Sempre (Forever) (62 page)

He glanced through a list of names and checked hers off before holding out his hand for her paperwork. Dr. DeMarco had made sure it was all filled out beforehand so she wouldn’t have any problems.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the driver’s license and handed it to him. She knew it wasn’t real, and her heart beat furiously as he checked it over. He grumbled something under his breath but dismissed her, and she carefully took a seat at the closest desk. Others filtered in for testing, and they started at exactly eight o’clock.

Haven flew through the fifty questions on grammar and punctuation, but the second part of the writing test stalled her. She’d done a lot of practicing by filling up her notebooks, but she’d never written anything for someone to read before.

The instructor told them they had forty-five minutes to complete it, and Haven glanced at the paper to read her prompt:

What does it take to be a good parent?

In your essay, describe the characteristics of a good parent. Give details to explain your views. Use your personal observations, experience and knowledge.

People huffed and pencils scratched against paper as Haven stared at her topic. What
did
it take to be a good parent?

Her father, abusive and malicious, refused to acknowledge he’d even created her. She suffered years of torture under his care before he’d sold her with no regard. If Dr. DeMarco hadn’t come along, she would’ve ended up at an auction, sold as a sex slave for money to buy whiskey for Michael and new shoes for his wife.

She felt her anger growing and bit down on her lip. Her mama always had the best intentions, even though she was helpless. She hid her for protection and never failed to keep the one thing even Haven had lost over the years—hope.

Blinking away tears as memories assaulted her, Haven glanced at the clock on the wall across the room. Twenty minutes had already gone by, so she took a deep breath and started writing. She wrote whatever came to her mind as she thought of her mama, how a good parent never gave up and always encouraged their children to dream.

The instructor called time as she was putting a period on the end of a sentence. He took her paper and it made her nervous, because she hadn’t had the chance to look it over.

The rest of testing flew by fast, and they were dismissed at around three in the afternoon. The Mazda was parked in the fire lane with the music blaring, and she quietly slipped into the passenger seat.

Carmine turned his music down as he pulled away from the curb. “How did you do?”

She smiled softly as he offered her his hand. “Okay.”

She waited for him to press her for more information, but he didn’t. Neither one spoke on the drive back to Durante. She went right to the kitchen to make something to eat when they arrived at the house. Carmine sat down on the counter beside the stove and watched her as she cooked. “Are you making Mexican?”

She nodded. “Enchiladas. They were, uh… my mama liked them.”

“It looks good,” Carmine said.

“Thanks.”

“We can eat and watch a movie or something.”

“Okay.”

“Or maybe we’ll play a game.”

“Okay.”

“Actually, I’m tired, so maybe we’ll just go straight to bed.”

“Okay.”

“Probably won't even fucking eat.”

“Uh, okay.”

The room grew silent as Carmine glared at her. His shift in demeanor startled Haven. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “You, I’m not so sure about.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Haven, is something’s bothering you. Since I picked you up, you’ve barely said a dozen words and half of them were ‘okay’. You know how I feel about that shit, and you stopped doing it a long time ago. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you fail?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you freak out or something?”

“No, I think I did okay.” She cringed as she said that word again.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking about my mama.”

“You miss her.”

“Yes.”

“You wanna talk about her?” he asked, his voice quiet and genuine, all traces of anger melted away. “You don’t have to keep it to yourself.”

“I know, but I don’t know what to say. I miss her, and I’ll probably never see her again. I never got to tell her goodbye or that I love her. It hurts to think about it now, because I used to wonder if we even loved each other. It’s easier to be detached, because people die and that can rip you apart, but I realized today that Mama did love me. And I love her, but I never told her that.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Never”.

Carmine jumped down from the counter. “I’m sure she knows.”

“I wish I could tell her, though.”

“I wish you could too,” he said, kissing the top of her head, "but some shit is out of my hands.”

