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Haven thought over those words as she continued to separate their belongings, unsure of what to say. Dia got up when she realized Haven had no intention of stopping, leaving the room and returning with some empty boxes. She silently worked alongside Haven, helping her pack up her things.
It wasn’t until then, as they filled box after box with belongings, that Haven realized exactly how much she had acquired while living there. A little more than a year before, she had walked through the front door for the first time barefoot and empty-handed, with nothing she could call her own except for her name. Haven. It was the only thing her mother had given her, the one thing, she thought, no one could ever take away. But now she was preparing to walk out the door for the last time, half a dozen boxes already packed full of material things.
Just thinking about it made her uneasy. She suddenly wanted to leave it all behind.
It took nearly two days for her to sort through everything—two days of wavering, two days of packing and unpacking and repacking again. She took some necessary clothes but left most of it hanging in the closet, hoping Dr. DeMarco would donate it to charity so someone who needed it would have something to wear. She packed some books and notebooks and all of the drawings she had done during the past year. She took the basket from their Valentine’s Day picnic, but she left all of Carmine’s things untouched.
Dominic and Tess appeared long enough to say good-bye before leaving for school again. Neither one mentioned Carmine, both of them feigning happiness about the future that lay ahead of her, but she wasn’t naïve—she could tell they were concerned.
As the time slipped away, Haven’s sadness gave way to anger, before guilt set in once again. It was because of her that Carmine had given himself to the organization; because of her he had had to go to Chicago. She obsessed about the unknowns, wondering how she could have missed the signs.
Looking back, it seemed so obvious he’d been saying good-bye.
Dia appeared around dawn on New Year’s Eve, while Haven was already awake and waiting. She sat in the library with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared out the window. She wondered if it was what Carmine had been doing that last night, contemplating leaving just as she was.
Had he been frightened? She wasn’t sure. He made leaving seem so easy.
“Are you ready?” Dia asked, having already placed Haven’s things in Carmine’s car the day before.
Haven nodded, unable to say the words. The truth was she felt like she would never be ready, but she got up and slipped on her coat anyway. Dia handed her Carmine’s car key before heading for the stairs, and Haven hesitated in the library. “I’ll meet you downstairs. I need a minute.”
Stepping into the doorway of the bedroom, Haven’s eyes scanned the room slowly, her chest aching. A tear slipped down her cheek.
hing his duffle bag tightly, he made his way to the porch and unlocked the front door. The air was just as cold inside, his teeth chattering from the dampness. He reached for the light switch upon instinct and groaned when nothing happened.
No electricity.
He strolled through the downstairs in the darkness, coming upon empty room after empty room.
No furniture.
“Fuck.” He dropped his bag in the middle of the living room and stood there for a moment, peering around at the barren walls, before closing his eyes.
There was nothing there anymore.
He could faintly remember the last time he stood in that spot. The room had been cluttered, lived in and loved, every bit of space filled except for the back corner. It had been bare; reserved for the one thing Carmine wanted most. He had been asking for months and finally . . . fucking finally . . . it was the day.
“How are they going to get it in the house, Mom?” he’d asked. “It’s too big to fit through the door!”
“Oh, they’ll find a way,” Maura had replied, stepping into the room as she slipped on her jacket. “Even if it’s piece by piece, they’ll get the piano in here.” She ruffled his messy hair, beaming at him. “Now come on, sole. We have things to do, and we don’t want to be late for your recital! The new piano will be here when we get home tonight.”
Carmine smiled fondly at the memory of his mom’s sweet voice, but his expression fell once he reopened his eyes. His gaze drifted to the back corner of the living room. They never made it home that night.
Tears burned his tired eyes for the second time that day, but this time, he didn’t fight it. There was no one to hold them back from, no reason to keep it in. No reason to be strong. Tomorrow he would pick himself up and move forward, walk out the door with his head held high, but not tonight. Tonight he was alone in a cold, dark house, surrounded by nothing but fuzzy painful memories.
* * *
Vincent DeMarco sat alone in his office, drumming his fingers against the wooden desk. The sun had set hours ago, the room enshrouded in total darkness. His eyes slowly adjusted so he could view his surroundings, but he didn’t bother trying to look at anything. He’d seen all he needed to see.
Haven’s notebook lay open in front of him to the page Carmine had shown him days before. He had studied the drawing of Carlo intently, taking in every line of his face, every distortion in his grotesque scar. His skin crawled at how chillingly accurate her rendering of his appearance was, every crack and ripple, down to the small oblong shaped mole under his left eye.
A mole, Vincent knew, that had only appeared in the past year.
He had run his finger over the spot on the page when he noticed it, wondering if it was just an ink smudge, trying to convince himself it was a crazy coincidence. There was no way she could have known it was there. She couldn’t have seen it before.
Unless . . . she had.
His stomach was in tight knots as he considered that.
