Page 120 of Always: A Legacy Novel

And he always felt good.

Catherine tiptoed through the main entrance to the Marcello home, and cringed when a floorboard creaked. It was exactly five after two in the morning. Her father had asked for her to be home before one, at least, and to call if she would be out past twelve. She was not looking forward to that talk. She hadn’t mentioned her curfew to Cross because he would have made sure she was home, and she wanted to stay out.

Her parents did not sleep like the dead, either. A simple noise would wake both her mother and father up, not to mention, put them on high alert for some kind of bad shit about to happen in their home. They had always been like that. She wasn’t sure if that was because of their lives, or their respective careers. Probably both.

She just walked past the darkened kitchen entryway when a throat clearing made her freeze on the spot.

“Evening,” she heard her mother say from inside the dark kitchen. “Or would you prefer good morning?”

Catherine turned on her heel at the same time her mother flicked on the pot lights over the cupboards. It still kept the kitchen dimly lit, but allowed her to see Catrina perched on the edge of the counter with a cup of coffee in her hands.

“Sorry, Ma,” Catherine said, “I’m late, I know.”

“You called,” her mother said, shrugging. “I asked for a call.”

“Yeah, but Daddy said to be back—”

Catrina waved her fingers toward the ceiling. “He cannot drink like he used to when he was in his twenties and thirties. Although, he would never admit it, and would be greatly offended if I pointed it out to him. He’s been passed out since twelve-thirty. Too much commotion for me today, though, so I am still awake.”

“Oh.”

“And we’ll try not to mention to him that you were a little late, okay?” Catrina asked.

Catherine blinked.

Seriously?

Catherine wondered if she entered the Twilight Zone.

“How was your night?”

“It was … good,” she settled on saying.

Really good.

Catrina smiled. “And your birthday party?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Ma.”

“That’s all that matters.”

Her mother pushed off the counter, and set her coffee cup into the nearby sink.

“I’m going to head up to bed,” Catherine said.

Her mother followed behind her. “I think I will, too.”

“Are we still doing church in the morning?”

Catrina smirked. “Always, even with a hangover, in your father’s case.”

Catherine shouldn’t have bothered to ask.

Church was a given.

Parties and late nights did not matter.

Not for the very Catholic Marcellos.