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“Yes,” she choked out. “I’m here.”
Her mama pulled from the embrace. “Why are you here? You have to get away!”
“It’s okay,” Haven said. “No one’s going to hurt me.”
“You can’t be sure! You know how they are!”
Haven tried to smile through her tears. “I’m here to see you.”
Her hands explored Haven’s face. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Carmine brought me. He’s, uh . . . he’s my master’s son. I love him, Mama.”
“You love him?” She stared at her, blinking rapidly. “This is bad. You can never let him know!”
“Stop!” Her mama’s panic caused her anxiety to flare. “He already knows. He loves me, too.”
“How?” She shook her head. “Haven, he’s—”
“Wonderful, Mama,” she interrupted, knowing whatever she said would be wrong. “He treats me like a treasure, and he’s giving me a life . . . the kind of life you always wanted me to have.”
They sat on the ground for a few minutes, neither speaking after that was verbalized. Her mama’s panic lessened, the look Haven had seen growing up creeping back in.
Hope.
Eventually, Haven stood and helped her mama to her feet. “These are nice clothes,” her mama said, giving her a once-over. “I hope they don’t get mad you got them dirty.”
Haven blocked her mama’s hands as she tried to brush the dirt away. “It doesn’t matter. They’re different.”
Tears welled in her mama’s eyes at the statement, but the banging screen door stopped her from saying anything. Michael stepped onto the porch and looked at them. “Miranda.”
No good ever came from being singled out. Frenzied, her mama gathered the things she had dropped. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m supposed to be in the garden.”
Michael put his hand up to stop her, and Haven and her mama both flinched at his sudden movement. “Don’t interrupt me. The girl’s here with, uh . . . she’s our guest, so work can wait for now.”
Her mama gaped at her after Michael walked away. “Guest?”
Haven smiled. “I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?”
* * *
They spent the next few hours walking around the property as Haven told her mama about life in North Carolina, telling stories about celebrating Christmas, watching fireworks, and going to a dance. The more Haven spoke, the more her mama lit up. The life came back into her, little by little easing Haven’s guilt.
They were standing at the edge of the garden as her mama kicked around some dirt in her bare feet, pulling a few stray weeds. She couldn’t refrain from working even when told she didn’t have to. “The DeMarco family. That name sounds familiar.”
“They’ve been here before,” Haven said. “I used to think the woman was an angel.”
Her mama looked at her. “Your angel?”
Haven nodded. “I thought I made her up, but I guess she was real.”
Her mama’s eyes drifted past her shoulder at something, and Haven swung around to see Carmine approach. “Speak of the devil.”
“I thought we said the asshole in the house was the devil,” Carmine said, shaking his head. “Christ, he’s a dickhead. I thought Corrado was going to kick my ass for saying shit to him.”
She sighed, knowing he had no filter to stop things from springing from his lips. “What did you say?”
“I don’t know. I said a lot. He’s kind of a punk, you know? He’ll fuck with those lesser than him but can’t stand up to his equals.” His eyes widened. “I’m not saying you’re less than him or anything, or that I’m better than you, because I’m not. You’re better than him. Hell, you’re better than me, and I tell—”
