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My mother’s fear, insecurities, and, ultimately, sadness echoes through every entry the further into her pregnancy she gets. I can remember being a teenager. It wasn’t easy. But it was nothing compared to what she went through—getting pregnant, fearing being abandoned by her family and her boyfriend, feeling insecure about how to be a mom when she herself was nothing but a child, and then everything that happened after I was born. As I flip through the journal, the entries become shorter and less frequent until they just stop. My mom doesn’t reveal anything about the man who came to take her back to New Orleans. And since the journal was left behind, she must have left Boston in a hurry. Perhaps she didn’t want to leave at all. Perhaps her uncle forced her to write Josephine that note so that she wouldn’t come looking for her. As questions rumble through my head like the hunger tearing at my insides, I move the box to the side and close my eyes.
I thought this would be my closure. In a way, it is. I now know parts of my mother’s story I never could’ve imagined, including how she ended up at the mercy of the Mafia and that she was betrayed by her own blood rather than slaughtered by Alister’s father. And yet, with all this information comes new questions. What would make my mom’s family so desperate to overthrow the Amatos they’d sacrifice their own daughter? Why didn’t my mother’s father come to get her instead of her uncle? Why did it take a year for him to show up and why did he allow my mother to keep me if the entire reason she was sent away was to have me in secret? Perhaps he just wanted leverage over her. Maybe he threatened to take me away from her if she didn’t do what he said. The sick bastard. And yet, my nameless uncle isn’t the only man I’m infuriated by.
I’ve never thought much about my father. Before my mother died, I don’t remember it occurring to me that I didn’t have one because I never saw other kids with their dads. Being with my mom was the only normal I knew. But as I got older, I began to realize any man who would abandon his child in the way I was abandoned, along with my mother, wasn’t worth knowing. For all I knew, my father was one of the men who visited my mother. If you can even call itvisiting. But now I know the truth. My father was rich, powerful, dangerous, and connected enough to find my mother if he wanted to, but he didn’t. I suppose Alister did say no one would look for my mother in Boston. It was enemy territory. Somehow, I don’t think it would’ve stopped Alister. He would never stop searching until he found his lost loved one, as is evident in his relentless search for Cara.
I allow my anger to ease the sickening sadness creeping through my veins, or at least I try to. I tell myself I’m angry at my father because it’s easier to believe than the alternative. After everything my mother’s family did to take the Amato throne, it’s possible they killed my father before I was even born. At that, my lip quivers and fresh tears fall just as the door to the hotel room swings open. I quickly wipe my cheeks as Alister arrives, worry etched across his face as he holds a brown paper bag filled with warm deliciousness. But my efforts do nothing to fool him or ease the heart-wrenching sorrow twisting my insides.
Alister enters the room slowly and quietly. His golden-brown eyes melt into mine, but there are no words spoken between us. I look away from him then as memories of what nearly happened with Gallagher work their way to the front of my mind. It feels so long ago, though it wasn’t. In more ways than one, this day has stripped me bare. And Alister has witnessed every moment. All day, I’ve fought through the awkwardness that last night left between us and now I’ve more to battle. Though, as Alister sets my food on the bedside table and pulls up a chair next to me, I’m not sure how much fight I have left.
“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Alister says as I reach for a plastic fork.
“Do what?”
“Hide from me.” His words draw a sharp breath from my lungs, prompting me to abandon my fork and food and close my eyes as if it’s possible to disappear. As I do, Alister remains silent, as if he knows that’s exactly what I need rather than comforting words or even a consoling touch. He’s right. Silence is best, because if I were to tell him what this day has done to me, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Though, as I escape into my mind, it’s not to hide from him. It’s because Ican’thide from him. When Alister looks at me, he sees straight through me. I’ve allowed him to break down all my walls and now I feel naked in his presence. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Do you remember when I asked you how your life would be different if you weren’t beholden to the Mafia?” I ask, opening my eyes.
“Yeah,” Alister whispers.
“Well, it got me thinking how my life would be different if my mom was still here.” Alister leans forward, listening intently as I stare blankly at the wall ahead.
“At Josephine’s, I said that my mom received frequent male visitors with less than honorable intentions. Somewhere along the way, I think their interest started to shift from her to me. The night my mother was killed, the man who dealt the final blow asked her where I was. She told him that I was already gone, and because of his own efforts to keep me hidden, he would never find me. She said,‘Good luck finding a ghost.’I’ve lived like a ghost all my life, but it wasn’t until that night that I truly felt like one—invisible and detached.”
