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I jumped out of the car and Luca followed at a leisurely pace. I kept thinking about what he had said as I hurried across the lawn, a little longer than normal, right on the edge of needing a cut. I walked up the concrete slab porch, opened the outer screen door, and knocked five times before ringing the bell twice.
The place was black and silent. My heart hammered in my chest. I tried the knob, but it was locked, and I didn’t have a key.
“Want me to break it in?” he asked.
“No,” I said, ringing the bell three more times. “Not yet. If she’s in there, I don’t want to scare her.”
He grunted in reply and leaned up against the white support beam that held up the porch’s roof.
I hit the doorbell again and a light popped on. My heart leapt up in my chest and I rang the doorbell five more times in quick succession.
“What’s going on?” I heard my mom shout from inside.
“Mom!” I knocked a few times. “Open the door!”
I heard her shuffle up close and look out the tiny peephole. “Clair? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. “Can you please open up?”
I heard the door unlock and pull open to reveal my mother wearing her pajama bottoms, an old gray shirt, and a long pink bathrobe.
“Sweetie? What are you doing here? It’s so late.”
“We need to talk,” I said.
Her eyes moved past me, stopped on Luca. She took a step back and put her hands out.
“No,” she said. “No, you can’t bring him in here.”
“Mom,” I said. “Please, this is important.”
“These sons of bitches took you away from me,” she said. “Did you know I went to see your uncle? Yelled at him, the stupid bastard, yelled at him right on his own damn step. He took it like a man but I tell you, I think he was afraid. I bet he was, with all I know about them. There’s no way I’ll let that, that, that thing in this house.”
“Mom,” I said, getting angry. She was being too loud and I was afraid she’d wake up the neighbors. Someone might call the cops and that would only make things way more complicated. “Please listen. Luca is a friend. And right now, you’re in danger. We need to talk to you, please.”
Her eyes went wide. “I’m in danger?”
“It’s because of what Uncle Fazio did,” I said. “All the money he left me. Please, let’s just go inside and talk.”
My mom stared at me, eyes wide, the color draining from her face. She looked from me to Luca then back again, and shook her head.
“He takes his shoes off,” she said. “Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luca said.
She turned and stormed inside, heading back toward the kitchen.
I glanced at Luca and gave him an apologetic smile which he just shrugged off. I stepped inside and he followed. He closed the screen door, then the main door, and locked it, before bending over and taking off his shoes.
I looked around the living room as I waited for him to finish. There was the same old blue couch, the same leather armchair, the odd barnyard chic decorations my mother preferred. Rooster statues, vintage farm equipment, and a painting of cows hung on the walls and were perched on every conceivable surface.
When Luca finished, we headed back into the kitchen. It was small, vinyl floor, vinyl counters, blue cabinets with more roosters and chickens and barns. My mother had the lights on and was filling up the kettle, grumbling to herself. She put the kettle on, lit the burner, and turned to face us.
“Sit down,” she said, gesturing at the table. She cleared off some magazines, an empty Coke can, and a plate with crumbs on it, probably left out from dinner. Luca lingered near the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and I sat down across from my mom.
“I’m sorry we woke you up,” I said.
“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said. “I thought something was wrong.”
“Mom, something is wrong.” I shifted in my seat, not sure how to explain it.
I leaned out and reached for her hands. She took mine, her fingers thin and wrinkled. Her eyes were a dark brown, her hair was thick and curly, and there were lines around her eyes and forehead. She was beautiful once, and she still had some of that beauty, but I think years of stress and anger made her lose a lot of the glow she used to have, at least from what I’d seen in old pictures and family movies.
“Tell me you’re safe,” she said.
“She’s safe,” Luca said.
My mother cringed when he spoke and refused to look at him.
“It’s not me that’s in danger right now,” I said. “It’s actually you.”
“Me?” She blinked, leaned back, dropped my hands. “I thought you were just… scaring me. You really think I’m in trouble?”
