought his temperament could be considered good.”

Haven turned to gaze out the window, not wanting to discuss Carmine anymore, and Dr. DeMarco said nothing else on the subject.

As soon as they reached the house, they came face-to-face with Carmine in the foyer, the concern in his expression staggering. Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “If you don’t want me to drive your car, don’t block mine in.”

Carmine rolled his eyes. “You could’ve moved it and taken yours.”

“I could’ve, but I paid for it.”

“I’ve told you before—I don’t care who paid for it. It’s mine.”

Dr. DeMarco stared at him for a moment. “Did you call 911 and report me when you noticed it was missing?”

911
? Carmine didn’t answer, which made his father laugh.

Confused, Haven took the milk and headed for the kitchen.

Haven spent over half the day in the kitchen while the others watched football in the family room. She’d occasionally catch glimpses of Carmine, and he’d smile or wink when his father wasn’t around, but they didn’t have a chance to exchange many words.

She set the table and was about to pull the turkey out of the oven around four o’clock when Dr. DeMarco walked in. “I can get that for you,
dolcezza
. Go upstairs and get cleaned up for dinner. We’ll wait for you.”

She hadn’t planned to eat with them, but she could tell from his expression that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. She went to her room and put on fresh clothes before brushing her frizzy hair. She left it hang, tucking the unruly curls behind her ears as she headed back down.

Dr. DeMarco cleared his throat when he saw her. “Let’s eat.”

Dominic’s face brightened as he bolted for the table, and Haven smiled as she took the seat across from Carmine.

She bowed her head with them this time when Dr. DeMarco said his blessing, and she sat quietly as they had polite conversation over dinner. After about twenty minutes, Dr. DeMarco set down his fork. “Since it’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to go around the table and share what we’re thankful for. Dominic, you can start.”

Dominic sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m thankful for Tess and those luscious lips of hers. Thankful to be graduating and going to college. Thankful for everything we have, of course.”

Dr. DeMarco nodded, motioning toward Carmine. “I’m thankful for the Mazda—damn thankful you didn’t return it scratched,” he said, glaring at his father. “I’m thankful to be out of that ridiculous boarding school. Thankful for music and my gun... I fucking love my gun.”

Haven looked at him with surprise as Dr. DeMarco laughed. “It’s a nice gun. I checked it out. A 1911 .45 ACP. Where’d you get it?”

Carmine shrugged. “Maybe I don’t recall.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. DeMarco said. ”Are you done?”

“Uh, I'm thankful for you all, even if you get on my nerves sometimes,” Carmine said. “Oh, and orgasms...
definitely
thankful for those.”

“That’s enough,” Dr. DeMarco said, shaking his head as he turned to her. “What are you thankful for, child?”

She hesitated, her nerves running amuck. “Having food to eat. A bed to sleep in, too.”

Haven could feel Carmine’s eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look up. There was an uncomfortable silence before Dr. DeMarco spoke again. “I’m thankful for my children. I’m thankful for our health and wealth, and also for your safety.”

Haven was surprised to see him looking at her when he said that. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was she ever really safe?

She turned back to her plate and picked at her food some more. Although it was awkward, she was grateful this Thanksgiving hadn’t been a total disaster.

*  *  *  *

Haven hesitated in the library when she saw Carmine’s bedroom door open. His angry voice ricocheted through the floor as he frantically looked around.

He ran his hands through his hair, flustered, and started kicking some of the clutter on his floor. She smiled at his antics. “Are you missing something?”

He swung around, eyes narrowed. “I lost my fucking phone.”

She stepped inside, glancing around as he scoured through a pile of books, and spotted it among some papers on his dresser. “Here it is,” she said, picking it up and holding it out to him.

Carmine snatched the phone before wrapping his arms around her. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. How about we watch a movie and forget what an asshole I am?”

Haven nodded. She knew he didn’t mean it when he lost his temper and lashed out.

He pointed to his wall of shelves. “Pick a DVD.”

Stepping over to them, she scanned the titles, but the names meant nothing to her. “I don’t know what any of these are.”

“Just throw one in,” he said. “I don’t care what we watch as long as I get to spend some time with you.”