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His hands balled into fists, he breathed through his nose, but didn’t say anything.
“Thank you, Donatella, kids like him have no training or respect,” the woman said from behind me.
I turned slowly to face her. She put her hand on her son’s head, petting him as if he were a prized dog. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean? Kids like him?”
She tensed but didn’t back down, “I just mean kids who are spoiled. The ones always trying to blame other people for their problems.”
She’s joking. She had to be.
“He’s my problem!” Marco yelled at her.
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“Marco, didn’t I say this fight was over?” He muttered something under his breath and turned to walk away. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”
If it wasn’t for the older, white haired, half-drunk man who put his hands-on Marco’s shoulders, he would have ignored me and kept walking.
“So, rude.” I shook my head and turned back to the woman “What is your name?”
“Claire Eilis, my husband works for your brother,” she said with a smug grin on her face; almost identical to the brat next to her lifting his chin as he glared at Marco.
“Really? Thank you for all your hard work. I haven’t met your husband personally, but I’m sure he’s a good man. Is this your son?” Keep smiling, Donatella. Just keep smiling.
“My nephew, Declan.”
“What a coincidence! I have an uncle named Declan too; do you know what the name means?”
The boy stepped forward, shaking his head and pretending to be innocent, “No, I don’t ma’am.”
“It means full of goodness,” I said, putting my hand on his head and petting him just like his aunt had done for a second before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back. “So why are you such a little shit?!”
“AH!” he reached up to grab my wrist. “Aunty!”
“Yes, Aunty Claire, please explain to me why your nephew is spitting out slurs in my center?” I asked, tilting my head to look at her clearly.
“He didn’t do that—”
“So, Marco here just decided that out of all the kids here, he was going to frame your nephew and disrespect me using a term not commonly used in Chicago, in order to…? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to fill in the blanks for me, Aunty Claire. It must be the Guidette blood in me that makes it difficult to comprehend.”
“I… He—”
“In fact, the more I think about it,” I spoke, yanking more of the boy’s hair, “the less this whole situation makes sense. Who gave you the right to call me Donatella? Why is your nephew a little gobshite? If your husband works for my brother, I’m sure you don’t need to be here—?”
“We came to volunteer!”
“Tobias!” I called out, knowing he’d be somewhere close.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Is there a Claire Eilis on the volunteer’s list?”
He checked his phone and before saying; “No, ma’am.”
I gasped, still not letting go her nephew’s hair; “See, now I have more questions, but I don’t know if I can trust you, Aunty Claire. You seem like you’ve been lying to me. Are you lying to me, Aunty Claire?”
Her pink lips parted but she said nothing; she looked like a goldfish, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes wide and dead. So, I looked down to the boy in my grip trying his best not to cry. Toby came over to me, standing at my shoulder to whisper. “The kids are recording you.”
Ignoring him, I spoke to the boy again, “Do you know why no one is coming to help you?”
