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“Actually, I’m tired, so maybe we’ll go straight to bed.”
“Okay.”
“Probably won’t even fucking eat.”
“Uh, okay.”
The room grew silent as Carmine glared at Haven. His shift in demeanor startled her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “You, I’m not sure about. Since I picked you up, you’ve barely said a dozen words and half of them were okay. Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Did you fail?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you freak out or something?”
“No, I think I did okay.” She cringed as she said that word again.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m just thinking about my mama.”
“You wanna talk about her?” he asked, his voice quiet and genuine, all traces of frustration melted away. “You don’t have to keep it to yourself.”
“I know, but I don’t know what to say. I miss her, and I’ll probably never see her again. I never got to tell her good-bye or that I love her. It hurts to think about, because I used to wonder if we even loved each other, but I realized today Mama did love me. And I love her, but I never told her that.”
“Never?”
“Never,” she whispered as Carmine hopped down from the counter to hug her. “I shouldn’t be crying about this to you because you have more reason to grieve. My mama’s alive, and yours is . . .”
He flinched before she could speak the word. She pulled from his arms and tried to apologize, but he pressed his pointer finger to her lips. “My mom lived, Haven. She was free to make her choices, and she did just that. She made fucking stupid decisions, and she died because of it. Your mom has never been able to make a decision, so I think you have more to grieve than I do.”
* * *
Sunny Oaks Manor was anything but sunny today. A storm waged outside, rain steadily falling as gusts of wind bent the flimsy trees around the property. Thunder rumbled as lightning lit up the darkened afternoon sky, making it feel like the middle of the night.
Vincent stood in his mother’s apartment, watching the ambulance parked outside. The EMTs, in their vivid yellow raincoats, loaded the black body bag into the back. Quietly, he made the sign of the cross and whispered a short prayer.
“Don’t pray for that old hag,” Gia said, somehow overhearing him without her hearing aides. “It’s her own fault she’s dead.”
“How?” The staff said Gertrude died peacefully in her sleep.
“She left her window open last week. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. That black bird flew in like it owned the place.”
Vincent sighed. “I don’t think it was the bird, Ma.”
Gia waved him off. “What do you know?”
“Well, I am a doctor.”
“Oh, you quacks never know what you’re talking about,” she said. “You always want to give people pills and take their blood from them when it’s unnecessary. God doesn’t make mistakes, Vincenzo. People die when they deserve to. You know that.”
Vincent clenched his hand into a fist at the subtle dig about Maura. “What about Dad? Did he deserve it?”
“As many goomahs as your father had? I’m surprised his heart lasted as long as it did.”
Vincent would never understand his mother’s callousness. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered visiting when she obviously didn’t appreciate his company.
The ambulance pulled away from Sunny Oaks, and Vincent’s eyes followed it to the corner in the storm. His gaze lingered there, his stomach dropping as he took in the dark SUV parked less than a block away. He hoped he imagined things, but his instincts told him it was no coincidence. He’d only been joking when he suggested they were watching him, but he realized he’d been right. He was being followed.
