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I know the exact day I stopped believing in God. It wasn’t when my mother died but the day I learned that the church turned its back on her. She who spent more time on her knees in prayer than anyone should.
I was a toddler when she died. Too young to experience that much loss, that much sadness. At least that’s what people thought. But I saw everything and heard everything and remembered it all.
It wasn’t until years later that I realized why everyone was so angry at her. I didn’t understand why my father suddenly turned his back on the church. I was seven when I finally did, and that was when I turned my back too. Finally understanding my father’s curse against our priest for not burying her. For refusing to even hold mass for her soul.
But Catholics are strange when it comes to suicide.
“I’ll wait outside,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Helena is surprised, but I turn and go, and I don’t explain myself.
I don’t want to be in there. I want to scrub the stink of incense from my clothes, my hair.
My mother used to say it’s the smell Jesus loves, that’s why it’s always burning. This made perfect sense to me when I was little. Now, it turns my stomach, excavating memories better left buried.
Fifteen minutes later, I watch her push open the heavy door and step outside. She smiles when she spots me, which I don’t expect. But maybe she doesn’t either because she schools her features into a frown a few moments later.
I take her arm. “You’re prettier when you smile.”
“I’m not really going for pretty.”
I shrug a shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Venice, but not like this. Not for this,” she says.
“It won’t take long. My attorney’s offices are just a few blocks away, and then, if you’re good, I’ll take you to lunch afterward.”
“Wow, really?” she asks, hopping in front of me, mimicking an excited child. “Will you buy me a Popsicle too if I’m a good little girl? Huh? Will you?” She gives a shake of her head and falls back in line beside me. “Prick,” she mutters under her breath.
I take her arm, tug her close. “No, no Popsicle for you. I was planning on giving you something else to suck on, but if you’re not careful, you’ll get it up your ass instead.”
She glances up at me from the corner of her eye, and I can almost see the names she’s calling me on the inside. Which is fine, as long as I don’t have to hear them.
“That time on the post didn’t do much for your attitude, did it?” I ask as we turn a corner and are, thankfully, out of the sun. It’s warmer here than on the island. Must be all the bricks. Just sucks up the heat.
“My attitude is just fine. I haven’t called you an inbred since you so kindly educated me on the specifics, have I?”
“You’re a quick study when you’re getting your pussy eaten out.”
“Jesus. Why are you so crude?”
I glance at her. “Some women find dirty talk hot.”
“I don’t know. I think it depends how good the dirty talker is.”
“Touché.” I stop. “Hand me the switchblade you took from my room. That’s a notch for you.”
From the look on her face, she didn’t think I’d notice.
That, or she thinks I’m stupid.
“You stole it from me first. I just took back what was mine to begin with.”
“Just take care with it. I don’t want you hurting yourself, Willow Girl.”
“You prefer to do all the hurting, is that it?”
“Careful there.” I wrap my hand around the back of her slender neck and give a little squeeze. “Part of the deal is I return you in one piece.”
It’s her who stops now just as we get to the entrance of the building. “Physically, at least, right? Doesn’t matter about the scars inside. Just all fingers and toes accounted for.”
I feel one eye narrow. “Something like that.”
She always takes it just a hair too far, but I get the feeling part of that is her fighting herself because as far as sex goes, she comes at least twice a day since the night I caught her in my room. And she’s always game, no matter how much she tries to tell herself and me she’s not.
“Let’s go up. Get this done.”
We walk into the ancient building that houses our attorneys. The building itself is part of Scafoni family holdings. It’s been beautifully restored. Upon entering, I think about how much I pay our attorneys to keep our secrets.
Helena is awed. I can see it on her face. She’s taking everything in, from the pattern of the marble on the floor to the paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls. I understand. It looks more like a palace than an office.