“I know,” she said. “I really shouldn’t be crying about this to you, because you have more reason to grieve than me. My mama’s still alive, and yours is…”

He flinched before she could speak the word. She pulled back from his arms and tried to apologize, but he pressed his pointer finger to her lips. “My mom lived, Haven. She was free to make her choices, and she did just that. She made fucking decisions and saw them through, and she died because of it. Your mom has never been able to make a decision of her own, so I think you have more to grieve than I do.”

She opened her mouth to respond but he shook his head. “You’re gonna burn your dinner. What would your mom say about that?”

*  *  *  *

Sunny Oaks Manor was anything but sunny today. A storm waged outside, rain steadily falling as gusts of wind bent the flimsy trees around the property. Thunder rumbled as lightning lit up the darkened afternoon sky, making it feel more like the middle of the night.

Vincent stood in the front room of his mother’s apartment, watching the ambulance parked right outside. The EMTs, in their yellow raincoats, loaded the stretcher with the black body bag into the back. Quietly, he made the sign of the cross and whispered a short prayer.

“Don't pray for that old hag,” Gia said, somehow overhearing him without her hearing-aides in. “It's her own fault she's dead.”

“How so?” Vincent asked, turning to his mother. The staff had said Gertrude died peacefully in her sleep.

“She left her bedroom window wide open last week. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. That black bird flew in like it owned the place.”

Vincent sighed. “I don't think it was the bird, Ma.”

Gia waved him off. “What do you know?”

“Well, I am a doctor.”

“Oh, you quacks never know what you're talking about,” she said. “You always want to give people pills and take their blood from them when it's unnecessary. God doesn't make mistakes, Vincenzo. People die when they deserve to. You know that.”

Vincent clenched his hand into a fist at the subtle dig about Maura. “What about Dad? Did he deserve it?”

“As many
goomah
's as your father had? I'm surprised his heart lasted as long as it did.”

Shaking his head, Vincent turned back to the window. He'd never understand his mother's callousness. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered visiting her when she obviously didn’t enjoy his company.

The ambulance was pulling away from Sunny Oaks, and Vincent's gaze followed it to the corner in the storm. It disappeared from sight but his gaze lingered there, his stomach dropping as he took in the dark SUV parked less than a block away. He watched it for a moment, hoping he was imagining things, but his instincts told him it was no coincidence.

Gia was talking, but Vincent heard not a word of what she said. He'd only been joking when he suggested to Corrado that they were watching him, but he realized then that he'd been right. He was being followed, but by who? He wasn’t sure.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” he admitted, turning to his mother. “What did you say?”

“I’m not repeating myself for you,” Gia said. “It’ll just suck the breath from my lungs and take time off of my life. That’s probably what you want, isn’t it? For me to be dead? Then I wouldn’t be such a burden anymore. Your own mother… you treat me like garbage.”

Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want from me, Ma?”

“Nothing, Vincenzo. I want nothing.”

He glanced at his watch. He’d used up all of his patience today. “I should go. Dominic and Tess are waiting for me.”

Gia narrowed her eyes. “Who are they?”

“You know who Dominic is,” he said, trying to keep calm, but he’d had about as much of her as he could take. “He’s your grandson, and Tess is his girlfriend.”

“Is she Italian?”

“No, she’s American. Scottish heritage.”

“Scottish? At least that’s better than the Irish. What about that other boy of yours? Does he have an Italian girl?”

Vincent walked over to his mother and kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Ma,” he said, heading toward the door without answering her question.

*  *  *  *

The week flew by in a blur as Haven and Carmine were left alone. It was easy for them to forget those days, when it was just the two of them, that there were barriers standing in their way. It seemed so simple, their lives merging fluidly in the confines of the house, but the outside world was closing in on them fast. It was a black cloud hovering in the distance, threatening to burst, but the problem was Carmine didn’t know when, where, or even how it was going to come down. It could be just an inconvenient drizzle, or it could be a flood that washed everything away. There was no way to prepare for the storm, because they couldn’t predict what would happen when it struck.

