Sempre (Forever) (37 page)

Vincent would never forget the day that started it all, and how he felt driving down that long, vacant road in the desert for the first time. He’d been miserable, sweat dripping from his brow. The car was completely silent besides the sound of the rumbling engine. Maura knew he hated the silent treatment. He’d rather be yelled at than for her to sit there as she was, staring out the window with that blank expression on her face.

He had no idea, as he slammed his hands against the steering wheel, that it was just the beginning of a tumultuous day. “If you don't say something soon, Maura, I'm going to spontaneously combust.”

She exhaled sharply but still said nothing.

“What do you want me to do? Huh? It's my responsibility!”

His outburst was met with her scathing voice. “It's our anniversary, Vincent. It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“I know that, but they don't care,” Vincent said. “When my father says go, I have to go.”

She knew when he took the oath that he’d vowed to be there anytime
la famiglia
called on him, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. They were relatively flexible and didn’t often inconvenience him, but when they barked, he had to respond.

Vincent slowed the car when they neared the cutoff in the desert that led to Frankie Antonelli’s property. They climbed out when they reached the house, but Maura lingered by the car. Vincent stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door at the same time a high-pitched squeal rang out.

Swinging around, he saw a frail little girl running straight at Maura. She was knee-high and skinny as a toothpick, her hair matted in dreadlocks. She looked like a sewer rat, covered in filth.

The girl seemed oblivious to the presence in her path and slammed right into Maura without even slowing down. Maura stumbled a few steps from the force, and the little girl flew backward onto the ground. Her dirt-smudged nose scrunched up as she eyed the human roadblock.

“You’re awfully dirty, little one,” Maura said.

The little girl looked down at herself. “Where?”

Maura laughed as she crouched down. “You’re dirty
everywhere
.”

It only took Vincent thirty minutes to handle business that day, but it was a half-hour that unknowingly changed his life. The girl had come barreling into his life, turning everything he knew upside down.

At Maura’s insistence, Vincent inquired about her a week later, but Frankie informed him she wasn’t for sale. No matter how much money he offered, the man wouldn’t budge. Vincent hoped Maura would drop it, but the child became an obsession to her.

And he'd been oblivious to it all, living in his shell of ignorance and naively believing his life was fine. He was a keen person, but his wife had spent her entire life wearing a mask of secrecy. He had no idea what she was up to, although he should’ve been aware.

He should've known she'd see it as a second chance.

Over a decade had passed since that afternoon and not a single moment went by that he hadn’t thought of the day.

Vincent jumped when he felt Celia’s hand on his shoulder. “She asked me about her mother.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t asked me.”

“Didn't you threaten to kill her once before? She's probably hoping you forgot she existed.”

He sighed. “I see the fear in her eyes when she’s around me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Celia said. “There’s always room for redemption. In fact, I have faith you’ll find a way to work all of this out.”

“You always thought too highly of me, Celia,” Vincent said, standing up. “When they come inside, tell her to come on up to my office.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Before he turned around, he saw Celia shake her head. “I still don’t understand why you never say her name.”

*  *  *  *

Carmine opened the back door to the house, stepping aside so Haven could walk in. Her cheeks were flushed, and she sniffled as they started through the house, dripping water all over the floor. They nearly made it to the stairs when Celia stepped out from the kitchen. “Haven, dear, Vincent wants to see you in his office.”

Haven forced a smile, but there was alarm in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

She headed up the stairs slowly as Carmine looked at his aunt. “He isn’t gonna ruin her Christmas, is he?”

“No, he’s about to make it better.”

“How?”

“Why don’t you wait and ask her? Maybe she’ll tell you.”

Fucking evasiveness
. “She will. She doesn’t keep things from me.”

Celia eyed him curiously. “Has she told you about life in Blackburn?”

