Page 77 of Contempt

“Lucia!”

An almost nine-year-old Diego came her way with arms already opened. Lucia had hers ready to take him into her embrace the second she walked around the corner into the kitchen, and saw him reading a book at the island.

He was at that age, Rose liked to say. An age where it wasn’t as cool to show affection, and he didn’t want his hand held for every little thing. He wouldn’t hold his sister’s hand when he had to cross the street, and he liked to roll the bottoms of his pant legs for his school uniform up around the ankle of the Timberland boots he refused to not wear.

Apparently, the school called a lot about that. Rose had been called in for a lot of things regarding Diego, and the private school he attended. Fighting with other boys, school uniform code issues, and other rebellious things.

Diego didn’t look four anymore.

Far from it.

He now reached Lucia’s chest in height, and she swore he was growing taller with every passing day. He was a lanky kid, but Lucia knew that was only going to last a couple of more years before puberty hit. His dark blond hair had darkened into a light brown, and those russet eyes of his reminded her of his brother like nothing else.

So did his face.

Diego looked like a younger version of Renzo, in a lot of ways. His features were softer and more boyish, sure, but Renzo was there. In the way the kid smiled, and how one of his eyes would crinkle with a wink when he laughed. Some of his gestures were a mirror of Renzo, too, like the way his hands became more and more animated when he was excited.

Lucia didn’t know if those similarities between Diego and his brother was a matter of nurture, or nature. Was it just in his DNA? Or was he, in a way, trying to hold onto the brother that he’d loved so very much for most of his life?

It was hard to say.

Lucia knew better than to ask.

Renzo was a touchy topic for Diego. She knew that he missed and loved his brother like nothing else, but the things he remembered about Renzo weren’t always the good things. Because that was the thing about the mind, and trauma. It had a way of blocking out the good things so that it could keep hold of the bad details. Diego remembered running—he saw Renzo being taken away, and feeling alone.

Did he hate how he remembered his brother?

Lucia sometimes did.

Still, she knew it probably wasn’t the same.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, feeling his arms tighten around her waist.

“Hey, Lucia.”

Lucia shot a look at Rose who was currently standing behind the kitchen island as she prepped some of the food for supper—it looked like a casserole. Rose smiled at the sight of the two of them, but quickly went back to her work.

Diego stepped back from Lucia, and grinned. “Rose got me a new book today. You wanna read it with me?”

Lucia smiled wider. “I would love to.”

“Cool.”

Yeah, everything was cool to this kid.

Unless it wasn’t.

Then, he could roll his eyes like nobody’s business.

Lucia sat down at the island with Diego, and the kid flipped his book open. He went back to the page where he had put his bookmark, and said, “I’m not allowed to fold the pages—Rose said that’s disrespectful.”

She pressed her lips to keep from smiling as she shot Rose a look. The other woman in the kitchen tried to act like her name hadn’t gotten said at all, but eventually, she just shrugged and laughed.

“What, it is,” Rose said.

“Book-lovers,” Lucia replied, like that would explain it all.

It kind of did.