He laughed. “It’s where I keep the old me.”
She sat down on his bed with her drink as he pulled out a small box, digging through it briefly before pulling out a black picture frame. She took it from him carefully, her gaze resting upon a photo of a woman with bright red hair and eyes the same color as Carmine’s.
Haven couldn’t breathe. It was the face she had seen repeatedly in her dreams, the angel in white that glowed in the sunlight. Emotion ripped through her, her voice a broken whisper. “She’s an angel.”
Carmine took the frame from her, but instead of placing it back into the box, he set it on his desk. “She is,” he said quietly. “Now, anyway.”
Dreams filtered into Haven’s sleep that night. It was a dark, cloudless night, the glow of the moon illuminating the scene in her mind. She was back in Blackburn again, a fresh-faced little girl with nappy hair, trying to squeeze by to see out of the stables. “What’s going on, Mama?”
“Nothing that concerns you, baby girl,” her mama said quietly as she tried to shoo Haven away. “Go lie down.”
“But I’m not tired,” Haven argued. “Please, Mama? I want to see.”
“Nothing’s happening,” she said. “It’s all over.”
Haven gave up on trying to go around, instead getting on the ground and scurrying between her legs. She could faintly make out the outline of a car with the trunk open. On the ground beside it, motionless, lay a person. “It’s Miss Martha!”
“Hush,” her mama said. “You don’t want them to hear.”
“Sorry, Mama.” Haven tried to whisper, but she couldn’t help herself. She watched as Miss Martha was placed into the trunk, her eyes closed like she was sleeping. “Where’s Miss Martha going?”
“Away from here,” her mama answered.
“What’s away from here?”
“A lot,” she said. “There’s a whole world out there.”
“Is Miss Martha going out there to the world?”
“No, Miss Martha’s gone to Heaven.”
“What’s Heaven?”
Her mama sighed. “Heaven’s the greatest place you can imagine. People don’t hurt anymore when they go to Heaven. There’s peace there. It’s beautiful. Everyone’s beautiful.”
Haven smiled excitedly. “Will I get to go to Heaven?”
She nodded. “Someday an angel will come to take you away.”
Suddenly the darkness erupted in blinding light. Haven shielded her eyes. She could feel the sun burning her as she ran, air fanning her sweaty skin. She pretended to fly, like Miss Martha did to Heaven the night before, and slammed into something in her path.
Falling to the ground, she could barely make out the form in the blinding light. She was confused until a soft voice shattered the silence. “You’re awfully dirty, little one.”
The blindness cleared as the form knelt down to look at her. Sheer beauty, love, and compassion. Up until then, Haven hadn’t seen an angel, but she was sure one had come.
28
The room was encased in bright light when Carmine woke up. His head pounded, his eyes burned. He blinked a few times as he sat up, realizing he was alone.
Stretching, he popped two Tylenol to squelch the hangover before strolling out of the room. As soon as he reached the second floor, his footsteps wavered when Haven stepped into the hallway with his father. Her eyes met his the same time Vincent noticed him. “Do you need laundry done again?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“Two days in a row you’ve walked around with barely any clothes on.”
He looked down at himself. “My, uh . . . goods are covered.”
“Well, I’m glad at least that much sank in over the years.”
He chuckled. “What, you think you’re too young to be a grandfather?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said. “I’m only forty-one. But frankly, I’m just as worried about you picking up something as I am about you impregnating someone. For a while, every time you said the words, ‘what’s this?’ I feared you would expose yourself to show me something suspicious.”
Carmine laughed. “Well, thanks for the concern, but I assure you my dick’s in fantastic shape.”
Vincent shook his head as he glanced at Haven. “You’re excused, child. I’m sure you have things to attend to.”
She practically bolted for the steps as Vincent turned back to Carmine. “Go get dressed.”
“Why? It’s not like I’m indecent.”
“I didn’t say you were indecent, but I have a free day, so I thought we’d go shooting like old times.”
He gaped at him. “Vincent DeMarco cleared his schedule to spend time with little ol’ me?”
Vincent sighed. “Go before I change my mind.”
Chuckling, Carmine headed upstairs and threw on some clothes. He was in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Haven walked in. “Are you and Dr. DeMarco going away?”
He nodded, rinsing out his mouth. “We’re gonna go play with our guns.”
“You’ll be safe, won’t you?”