“Some, but it's not a favorite topic of hers, considering the things they did,” he said. “I’m mad at Corrado for that, by the way. You make sure to tell him I’m gonna kick his ass. He should’ve smothered his sister with a pillow when they were kids.”

“You can’t blame Corrado for what Kat does,” Celia said. “Besides, I’d like to see you try to beat him up.”

“I could take him if he’d fight fair,” he said. “Knowing him, he’d let me punch him a few times and then shoot me between the eyes.”

“Corrado’s not callous. He cares about you.”

“If that’s true, why isn’t he here?”

“He was going to come, but he wasn’t sure how Haven would react,” she said. “He said if he still scares you, he knows he’ll frighten the girl.”

Carmine hadn’t even thought about that. “Oh, well, maybe I won’t fuck him up next time I see him, since he’s being considerate.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s awfully kind of you, kiddo. And for what it’s worth, I think you guys are sweet together.”

“Thanks, but I'm not sure my father will agree.”

“He’s complicated.”

“I think Mom would’ve liked her.” There was a flicker of surprise on Celia’s face before she straightened out her expression, and Carmine narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It’s a big goddamn secret you guys are keeping, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’m gonna go take a shower and change out of these wet clothes.”

Celia’s soft voice stopped him halfway up to the second floor. “It would’ve been impossible for Maura not to have loved Haven.”

*  *  *  *

Vincent was typing an email to a colleague when there was a timid tap on the door. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, and she stepped inside. She was a tough girl, the type who kept secrets well. A lot like his wife that way. That thought made him feel like he’d been kicked in the gut.

He motioned for her to sit down. “Are you having a good day?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Good. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Before I brought you here, do you recall ever seeing me?”

Her face scrunched up, and he smiled involuntarily. It reminded him of the look she gave Maura that day.

“No, sir,” she said hesitantly.

“The very first time I met you, you were six-years-old,” he said. ”Well, you told my wife you were six, but you held up eight fingers.”

She looked startled. “Your wife?”

“Yes, my wife,” he said. “You wouldn’t remember her, either.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“An apology is unnecessary. I was just curious,” he said. “The reason I asked you up here is because I have something to give you.”

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the photograph, sliding it across to her. “I saw your mother a few weeks ago while on business and snapped that picture.”

Haven picked up the photo with a trembling hand, her composure slipping. Tears streamed down her cheek as she traced her mother’s outline with her pointer finger. “Thank you for showing this to me.”

“You’re welcome. That’s all I wanted, so you can rejoin the festivities.” She stood up, glancing at the picture briefly before holding it out to him, He shook his head. “Keep it. It’s the reason Celia gave you a frame.”

*  *  *  *

Carmine climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, surprised to see Haven sitting on the edge of his bed. She was clutching a picture, her focus squarely on it. “What’s that?”

She glanced up at him, her eyes bloodshot. “My mama.”

Intense dread rushed through him. “Your mom? Did something happen to her?”

“No, it’s a picture of her. Your father gave it to me.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair as he walked over to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers. “Well, that was awfully nice of him.”

“It was.”

He dressed and sat down beside her. He reached for the picture, but she automatically gripped it tighter in response. “I just wanna see, hummingbird. I’ll give it right back.”

She smiled sheepishly, handing it to him.

He surveyed the photo of the skinny woman with short hair, standing in the front of a large wooden house. Beside it was a row of old horse stables, behind them a greenhouse and some smaller storage buildings.

Haven rested her head on his shoulder. “Now you see where I came from.”

“I can’t believe they made you sleep outside.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad? There’s a lot more to life than just being ‘not so bad’ How about being
happy
?”

“Happiness is nothing but good health and a poor memory.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Albert Schweitzer said it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Thank you,” she said genuinely. “No one has ever really called me smart before.”

“
Prego
.”

She just stared at him. “
Prego
? The spaghetti sauce?”

He chuckled. “It’s a brand of sauce, yes, but it means ‘you’re welcome’ in Italian.”

