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The cemetery is nondescript. The sky is gray, only adding to the experience of loneliness encompassing the atmosphere. The iron gates are typical. There is no abundance of statues or ornate headstones. No, before me is rows upon rows of the lost.
MARIA AGATA MAZZINI,
Beloved daughter and sister.
The gray stone is weathered as I look at her final resting place.
OMERO MICHELANGELO MAZZINI,
Devoted husband, father, and friend.
Shaw had to take care of this. I was behind bars. Never got to say goodbye.
Beside him is her, the one I never even got to say hello to.
TERESA MARIA MAZZINI,
Devoted wife and mother.
Over the three grave markers is a plaque centered over the stones.
Never waste a second.
Never look back.
Live, love, and look on for family.
I try to think back to a time we weren’t lost. However, our family was never whole. Well, in the pictures they appeared to be, but that was before me. I didn’t know the difference back then.
Movement catches my eye before I allow myself to dig deeper into our family dynamics.
Legs. It’s the first thing I see. Legs covered in skin tight pants that lead up to an oversized slouchy sweater. Doesn’t this woman know Highland Park isn’t safe?
Trailing my eyes north, I realize it’s Tatum. I don’t hesitate. I don’t procrastinate. I march right up to her.
“Do you have an affliction for trouble?” I ask a little too harshly.
When she looks up, I physically step back as her tears pain me.
She shakes her head, and I raise an eyebrow, not understanding why she is here and crying.
“H-He told me we’d come here... to-to Detroit. He b-begged me to let him show me the city. I-I always had school work, things to research, find, and do, s-so we never made it to his beginnings,” she stammers out as I struggle to follow her.
Reaching out, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. Inhaling her sweet scent, it automatically calms all the nervous energy I felt all day. Her arms come around my waist to settle on my back before she rests her head against my chest.
“He was born here. Never lived here, but he was certain he would find all the answers to his past right here. He never got to.”
“Not your fault, Tatum,” I tell her the truth.
“Still hurts.”
“I know,” I say with my lips on top of her head. “You’ve done it now. Can you take comfort in that?”
She looks up at me in confusion before closing her eyes. Then she wipes away a tear and smiles sadly while nodding. “Yeah.” She then takes a deep breath and steps back. “Why are you here?”
I shrug. “Never visited their sites before.”
“Your family’s?”
I nod.
“Show me?” she asks genuinely.
“Sure.”
Chapter Seventeen
His face is softer and more telling as he looks down at the place where his family’s bodies all lay to rest. It’s unimaginable. I have my parents still, but I hardly see them. This makes me want to reach out to them on a day that’s not Sunday.
I look up at him as he looks down at me.
“You wanna get out of here?”
“It’s peaceful,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and chuckles softly.
“What?” I ask as he takes my hand and starts walking.
“You once mentioned you’re not crazy,” he jokes.
His playfulness makes me smile.
“I’m really not,” I defend myself.
“I know, I know; you’re an author.”
At that, I can’t help chuckling myself.
“You have no idea how true those words are.”
He looks over at me and shrugs. “Nothing wrong with you, not one damn thing.”
“Are you flirting with me in a cemetery, Angelo?”
“It’s either that or take you in one,” he replies honestly.
I feel the ache between my legs grow stronger as I stumble at his words. He grabs my elbow, pulling me close and making sure I don’t fall.
The way he keeps me held against him, the way he looks at me, the way his look makes me feel, and knowing what the look on his face means instantly heightens my senses.
“I-I...” I shake my head, hoping he doesn’t kiss me, because his kiss would ignite the embers burning inside of me. And as much as I’m not crazy, I’m crazy enough to let him take me in a cemetery.
He lets out a slow, deep breath and steps back, releasing my hand. Quickly, I grab his, causing him to look back at me.
“I know that look, Tatum. You wanna come. You want me to make you come. So, what’s the problem? It’s not written down in that book?”
He’s frustrated with me.
Realizing he thinks I’m serious about it only being about the book, I gasp and start walking away, his hand still firmly in mine.
It’s not about the book, my job, Jonathon, Annie—none of it. No, somehow, it’s about me living again. Angelo has given me back a piece I lost too many years ago.
