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A future that suddenly seemed a bit more real.
Dominic’s bags were packed and stuffed into the Mercedes out front. He and Tess were boarding a plane in a few hours, and Dr. DeMarco was flying out to help them settle in. They were excited about the changes their lives were undertaking, but Haven dreaded saying good-bye. She had looked up the University of Notre Dame on a map with Carmine’s help, and while only a few inches separated Indiana from Durante, she knew those inches might as well be a lifetime.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dr. DeMarco said. “We don’t want to miss our flight.”
Haven’s feet left the ground before Dr. DeMarco finished speaking. Dominic lifted her into the air and twirled her around. “I’ll miss you, girl.”
She laughed and hugged him. “Thank you for everything . . . especially that sandwich.”
He set her on her feet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and carefully took one off. He slipped it into her palm, squeezing her hand tightly around it. “Keep my car safe for me.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“I can’t take it, so you may as well drive it.”
Final good-byes were exchanged, and Haven felt the tears slipping down her cheeks as they disappeared out the door. Only a few seconds passed before the door flew back open, Dominic peeking his head in again. “Oh yeah, Twinkle Toes? Good luck on your test tomorrow.”
* * *
The trip to the city the next morning took an hour. Carmine talked nonstop the entire drive, but Haven heard nothing except her heartbeat thrashing in her ears. They made it to the local community college with time to spare, and Haven headed inside alone, black spots infiltrating her vision as she fought to keep herself together.
The bright fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling irritated her eyes. Haven stood in the doorway, taking in the small wooden desks and hard blue plastic chairs. She’d never been inside of a classroom before. People pushed past her, not bothering to apologize, as she hesitantly walked to the big desk at the front. She smiled politely at the instructor, although she felt like she’d be sick. “I’m Haven Antonelli.”
He checked her name off a list and collected her paperwork before pointing her to a seat. The testing started at eight o’clock on the dot. Haven breezed through the fifty questions on grammar and punctuation, but the second part of the writing test stalled her. She’d practiced a lot by filling her notebooks, but she had never written anything for someone else to read before.
The instructor announced they had forty-five minutes as Haven read her essay prompt:
What does it take to be a good parent?
In your essay, describe the characteristics of a good parent. Use your personal observations, experience, and knowledge.
Students huffed and pencils scratched against paper as Haven stared at her topic. What did it take? Her father, abusive and malicious, refused to acknowledge he had created her. She suffered years of torture under his care before he had sold her with no regard. If Dr. DeMarco hadn’t come along, she would have ended up at an auction, sold as a sex slave for money to buy whiskey and Cuban cigars.
Haven’s anger grew as she bit down on her lip. Her mama had the best intentions, even though she was helpless. She hid her for protection and never failed to keep the one thing even Haven had lost over the years—hope.
Haven blinked away tears as memories assaulted her. Twenty minutes had gone by, so she took a deep breath and started writing. She wrote whatever came to her mind as she thought of her mama, how a good parent never gave up and always encouraged their children to dream.
The instructor called time as Haven put a period on the end of the final sentence. The rest of testing flew by, and they were dismissed at three in the afternoon. The Mazda was waiting in the fire lane with the music blaring, and Haven quietly slipped into the passenger seat.
Carmine turned his music down as he pulled from the curb. “How did you do?”
She smiled softly as he offered her his hand. “Okay.”
Neither spoke on the drive back to Durante. When they arrived at the house she went right to the kitchen to make something to eat. Carmine sat on the counter beside the stove and watched her as she cooked. “Are you making enchiladas?”
She nodded. “They were, uh . . . my mama liked them.”
“Looks good,” Carmine said.
“Thanks.”
“We can eat and watch a movie or something.”
“Okay.”
“Or maybe we’ll play a game.”
“Okay.”