“Oh.” She turned her attention back to the photograph. “Carmine, why don’t you have a picture of your mama?”

“I do, but they’re a little hard to constantly look at. I’ll have to dig one out so you can see her one of these days.”

Haven smiled. “I bet she’s beautiful.”

“Of course she is,” he said playfully. “She made me.”

*  *  *  *

Vincent sat in the silent office for a moment before opening his top desk drawer again. He pushed a few things around and grabbed the small photo from the bottom. It had been there for years, the edges worn and image faded although it rarely saw the light of day.

He gazed at the picture of his wife, his chest aching. He desperately wished she were there, because she, out of everyone, would be able to tell him what to do. She’d know what to say, how to make everything right again. Maura always had the answers, even if they were ones Vincent hadn’t liked to hear.

Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out the chain that hung around his neck and absent-mindedly fiddled with the small gold band. It matched the one he still wore on his finger. He’d never had the nerve to take it off.

There was another knock on his office door as he sat there, this one forceful. Before Vincent could utter a single word, the door flew open, and Carmine walked in with a long box.

Vincent tucked the ring back into his shirt and dropped the photo in the drawer. He admonished his son, but there was no energy to his words. “You really shouldn’t enter a room without permission, Carmine.”

“Why? Is there something you’re trying to hide?” he asked. “I didn’t think we kept secrets.”

“I suppose I keep as many secrets as you do, son.” Carmine stared at him, a brief flicker of panic in his expression. Vincent had been seeing it a lot more lately. “Are you going to sit down?”

Carmine set the box down on top of the desk before taking a seat across from him.

“A gift for me?” Vincent asked.

“Did you really think I’d shun you on Christmas? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I do know you,” he said, opening the box. His eyes fell upon the M1 Garand, and he smiled. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Carmine laughed. “No one said you deserved it.”

“Well, thank you, anyway,” Vincent said. “Where did you get this?”

He was curious about his son’s connections, since he never went through him or any of his usual sources. It frightened him that his youngest was already so deep into the life that he could obtain such a gun with relatively little problem. Vincent wanted more for him. He knew Salvatore held high hopes for Carmine joining him in Chicago, and Vincent was being a hypocrite by not wanting it to happen, but the idea of him following in his footsteps sickened him.

“Oddest thing,” Carmine said. “I was walking down the street and it just fell out of the sky. True story.”

“I bet.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Carmine said. “We’ll say it’s my way of making up for the bullshit I pulled.”

“Oh no, it’s going to take a lot more than a gun to make up for that,” Vincent said. “You could’ve killed Nicholas. You can’t bribe me with a gun and expect that to be forgotten.”

“You sent me to prep school for months with a bunch of degenerate geeks. I’ve paid for my crime.”

“I suppose you think you did.”

There was another knock on the open door, and Vincent glanced over to see Haven standing there. “Yes?”

“Celia asked me to tell you that dinner was ready, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“
Prego
.”

Vincent looked at her with surprise, and Carmine smirked. “I taught her that a little bit ago. She’s like a sponge, soaking up everything you throw at her. I’m surprised she hasn’t started cursing yet from hearing me.”

“Oh, but she has,” Vincent said. “I overheard her.”

Carmine turned to Haven. “What did you say?”

She didn’t respond, and he sighed. “Come on, you can say it. Was it fuck? Because I say fuck a lot. Motherfucker? Shit? Asshole?”

“I think that’s plenty,” Vincent said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The word doesn’t matter, but if you insist on knowing, she said ‘damn’.”

“Oh, just damn? Not even goddamn?”

Vincent cringed. He loathed that word.

*  *  *  *

Carmine pulled out a chair for Haven in the dining room and sat across from her, giving her a small smile. Tess and Dia stayed for dinner, sitting on the side with Haven, while Dominic and Celia sat near Carmine. Vincent took the chair at the head of the table and bowed his head, saying his usual prayer.