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Sleep refuses to come. The relief of oblivion evades me. I’m too cold, too scared, and too lonely curled up on the dirty mattress.
I wrinkle my nose at the smell of old sweat. It’s disgusting, but I’ll catch a cold or worse on the floor. Like in Angelo’s house, the flagstone floors in the bedrooms have uneven surfaces. It creates an interesting pattern and depth that are pleasing to the eye, but it’s not practical for camping out on.
My teeth start chattering again. I’m about to turn on my other side when two spotlights are projected on the wall above me. I jerk upright, my body tensing. I left the lights on downstairs, but I switched them off in the bedroom in the hope of catching some sleep. The dark allows me to make out the headlights of a car that slide toward the ceiling as the vehicle rolls up the hill. Jumping to my feet, I hobble to the window. It’s definitely a car, but it’s not Angelo’s Jaguar.
Shit.
I look around for a weapon, my breathing turning shallow as I remember there’s nothing but plastic knives and forks in the kitchen. The cutlery is disposable, meant to be discarded after one use. A knife will crack in two with the slightest pressure. Maybe I should hide, but the lights are a dead giveaway that someone is home. What if it’s one of Angelo’s many enemies? Or the lieutenant who said he’d be back for me?
The car comes to a stop in front of the yard. A woman gets out. The air rushes from my lungs in a sigh of relief when I recognize Heidi’s long braid and sturdy frame in the lights of the car. She takes a bag and a suitcase from the trunk, her body dipping on the side of the bag as she carries her charge to the veranda.
The door squeaks open.
Her voice echoes in the empty space. “Sabella? Mrs. Russo?”
Making quick work of loosening the shirt around my knee, I pull it on and button it up even though it’s wet and stained with blood. I smooth down my hair and try to scavenge a morsel of pride as I walk to the top of the stairs.
“There you are,” she says with obvious relief, as if she expected to find a dead body. She drops the bags and closes the door. “I brought you a few things.” Making her way to the bottom of the stairs, she scrutinizes me, her attention fixing on the cut on my knee. “Your clothes and food.” She motions at the maxi shopping bag. “Bedding and linen too.”
Too ashamed to hold her gaze, I lower mine. “Thank you.” I go down the stairs, wincing as I put my weight on my feet. “That’s very kind. I’m sorry you had to drive out in the night on such a dangerous road.”
“Are you kidding?” she exclaims. Clicking her tongue, she continues, “Look at you, standing there thanking me so politely when you’re the one who’s been wronged.”
Her kindness breaks something inside me. The tears I haven’t given Angelo roll over my cheeks.
“Here now.” She pulls me in for a hug, her arms just as strong and comforting as our housekeeper, Doris’s, used to be.
My tears spill faster. My mom never gave me hugs like these, not until after Angelo bulldozed into my world and destroyed my family’s lives. That’s why Doris always stood in, giving me comfort when I needed it from a woman. I assume my mom’s bitterness and inability to show me affection had a lot to do with the grudge she carried toward me for being my dad’s favorite. He often chose me above the rest of the family, even above her, and I only understood how much that hurt when I grew older.
“There,” Heidi says, patting my back.
Sniffing, I swallow my tears and pull back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for needing a little solace. It’s perfectly normal.” She goes to the suitcase and flicks it open. “Come. Let’s get you something warm and dry to wear.”
My protest is weak. “I can do that.”
“It’s all right.” She smiles up at me. “I’m happy to do it, and you should never be shy of taking assistance when it’s offered.” She adds with a note of wisdom, “Or to ask for help when you need it.”
She retrieves a set of underwear and socks. I take the items from her and look around, feeling a little lost.
“There’s a guest bathroom next to the kitchen,” she says, handing me a sweater and yoga pants.
“Thank you, Heidi,” I say, realizing that Angelo never introduced us. I just picked up her name during dinner.
When I come out of the bathroom, feeling much warmer in my own clothes, I find her in the kitchen, pouring steaming liquid from a flask into a plastic cup.
“Don’t burn yourself.” She pushes the cup over the counter. “I’m afraid there isn’t a proper mug with an ear. If I’d known the kitchen cupboards were empty, I would’ve brought crockery and cutlery.”
I pull the cup closer. It smells like tea. “This is perfect.”
“I stocked the cupboards with non-perishable foods. I’ll be back with proper groceries tomorrow.”
Worry knots my stomach. “Is it okay? I mean you coming here and bringing these things? I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
She busies herself with wiping sugar grains off the counter into her palm, avoiding my eyes. Her tone hardens a bit when she mentions his name. “Mr. Russo is aware that I’m here.”
