Page 46 of Unraveled

“A bit short,” her aunt echoed.

Cara held back the urge to roll her eyes. At twenty-five, she was not about to go explaining her attire, or the reasons for it, to anyone. And certainly not her aunt. “Anyway, what’s for supper?”

Maybe if she got the hell out of there as soon as possible, she could salvage some of her night. With Gian, preferably. If she could get a hold of him.

“Food,” her aunt replied with a wink. “Food you will eat and enjoy.”

Well, that was that.

Thirty minutes later, a rigatoni dish soaked in thick, rich sauce was shoved in front of Cara’s face. Across the table, her uncle stuffed a cloth napkin into the collar of his shirt as he waited for Daniele to give him a plate, too.

“It’s good to see you around more,” Claud said.

Cara wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “It’s been a rough few months.”

“Yes, but it’s better not to wallow. When things can’t be changed, you move on. Capisce?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

She didn’t agree.

But that was an argument for another day.

It was only after Daniele had served her husband, and then herself, did she sit down at the other end of the long table. Her aunt said the usual dinner prayer, giving thanks and asking for a blessing from above, before they could even touch the food. It was one of the few things Cara had a hard time with—the blessing, not the actual act of praying. Even through her parents’ drunken stupors when she was younger, they never forgot to go to church, make Cara and Lea, and Tommas say their prayers at night, or ask for a blessing when her mother managed to remember to cook food.

Maybe that was it; maybe it was that God had been the thing her parents chose to hold onto, even through their years of addiction, and not the three people they had brought into the world.

Cara really didn’t like to think about it.

“All right, let’s eat,” her uncle demanded.

His booming voice brought Cara from her depressing thoughts. For once, she was grateful for Claud’s loud demeanor.

Cara was a quarter of the way through her aunt’s pasta dish when the home’s landline started ringing. Claud waved at his wife to go pick it up, clearly not wanting to be taken away from his food. Daniele shot him a dirty look as she tossed her napkin to the table and headed for the sound of the ringing phone.

Thirty seconds later, Daniele shouted. “Claud!”

Cara stood from the table at the same time her uncle did. Panic had laced her aunt’s yell. She quickly followed behind her uncle, watching as Daniele passed the phone over with wide eyes and worry setting her lips into a hard frown.

“What is it?” Cara asked her aunt.

Daniele acted as though she hadn’t heard the question.

Claud spoke fast—and in Italian—into the phone. As it were, Cara’s Italian was a bit too rough around the edges, and she had an even harder time keeping up when someone was speaking quickly.

But she did manage to catch a few words she knew mixed in.

Gian.

Autobomba.

Ospedale.

The name of the hospital was repeated, too.

Claud hung up the phone before Cara had even realized what happened. He waved a hand wildly at his wife. “My keys, get me my damn keys, donna.”

Cara didn’t move as her aunt rushed by her. “Gian is at a hospital?”