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In our father’s eyes, she betrayed him, and the family, when she ran away with that man. He’s not one to forget, and he never forgives. Even after you’ve paid.
Family.
Ours will choke the life out of you.
“I’m hungry, Grandpa,” Bennie says, taking the old man’s scraggly hand. I want to tell him to step away. To drop his hand before all that hatred infects him. Steals his innocence.
“Bennie.” Michela stands, getting ready to pull him back. I wonder if she is thinking the same thing.
But my father pats his head and smiles. He actually fucking smiles. “Elise,” he barks.
“Sir?”
“The boy is hungry.”
“Dinner is served,” Elise says, rushing to hit the gong against the far wall of the dining room to alert the kitchen staff.
Bennie and Michela take their seats at the table. I swallow the remainder of my drink and set the glass on the mantle. I block Johnny from wheeling my father to his new place at the foot of the table to do it myself.
When I make a point of taking the napkin and setting it on his lap, he glowers at me.
I smile in response.
Because fuck him. I will remind him daily of his damage like he reminded me for so many years of mine.
The meal is served, and the wine poured. Bennie does most of the talking and it’s when we’re almost finished that he asks if Simona is here.
Michela gives me a hard look.
“No, Bennie. Simona’s cousin, Cristina, is here,” I answer.
“Will Simona come? She was nice.”
“When did you meet Simona?” my father asks, putting a forkful of meat that’s already been cut into pieces by Elise or one of the other staff into his mouth.
“We played together.”
Slicing into my steak, I watch the juices pool red around it.
“Did you?” my father asks, his eyes finding mine as I sit back and chew. My gaze is unwavering. I don’t answer to him. Not anymore.
“Damian thought it would send the right message,” Michela offers, ever helpful.
“Will Cristina play with me?” Bennie asks.
“She is not your friend, boy,” my father spits through his mouthful. The menace in his voice confuses Bennie, who tilts his head to try to understand.
“She’s older than Simona is what your grandfather means,” I say. As much as I like having him around, I need to get him out of here. For now, at least. Until things with Cristina settle or until my father dies—whichever comes first.
“Oh.”
My father picks through his plate. “What I mean is that she is the reason your grandmother and your aunt are—”
“Aren’t you taking Bennie to the city next week?” I ask my sister, cutting him off. “He hasn’t seen his Great-aunt Norah in a while.” Norah is my mother’s sister.
“Is that allowed?” Michela asks me with a fake smile.
“It would be good for him to spend a few weeks in the city,” I say.
“But I like it here,” Bennie chimes in.
“The boy should bear witness,” my father says, stabbing the last of his meat with his fork. “If you fail, the responsibility to punish our enemies will fall on his shoulders.”
“And what an inheritance it would be,” I say casually, chewing my food.
My father glares.
“Mommy?” Bennie starts, confused. “What does Grandpa mean?”
“Nothing,” I answer him, my eyes on my father across the table. “He’s a child,” I tell him then turn to my sister. “Michela.” I put my fork and knife down and push my chair back. I have no appetite. “Make arrangements to leave in the morning. Simeon will accompany you. I’ll let you know when you can return.”
“Simeon?” She hates Simeon because he actually has the balls to stand up to her, but my sister needs someone to look after her. She’s reckless.
“Yes. If you’ll excuse me. Elise.” She steps forward, and I think how much I dislike the old woman. She went from nanny to housekeeper. And in all those years, she never raised a hand to help or protect us when we were too young to stand up for ourselves. “Give my compliments to your husband.” Her husband is our chef.
“Thank you, sir.”
I walk out of the dining room and cross the house to climb the stairs up to my wing. I don’t take the old servant’s passage, so I won’t pass by Cristina’s door.
In my bedroom I strip off my clothes to change into an old work shirt, jeans, and boots. I walk to the door between our rooms and listen for her. I almost give up when I finally hear her. She’s quietly crying, and I wish I could see her eyes. I like the color they turn when she cries. And I know it’s sick that I don’t want to wipe those tears away.
No.
I want to taste them.12CristinaMovement in the garden catches my eye, and I get up. Wrapping my arms around myself, I walk to the window and watch as the light bobs in the dark. A flashlight. Whoever it is, is walking toward the woods. It’s late, and I wonder why anyone would go out in that utter darkness this time of night.
