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Sighing, Carmine shook his head. “How does it look like I feel?”
“You seem to be holding it together pretty well.”
“Yeah, well, looks are deceiving.”
“Nonsense. Maybe you’re the one who can’t see.”
Carmine paused, hesitating for a fraction of a second, but the weight of his grief became too heavy to hold back. The dam broke, the words gushing out in a furious unyielding wave of emotion. It flooded the office, nearly drowning Carmine as he choked on the confession of his sins.
Father Alberto gazed at him, silently taking in his rant, and didn’t speak until Carmine finished. There was nothing formal about it, no asking for forgiveness from God or man. It was just Carmine and his truth, and the one person who could hear it without looking at him differently.
The one person who could hear it and never tell a living soul.
“How do you feel now?” the priest asked when the office grew silent again.
“I feel like I need a drink,” he muttered.
The priest laughed lightly. “I’ll tell you what you can do instead.”
“I don’t need Catholic penitence,” Carmine said. “I’m not fasting or repeating Hail Mary a dozen times. That’s bullshit.”
“Ah, I wasn’t going to tell you to,” he said. “I was merely going to suggest you make a list. Write down the names of everyone you feel you’ve wronged and find a way to make it right again someday.”
“That would take the rest of my life.”
Father Alberto shrugged. “You have something better to do? I once knew a man who tried to drink his pain away. He drank to forget his family, he drank to dull the loss of a life, and when he finally sobered up, he had to make up for it somehow. He was righting his wrongs until the day he died.”
Carmine gaped at him. His father?
“Speaking of which, this was left here.” Father Alberto reached into his desk, pulling out a long gold chain and holding it up. A simple gold band swung from it, Carmine’s chest aching at the sight. He recognized it, had seen it thousands of times, on the finger of the first woman he ever loved and later around the neck of the first man he revered.
His mother’s wedding band.
“I’m sure you know what to do with it,” the priest said, handing it to him.
Carmine carefully put the chain around his neck and concealed it in his shirt. The metal felt cold against his bare chest. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I also noticed you didn’t take communion. Would you like to do it now?”
Carmine shook his head as he stood. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time,” the priest mused as Carmine headed for the door. “I’ll take that. It means you might be back some day.”
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, the six of them met at the Moretti home—Haven and Carmine, Celia and Corrado, Tess and Dominic—for a family dinner to honor Vincent’s life. It had been moved from Carmine’s house, since he didn’t even have a dining room table, and Haven and Celia went in together on cooking the meal.
They gathered around, plates piled high with food, and shared laughs as they ate to their hearts content. Dia was the only one missing, having returned to her life in Charlotte. That weighed heavily on Haven’s mind during dinner as she thought about the life waiting for her back in New York. Kelsey had called her dozens of times, but Haven had been too conflicted to return any of those calls.
“This is nice, having us all here,” Celia said. “I tried to get Mom to join us, but she wouldn’t.”
“Meno male,” Corrado muttered.
“Hey, she’s not that horrible.” Celia paused as everyone cast her skeptical looks. “Okay, so she’s a handful. But she’s relied on Vincent a lot the past few years, so the rest of us are going to have to step up now that he’s gone.”
“I hardly know her,” Dominic said.
“Same here,” Carmine replied. “And what little I do know says she doesn’t want shit to do with any of us.”
