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A short while later, I’m sitting on the floor in the kitchen while she combs the oil through my hair.
“Who lived here?” I ask, unable to squash my curiosity.
She sighs. “The late Mrs. Russo’s family.”
I glance at her from over my shoulder. “Angelo’s mother’s family?”
“They’re a different lot.” Focusing on the task at hand, she briefly meets my gaze. “Not from good stock.”
A memory of what my sister said about Angelo’s family enters my mind. She told me they were bad people, and she didn’t mean only in the moral sense. She compared them to a kid in my class who always had a ring of dirt on his neck. Poor Isaac. It wasn’t his fault his parents didn’t keep him clean. He was a bright, kind-hearted boy.
“Where are they now?” I ask.
Disdain fills her voice. “They moved back to their tents and shacks in that dump they call a camp.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Who knows? Some people are too set in their ways to change. Angelo had this house built especially for them. You’d think they’d be grateful.” She adds with a scoff, “All they did was steal everything and ruin the place.” Then, muttering to herself, “Who keeps goats on a veranda?”
That explains the lack of appliances and furniture as well as the manure encrusted on the tiles outside.
“The people in the village detest them,” she continues. “They’re probably glad the scoundrels left. The only one who was happy about having them here was Angelo.”
“What about his mother? How did she feel about all of this?”
“Poor woman.” Heidi crosses herself. “Bless her soul. She never knew. Angelo didn’t have a chance to tell her. Before he could, the accident happened.”
My heart constricts, its beats falling painfully in my ribcage.
No, not an accident.
Feeling bad for deceiving Heidi, I remain quiet. I truly am the traitor Angelo accused me of being.
“We better not say anything about your visit to the village,” she says. “Mr. Russo won’t be happy.”
I thought as much. Not that he left me a choice. “Will you be able to bring me a phone? And some money? In case something happens again.”
Her hand stills in my hair. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Russo about that.”
“Of course.”
I drop the subject, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.
While she works, I reflect on the information she shared. Thanks to her revelation, I’m two things wiser. The first is that Angelo is obviously despised in the village for more than his brutal reputation. His family on his mother’s side brought him shame. The second realization is the one that hits me the hardest. He built a house for them—a stunning, enormous, sea-facing house.
That’s huge. Did he do it for them or for himself? Did he do it to better their circumstances or to eradicate his shame? I’m leaning toward the latter. As much as I hate him, I can’t help the compassion that flutters in my chest.
“I think we got them all,” Heidi says, carrying the comb to the sink.
I push to my feet. “Thank you, Heidi. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” Because she didn’t have to help me.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Russo,” she replies with a warm smile.
“You can call me Sabella. Mrs. Russo is so formal.”
“Mr. Russo won’t like that.”
“He isn’t here, is he?”
