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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.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” he said quietly. “You just didn’t know. It was delivered to the house after . . . well, after she was taken from us. She bought it for you because Carmine was getting the piano. She wanted to be fair.”
Solemn silence festered in the room until Dominic spoke up again. “Do you still have it?”
Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “I gave it away.”
“Damn,” Dominic said. “I’d still ride it, you know.”
Laughter escaped from Dr. DeMarco’s lips. “I know you would, son.”
They went on to talk about trips they had taken, things she had taught them, and books she had read, every memory accompanied with smiles instead of tears. It was heartwarming to witness, the love for Maura still just as strong even though she had been gone for more than a decade.
After dinner, Haven offered to help Celia with the dishes. The two of them worked silently, Celia’s attention elsewhere as she went about it in a daze. They were finishing when Celia let out a resigned sigh, taking a plate from Haven’s hands. “I’ll finish here. You should go enjoy the rest of your Christmas.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, drying her hands before quietly heading for the family room. She made it halfway there when she heard Dominic’s boisterous voice, his words catching her off guard.
“You’re making a mistake, Carmine,” he said. “There’s no way you mean that. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Leave him alone,” Dr. DeMarco said. “You can’t understand the situation unless you’ve been in it.”
“You’re wrong,” Dominic said. “I do understand, and he’s going to regret it! It’s not too late to change your mind, and for all of our sakes, please change your mind. I’m begging you, bro.”
“It is too late,” Carmine said. “I get that you don’t agree, but you don’t have to. I’m the one who has to live with it.”
“Can you?” Dominic asked incredulously. “Can you seriously live with this?”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” Dominic said, the passion in his voice startling. “I can’t believe anyone would actually think this is a good idea!”
Haven finished the last few steps in their direction, pausing at the entrance to the family room. Dominic paced the floor, frenzied, as Carmine stood off to the side, clutching his hair in aggravation. Vincent and Corrado merely watched the boys, the atmosphere so tense she could feel it pressing on her skin.
“He’s my son,” Dr. DeMarco said. “I’ll support him any way I can.”