I turn to Alister and, in his eyes, find a warmth that wraps around me so tightly it feels as if his gaze alone can glue the broken parts of me back together. It’s then that I say, “With you, it’s different. I’m so used to hiding from everyone, keeping people at arm’s length. But I can’t hide from you, Alister. In a way, I don’t want to. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared for you to know me, to know what happened to me, to know my truth.”
“You can tell me anything,” he says as he reaches for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I know,” I whisper. As Alister’s palm covers mine, I savor his touch, though only for a moment before I pull my hand from his. “It’s just…I’ve never told anyone before.”
“What you dream about,” Alister mumbles as he sits up straight, drawing his hands back into his lap, and my chest tightens. “The night of the Halloween party, I only pretended to be asleep.”
My mouth goes dry when Alister admits the truth. Memories of that night return to me. I shot up in bed covered in sweat, my cheeks damp with tears. The only solace I found was in Alister’s sleep, but he heard everything.Everything.“You’ve known this entire time.”
“I suspected and I prayed I was wrong.”
I lean forward and rest my face against my knees, shielding myself from Alister’s view. Like I said, I’m naked in front of him. There are no secrets between us, and it is the most comforting and terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced, well, almost.
“You weren’t wrong,” I finally admit.
I sit up straight and move to sit in front of him with my legs crossed. Once more, Alister reaches out and takes my hand in his. This time I don’t pull away from him. What I’m about to say might be my darkest secret of all, even darker than my memories of the night my mother was killed. I need his strength to say the words, to admit the truth forever etched into the essence of my soul. And I need him to be my foothold so that I’m not consumed by the memories of the vile acts of evil men.
“Before I joined the bureau, I made sure my records were sealed. The last thing I’ve ever wanted was anyone’s pity. I guess after so many years of not getting it, I became numb to it. Numb to everyone’s ignorance and indifference. Numb to my own horrific past. At least, in my waking hours. I don’t have as much control over what haunts me behind closed eyes.” As my heartbeat quickens, pounding against my flesh as if my most vital organ wishes to rip itself from me, I take a deep breath and ignore the way my body begins to shake.
“After my mom died, I was placed in foster care. During my time in the system, there were a few different homes all with their own challenges. There were bullies at school and at home. I was behind intellectually, and with so much turmoil and uncertainty in my past, it made it hard to connect with the other kids. I was an easy target. And their attacks left me with scars, emotionallyandphysically.”
Alister’s hand tightens around mine. I lift my eyes to meet his and find, unlike the warmth they once offered me, they are now cold and dark as death. I bite my lip and continue.
“After a while, I was finally placed in a decent home. There were no other kids, so no bullies. I was there for a couple of years in high school before I aged out of the system. Weirdly, that was the closest I ever felt to being normal, to having a real family. Myparentswere older and a little more well-to-do than my others. I was able to attend a great school with a guidance counselor who helped me apply for scholarships to colleges. I was able to work and save up before turning eighteen. And myparentshad never had children of their own, so they had a lot of love to give. At least, they did. But, um…everything changed when my foster mom died.”
Alister closes his eyes then. The muscles in his face tighten as if he knows what I will say next. As the words rest on my tongue, they taste bitter. Though the shaking has stopped, my body feels heavy, so heavy I feel as if I may faint. I take several deep breaths to combat my light-headedness.
“Hey,” Alister whispers. “I’ve got you. I know that no one else ever has, but I do.”
Alister lowers his eyes as if he’s just made a promise he knows he can’t keep. I look away from him then as I’m reminded of last night and the way his demeanor changed the moment he realized we were getting too close. He let me in, and I saw the real him—the him that wants a simple life filled with love, the him that wants me. This is that moment for me, the moment where I choose to let him in completely or turn him away for good. I know I should do as he did. The painful expression in his eyes and the tightness of his cheeks makes it clearer than ever—whatever we feel for one another will never be enough to defeat our differences, our pasts. What I feel for Alister is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to love or being in love, and yet I still hesitate to tell him the truth—the complete truth.
I lower my eyes then and find our hands still clasped tightly together. I move my thumb against his hand, caressing him as he did me. I lift my eyes to meet his once more, and the darkness has left him. What remains is a softness, a gentleness that welcomes me in and makes me feel safe. In his eyes, I find my resolve to finally open the door to my past and to my heart.
“My foster mother passed only a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday. Her death filled my foster father with an unrelenting bitterness and darkness. In his loneliness and despair…he raped me.” I press my lips firmly together to keep them from quivering as I finally say the words I’ve only ever said once before—the day I reported him to the police and had him arrested. After that day, I swore to never speak the words again. Who would I tell anyway? I’ve never had anyone close enough to care. Well, there is Ray. But, for some reason, I just never felt like opening up to him like I do Alister. Alister, whom I refuse to look at.
