Chapter 8 #2
We drove to the house in silence. Turned out I didn’t need to give Salvatore directions. He knew the way, and by the time he pulled up in front of the large, two-story brick home with the wraparound porch and swing hanging from a branch in the overgrown tree in the front yard, my heart was racing.
Salvatore switched off the engine and turned to me. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb resting against my cheek as his mouth moved into a small smile. A sort of truce, maybe.
“Relax,” he said.
“It’s that obvious?” I asked, holding onto the box of éclairs.
“Yeah.” Salvatore’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display but declined the call. “I’ll walk you in, then I have to make a call.”
I nodded, oddly grateful, and climbed out of the car.
“Aunt Lucia!”
I turned to find Effie running across the lawn toward us.
“Effie!” She crashed into my legs. Salvatore’s hand at my back kept me upright. “I’m excited to see you too.” I hugged her with one arm. “Look what Salvatore brought for you.” She pulled back, and I opened the box of éclairs .
“Oh!” She squealed and looked with huge eyes from the box to him then back. “Thank you!”
The front door opened, and Izzy stepped outside followed by Luke.
“Huh?” I didn’t realize Luke would be here.
Izzy came toward us, her mouth pasted into a smile. I glanced at Salvatore to find his eyes locked on Luke’s.
“What the hell is he doing here?” he muttered. I wondered if he’d meant to say it out loud at all.
“Those look great,” Izzy said, her eye on the box Effie held. She took my hand and pulled me to her side, her gaze on Salvatore. “Thanks for dropping her off.”
“Oh, I can stay,” he said, taking me by the arm and pulling me to stand beside him. “I’d love to see where Lucia grew up.”
“Didn’t you have to make a call?” I reminded him, unsure where my loyalties should lie.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It can wait.”
“Luke came by to help. Luke, this is Salvatore Benedetti,” Izzy said, introducing them.
The men eyed each other, neither offering a hand. “We know each other,” Salvatore said.
I watched Luke, saw how he stood a little closer to my sister than he maybe should, remembered my conversation with Izzy yesterday.
“Mommy, can I have one already?” Effie asked.
My attention went to the little girl. I looked from her to Luke and back. But then Salvatore spoke, interrupting my thoughts.
“Want me to take the first bite, so you can be sure they’re not poisoned?” he asked Izzy in Italian while placing a hand on top of Effie’s head. I realized he’d spoken Italian so Effie wouldn’t understand.
My sister’s eyes hardened. “Go ahead, honey,” she said to Effie, her gaze never leaving Salvatore.
“Thanks!” Effie, oblivious to the tension, chose the largest éclair and began eating.
“Okay, let’s go inside and get started.” I tugged my arm free from his hold, took Salvatore’s arm, and dragged him with me into the house.
“Did you know Luke would be here?” he asked in a clipped tone.
“No. I’m just as surprised as you.” I walked into the living room which, even on a sunny day, was dark because of the wide-covered porch, and today, with the heavy clouds overhead, Izzy had turned on several lamps even though it was early in the day.
I stopped just inside the house, the faint but familiar scent of vanilla flooding my mind with memories.
I’d forgotten that scent. Mom’s favorite candles.
Papa had always claimed to hate them, but he’d kept right on buying them even after she died.
It was all too many years ago. An entire lifetime ago.
“Is there something going on between your sister and Luke?” Salvatore asked, his gaze on the pair outside, who stood having a heated discussion.
“They’re cousins. They’re just close, that’s all.” Was that all?
“I don’t like it, Lucia. And I don’t like you around him.”
I faced him. “He’s my cousin too. My parents are both dead now. I need all the family I can get.”
“Sometimes family is bad for you.”
I paused, trying to read what I saw in his eyes, but Salvatore had a talent for being unreadable. Feeling weak, I sat on the arm of the sofa and took a deep breath.
“Don’t take them away from me too,” I whispered without thinking, knowing he could do just that. What would happen then? Izzy would start a war. Hell, she and Luke were already planning it.
Salvatore came toward me. He took my hands and made me look at him. “I won’t take them away.”
“Promise it,” I said after a long moment.
“I promise.”
That was the second promise he’d made me.
Without another word, I led the way up to my bedroom, where Salvatore helped me pack up the things I wanted to keep, mostly books and old diaries I’d hidden.
My bed stood where it had always been, just beneath one of the two windows.
My father used to ask me how I could sleep there in the summer months—didn’t the light wake me up too early?
—but I loved it. I looked out onto the backyard, where he’d put up a second swing like the one in the front yard.
I sat down while Salvatore taped up the last box. It was when I picked up the pillow that I found it. A letter addressed to me, the envelope sealed, the handwriting familiar.
My father’s.
I picked it up and stared at it. My father’s suicide note had been brief. He’d said he was sorry. He’d said he’d failed everyone he loved.
I ran the pad of my finger over the blue ink before sliding my finger beneath the flap and tearing it. The sound stood out, almost as if it blocked out every other sound, every other person or thing. My heart pounded, and my hand trembled as I pulled out the folded sheet of paper.
Dear, dear Lucia,
I know this comes too little too late, and you won’t ever know how sorry I am for the part I forced you to play in this terrible war. I want to say I had no choice. I want to blame anyone else. And for a time, I did. But that wasn’t real.
One thing I’ve learned these last five years is to take responsibility for my actions, for their consequences. For your consequence. And this one, this final one, is the one I cannot reconcile. The single thing that has broken me.
I am so very sorry, Lucia. I am so ashamed of myself.
I am a weak man, and I’ve burdened you with a weight too heavy.
I can’t live with this anymore. I will fail you again by being absent when the bastard comes to claim you.
But you see, I cannot live with this for another moment longer.
I cannot live, knowing they destroyed both of my daughters.
I hope you will forgive me. I do love you more than anything in this world.
Papa
A hand on my shoulder startled me, and I glanced up.
“You okay?”
It was Salvatore. I quickly crumpled the letter and threw it into the trash can, then wiped my face with the backs of my hands.
“I want to go.” I said, looking around for something, what I had no idea. “I need… I can’t.”
“Shh.”
He wrapped an arm around me and, without another word, pulled me into his chest and held me there, one hand rubbing my back, the other holding tight.
“Shh,” he said again.
I choked on a sob and pressed my face into him, for one moment letting his strength support me, lift the weight of all of this from me.
But when in response to my surrender he hugged me back, I shook my head and wiped my face before breaking away from him.
I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t take comfort from him.
He was the enemy. And I was betraying my family with every tender moment I shared with him.
I couldn’t do this.
“Please…” I started.
With a nod, he ushered me out to the car. “Stay here.”
Salvatore went back into the house and a few moments later returned, loaded the two boxes I’d packed into the trunk, and climbed behind the steering wheel.
He glanced at me, the look in his eyes strange, cautious, measuring.
Then, without a word, he turned the key and started the engine, taking us back to his house, back to my new home.