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“Two days ago,” she said. “You were upstairs. It was right after you arrived.”
Silence permeated the room for a few minutes. Haven did nothing, terrified of what his reaction would be. He just stared straight ahead, unmoving, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was blinking she might have wondered if he were even still alive.
“You didn’t know any better,” he said finally. “No one explained it to you, but now you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Corrado stood and without a word started to walk away. He made it as far as the doorway before his footsteps faltered. He lingered there for a moment as Celia approached from the foyer, smiling proudly. She had clearly been eavesdropping.
“Stay out of it,” he warned her again. “I don’t want you meddling anymore.”
* * *
Christmas morning passed in a blur. Carmine seemed distracted, distant, his eyes watching everyone as if he were waiting for something to happen, lost somewhere in his mind instead of being there at home.
Haven would occasionally catch him casting angry glares and hear heated whispered conversations when she was out of earshot. Confused, she asked a few times what was going on, but he merely smiled and told her not to worry.
Don’t worry. She had heard it so many times the past week that the phrase alone was starting to worry her.
They watched holiday movies and exchanged gifts in the evening. Haven got some books and art supplies, clothes, and a new pair of pink-and-white Nike’s. The festivities were quiet, almost gloomy in a sense. Something lingered in the room with them, infecting the air they all had to share. She wouldn’t call it misery, but it was certainly close—guilt mixed with sadness, confusion, and morose thoughts.
They sat down at the dining room table when dinner was ready, Carmine pulling out the chair beside him for Haven as Celia and Corrado took seats across from them. Dr. DeMarco cleared his throat and Carmine immediately grabbed Haven’s right hand as Corrado reached across the table, holding his out to her. She blanched as she stared at it, studying his extended hand. Other than a long jagged scar diagonally on his palm, nearly camouflaged by the natural creases and lines, it appeared unscathed. His nails were freshly manicured, the skin smooth with not a single cut or callus. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it surprised her—his hands appeared awfully clean for a man with a lot of blood on them.
Taking it carefully, so not to cause a scene, Haven bowed her head.
“Lord, thank you for the blessings on the table today, and for all the people gathered around it,” Dr. DeMarco said. “We ask that you help us to remain mindful of the needs of others and continue to bless us with love and forgiveness, happiness and peace, and most of all we ask that you help the innocent among us find the freedom they deserve. In Jesus’s name, we pray.”
“Amen,” they all murmured, letting go and raising their heads. Haven glanced at Dr. DeMarco curiously, surprised by his words, and he smiled softly when they made eye contact.
“Dai nemici mi guardo io dagli amici mi guardi iddio,” Corrado muttered under his breath as he picked up his fork.
Carmine laughed dryly. “Amen to that.”
They started eating but Haven merely pushed the food around on her plate as a tense silence once again overcame the room. Everyone cast glances at one another while avoiding her gaze. It was as if they all shared a common secret, one Haven was certainly not aware of. She fidgeted nervously as she listened to the forks clanking against plates, her appetite dissipating as her stomach churned from anxiety.
Haven was so uncomfortable with the stillness she briefly considered leaving the room. Before she could act, Dominic cleared his throat. It seemed to be magnified, echoing off the barren walls. “It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years.”
Carmine went rigid, his fork stopping midair. Realizing Dominic was referring to their mother’s death, Haven looked around cautiously, waiting for the imminent explosion of rage.
Dr. DeMarco’s head dropped, his eyes drifting closed as he set his fork down. “Seems like just yesterday we lost her.”
“We didn’t lose her,” Carmine spat, the edge of anger stabbing his words. “That makes it sound like we were negligent. It’s not our fault that shit happened. She was taken from us . . . from all of us.”
“You’re right,” Dr. DeMarco conceded. “She was unfairly taken from us.”
The atmosphere was suddenly lighter after he said those words, as if that one simple phrase had lifted a heavy weight from their shoulders. Everyone chatted casually, laughing as they shared stories of the past. They spoke about Maura, and instead of clamming up, Dr. DeMarco chose to chime in.
“She loved Christmas,” he said, smiling. “She’d get the boys dozens of presents, so many we’d hardly be able to fit in the den Christmas morning.”
“I remember that,” Dominic said. “She spoiled the shit out of Carmine.”
Rolling his eyes, Carmine picked up a green bean with his fork and flung it down the table at his brother. “You were just as fucking spoiled.”
“You were,” Dr. DeMarco confirmed. “Anything either of you wanted, you got, and not just on Christmas.”
“I never got that bike I wanted,” Dominic said. “Remember it? It was that little camouflage Mongoose with that wicked horn on it and the wooden basket. I begged and begged for it.”
Dr. DeMarco sighed. “You got it.”
