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If there were, Carmine would be eight years old again, demanding his mom wait for a car to pick them up. They wouldn’t wind up in that alley, and his mom would live to see another day.
He’d go back to sixteen and put his gun away instead of driving to his best friend’s house in anger. Bygones would be bygones, and there would be peace, instead of public rivalries that hurt everyone in the end.
He’d be in that kitchen at seventeen again, cleaning his spilled juice instead of frightening Haven so badly. He wouldn’t have passed judgment on the strange girl, and maybe he would have known what love was a little sooner.
There were many places Carmine would go back to, many things he would have done differently, but one thing he wouldn’t take back was what he had done to save her.
Sacrifice. It was something he learned from his mom, when she gave her life to save a young girl. He had learned it from his father, when he swore himself to an organization to be with the woman he loved. Even Corrado had put himself on the line, risking his safety to spare them more pain.
And he learned it from Nicholas, who helped a virtual stranger and got nothing in return. Nothing, that is, except a bullet to the chest, ending his short life.
If Carmine could go back, he would have truly apologized to him that day.
Life’s a struggle, and it would be easy if it came with an eraser, but it didn’t. What’s done is done, as hard as that was to accept.
Sometimes, though, people get second chances. They get more tries. It was too late for others, but Carmine was blessed with more time. Time to try to make things right.
“Carmine?”
Carmine glanced at his American history teacher, Mrs. Anderson, and felt the strangest sense of déjà vu at her expectant look. He had failed her class last time around and was back in it senior year, a requirement for graduation.
Not as if he counted on graduating. He had already missed more than a month of school.
“Yeah?”
“It’s your turn.”
Sighing, he strolled to the front of the room, the eyes of his peers fixed on him. They expected a show, but Carmine only had one thing on his mind.
Redemption.
“The Battle of Gettysburg was fought in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in eighteen-something-or-other. The year doesn’t matter.”
Mrs. Anderson started to interrupt but closed her mouth when he continued. “They considered it the turning point of the war, and President Lincoln showed up to give his big speech. Who really cares what it was called? I don’t. After it was all over and the North won, Congress passed the thirteenth amendment to free the slaves. It outlawed owning another person—yada, yada, yada—but it was a waste of time. All of it.”
“Uh, Carmine?”
He ignored his teacher, continuing on as if she hadn’t spoken. “All those people died and it didn’t change anything, because it doesn’t work if they don’t enforce it. They turn their backs and say it’s not their problem, but it is. It’s everyone’s problem. They can say slavery ended all they want, but that doesn’t make it true. People lie. They’ll tell you what they think you wanna hear, and you’ll believe it. Whatever makes you feel better about your dismal little lives.”
“That’s enough, Carmine.”
“So, whatever. Go on being naïve. Believe what the history books tell you if you want. Believe what Mrs. Anderson wants me to tell you about it. Believe the land of the free—blah, blah, blah—star-spangled-banner bullshit. Believe there aren’t any slaves anymore because a tall guy in a big-ass top hat and a bunch of politicians said so. But I won’t believe it, because if I do too, we’ll all be fucking wrong, and someone has to be right here.”
Mrs. Anderson stood, and Carmine smiled to himself. Maybe they got a show, after all.
He grabbed his belongings and headed for the door before she could tell him to get out of her classroom. The hallway was deserted, everything silent and still as he made his way to the front office. Principal Rutledge stood near the secretary’s desk, and he looked at Carmine with surprise when he walked in. “Did you get in trouble?”
“Me? Of course not.”
Principal Rutledge sighed. “It’s been a while.”
“I know, but don’t worry . . . It’s the last time you’ll have to see me.”
* * *
Haven stood in the kitchen making herself lunch when Dr. DeMarco walked in. “When you get a minute, can you come to my office?”
She nodded, nervous as to why he would want to see her. She wrapped up her sandwich, her appetite gone, and placed it in the refrigerator for later. Even though he rarely left the house, since the hospital had terminated his job after news of his arrest, she and Dr. DeMarco hadn’t exchanged more than basic pleasantries in weeks.
