Page 29 of Mafia’s Final Play

“How long has she been down here?” Matteo asked, sleep still a hoarseness in his voice.

“All night, but she slept through it. I saw something outside, then heard her moving around, so I came down to watch over her.” The big man’s voice was quiet, gentle, as he watched his boss put the coffee on and take the bacon out of the fridge.

“Thanks, Anton. Go up and get some sleep, if you want. Or do you want to eat first?”

“I’ll eat, yeah. Then, I might get some sleep, thanks.”

When Marie woke up, it was to the smell of bacon and coffee. Stretching, she smiled. She’d slept all night and someone had put a blanket over her.

When she walked into the kitchen, she saw a tired-looking Anton and a rested Matteo. It must have been the big man that had put the blanket over her. She gave him a grateful nod and then hugged her husband. “Hi, there.”

He put a kiss on her forehead and squeezed her softly before he motioned to the table. “Get some coffee and have a seat. Food’s almost ready.”

With a clear head and a rested body, Marie watched her husband as he hummed along to the radio, cooking pancakes to go with the bacon. How could she change that bright and happy face to one of exhaustion and worry? It just wouldn’t be fair. She plastered on a smile and decided to wait. She had to think about this more, but for now, she couldn’t resist his happiness. Later, she decided. She’d think about it all again later.

14

“The road is clear, although you might find there are some patches of black ice now that the sun has gone down.” Anton sat on the couch in the living room, ready for a night on his own with a few beers, a boxing match ready to start, and some snacks.

“Thanks, Anton,” Matteo said and took the keys to the SUV from the coffee table. “We’ll be back around 11 or 12, not sure. It depends on what she wants to do after we go to the movies.”

“Sure, I’ll keep a watch on everything here.” Anton picked up a bag of corn chips and opened them. He’d been down to the town earlier to get food and other necessities while the weather was clear.

Matteo and Marie were on their way out to dinner and a movie, and his wife was nearly dancing with excitement. She was dressed in a thick black sweater, black leggings, with her black wool coat on over that. She even had a black knit cap on her head. “You look like a burglar.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide with dismay. “Do I?”

“A little, but it’s sexy. Come on, my little thief, let's get out of here before the weather changes its mind again.” Matteo had learned it was possible up here, but it shouldn’t get too bad in the couple of hours they were down in town. If it did, he’d rent them a room at the local hotel and they’d stay there until the weather improved. Not a big deal really.

They went out to the SUV and were on their way down the mountain.

“I’m so excited.”

“I can tell.” He laughed softly as he drove expertly down the steep incline. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been to the movies.”

“There wasn’t any money and nobody to take me.” She repeated something she’d said before, but not with self-pity, she was simply stating a fact.

“What else haven’t you done?” he pondered out loud. He glanced at her swiftly before he put his eyes back on the road. “Have you been to a fair, to a prom? Or a club? Have you ever been to any of those?”

“No, no, no, and no. I think.” She laughed as she answered, amused at how shocked he was. “I lived under a rock, remember? Well, a roof that I barely left. I’d have to travel to Baton Rouge or New Orleans sometimes, maybe down to Houma or over to Sorrento. But I’ve never been so far as I have since I met you. I never went to any of the festivals or fairs, even church fairs. Our church used to have a couple in the spring and summer, just to raise funds for activities with the younger congregation.”

“And then your mother was excommunicated. That must have been tough on you, to lose the church community.” He spoke gently, as if afraid to bring up a sore subject.

“She was, but I wasn’t. I stopped going though, it was too far to walk and she wouldn’t drive me. By the time I was able to drive, I’d lost interest.” Her voice wasn’t bitter, but he saw a tightness around her eyes that she quickly wiped away. “They didn’t help me. They knew what I was living with, but none of them helped.”

“There must have been a lot of people that looked the other way. I don’t know how social services didn’t become involved.” He didn’t want to upset her, but he’d wondered about it often. Why had the state left her there with that horrible woman that had been her mother?

“CPS was called quite often, so maybe some of them did try to help. I was on a first name basis with many of the social workers, but they couldn’t prove I was abused or neglected. I was too afraid of my mother’s wrath to tell them the truth when they came or demanded my mother bring me in. I’d make sure she was sober, fed, and had taken a bath, all the things she’d forget to do, on the days when the social workers came to inspect the house or when she had to take me to them. I was the one that cleaned up her messes, which kept everything tidy. I learned how to use the washer when I was five so I’d have clean clothes for school.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s weird. I’m angry at people for not helping, but I’d lie to the social services people when they came around.”

“What has your counselor said?” He knew she’d stopped talking to the counselor when they came out to Montana, but she’d kept up a dialogue while they were still in New York, at least online.

“That I was a child. I did what I had to to survive. That I’d probably go through a lot of emotions as time goes by. The five stages of grief and all that.”

“Five stages of grief?” he asked, not sure what that was.

“Yes. I’m not sure who invented it or whatever, but it’s a model of how people deal with grief, usually when they’ve lost a loved one or have been given a terminal diagnosis. Or they’ve had a life like mine.”

“Okay, so what are these stages?”