It was Friday afternoon, and they were in the family room watching a movie. Their bodies were pressed together on the couch, their legs entwined as she lay in his arms. His lips wandered down her jaw, his mouth vigorously sucking on the flesh of her neck.

The sound of Haven’s light moans were cut off abruptly by the beeping of the alarm and the front door slamming. Panicked, Carmine sat up as his father stormed into the room. There was fire in his eyes as he looked between the two of them. Carmine knew it then. The storm had come, and it was going to be a bad one.

Instinctively, he shifted his body protectively in front of Haven’s, and Vincent clenched his hands into fists. “My office.
Now
.”

“Who?” Carmine asked tentatively as his father walked away.

“You,” he snapped, his footsteps swiftly heading through the foyer to the stairs.

Carmine stood up and pulled Haven to her feet. “Go upstairs and stay there until I come up. I need to find out what’s happening.”

She followed him upstairs, but his legs were longer and she couldn’t keep up with his stride. Carmine went straight for his father’s office, thrusting the door open without bothering to knock.

Vincent was hunched over his laptop, typing furiously away at the keys. “They’re coming.”

Carmine’s brow furrowed at the vague statement. ”Who?”

“Ed McMahon and the prize patrol. Who do you think is coming?”

He was caught off guard by the mocking tone. “Feds?”

“I wish,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “I could handle the police, and it’s probably only a matter of time before they come knocking now, but no… we’re not that lucky today.”

“Mafia.” It was the only other thing that made sense.

“I got a call a few minutes ago from Corrado. He caught word that Sal hopped a plane to come here with no warning. I don’t know why, and I have no idea what they want. Corrado’s away on business and had no knowledge of a trip planned.”

Vincent opened desk drawers and pulled out files, rifling through them as Carmine watched. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I doubt they’d come here to harm me. If Sal wanted me dead, he’d call a sit-down. I’m hoping it’s business, but it could be one of you they’re after, so I need to get you out of here in case.”

“Where are we supposed to go?”

Vincent sighed, tossing more files around. “Corrado doesn’t think you should be anywhere without protection.”

“I have a gun,” Carmine said.

Vincent’s head shot up. “A lot of good one gun does you as a nobody. They could go rogue and kill you, and no one would know any better unless you had one of us by your side.”

Vincent’s phone started vibrating against the desk, and he held his hand up to silence Carmine. He answered it formally, his voice as even as possible. “DeMarco speaking… yes, sir… I’ll be here.”

He hung up, tossing the phone down. “Pack some bags. Corrado’s going to meet you in California. We need to get the ball rolling on things.””

*  *  *  *

Haven paced the floor in Carmine’s bedroom, listening attentively for any noises from below, but her ears were met with nothing but silence. No yelling. No screaming. No commotion at all.

The silence only served to fuel her imagination as she conjured up wild scenarios—none of them even remotely good. Her hands shook, fear coursing through her as a door slammed on the floor below. Footsteps hurried up the stairs as her heart thumped even harder, so frenzied she could feel the blood rushing through her body.

The door flung open, hitting the wall with a bang, and Carmine hurried into the room without even looking at her. He headed straight for his closet and started throwing things around, cursing to himself while Haven watched.

He tossed two duffel bags onto the bed. “Pack some shit.”

She didn’t dare move an inch. “What?”

“We need to get out of here, Haven.”

He headed into the bathroom, scouring around for something, and Haven felt woozy. She wanted to ask what was going on, desperately wanted him to explain, but she was terrified of the answer. Because the way he was rushing around hinted at one thing... he wanted to run.

She staggered to the bed and sat down as Carmine ran over to her room, Dr. DeMarco’s words echoed through her mind. She’d promised she’d never run again. She swore she wouldn’t follow Carmine blindly.

“Why are you just sitting there?” Carmine asked when he returned, his arms full of her clothes. He frantically tossed her belongings into the duffel bags, and she stared at him as he grabbed his own. Thoughts swirled madly around her mind as he zipped up both bags and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go.”