“Yeah, he’s not going to shoot me or anything,” he said. “I tested him a few times, and he even pointed a gun at me once, but he couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Instead of making her feel better, her panicked expression only grew. “He pointed a gun at you?”
“Relax, he’s probably pointed a gun at everyone at some point,” he said as he finished getting ready. “You gonna miss me, tesoro?”
“I always miss you when you aren’t here.”
He put on his coat. “Give it a few more months and you’ll be tired of my ass.”
“Never.”
“Great to hear, but what’s that shit they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Me leaving means you’ll love me more when I get back.”
The outdoor firing range was a few miles outside of town in the Swannanoa Valley. The field, about four hundred yards in length, had a covered pavilion with various-sized targets. They’d visited it a few times during the years but hadn’t been back since the incident with Nicholas . . . since Carmine went away.
Carmine had been a decent shot since he was a kid, but Vincent’s aim was impeccable, his hand as steady as a professional marksman’s. His bullet ripped straight through the bull’s-eye effortlessly.
Vincent reloaded his M1 Garand after expelling all the rounds and held it out to Carmine. “Do you want to try the rifle?”
Carmine took it and hesitated before handing his pistol to his father. Aiming, Carmine fired once and smirked when it hit the target.
“That was luck,” Vincent said, loading the pistol and firing it. He hit the farthest target, unloading the rounds into it.
“Fucking show-off,” Carmine said, taking another shot and hitting the target again. “See, that wasn’t luck. That was skill.”
“You’re not so bad,” Vincent conceded. “Nicholas can attest to that.”
Carmine rolled his eyes as his father exchanged weapons with him again. He shot at the target, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. Vincent unceremoniously fired off a few more rounds before lowering his weapon and staring off into space. Carmine realized it then . . . this wasn’t just a casual shooting trip. This wasn’t just father/son bonding time. There was something on Vincent’s mind, something that would be talked about before Carmine would be allowed to go back home.
If Carmine would be allowed to go back home.
“Is that what you wanna talk about?” Carmine said, knowing he’d have to crack first. “Nicholas?”
“No,” Vincent said. “Unless he’s the reason you’ve been in a good mood lately.”
Carmine stared at his father as those words sank in. He knew.
“I couldn’t help it,” Carmine said, the stress making his voice quiver. “It’s not like I set out for this to happen. It just . . . did.”
Vincent remained silent, his lack of response grating on Carmine’s nerves. “Come on, I know you have an opinion—no need to hold back. I can take it. Tell me how fucking disgusted you are that your son would go as low as to fall for a damn sla—” He faltered, unable to finish the word.
“Whether or not you say it doesn’t change anything,” Vincent said. “It doesn’t make the girl more or less of one.”
Carmine waited for something more. “Is that all you have to say? I said I can take it. Tell me it’s wrong, that it’ll never work because people like us don’t belong together. Tell me she’s not good enough for me. Tell me she could never love me.”
“Is that what you want to hear?”
He narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Vincent casually glanced at his watch like he was unaffected by the conversation. “Why don’t we get some lunch?”
Carmine cocked an eyebrow. “It would be easier to kill me here.”
“Kill you? What kind of person do you take me for?”
“Well, fuck. I thought you might be the kinda person to hurt an innocent girl. Good to know I was wrong about that shit.”
“I’m a man who makes mistakes, a man who doesn’t expect to be forgiven for them, but a man who does expect his children to be respectful,” he said sharply. “If you want to talk this out using our anger, we can, but I hoped we could discuss it like adults.”
Carmine hesitated. “Fine.”
“Now, are you going to apologize for throwing that in my face?”
Carmine scoffed. “I’ll apologize for saying it when you apologize for doing it.”
Vincent and Carmine were seated as soon as they reached the restaurant and both ordered the first thing on the menu. After the waiter brought their food, Vincent turned to his son. “I want you to listen carefully, Carmine. What the two of you have is harmless right now, but I don’t want to hear about it. You may care for the girl, but she isn’t yours. You’re probably going to hate me for saying this, but I’m in control. The first time she neglects what I tell her, I’ll put a stop to it all.”
Carmine clenched his jaw as his anger boiled over, and Vincent held his hand up to stop the impending explosion. “I’m not going to harm her, but I’ll send her away if you force my hand. I’m not giving you my blessing, but I’m not forbidding it either. I’m smart enough to pick and choose my battles, and I have more important ones to fight right now.”
He stared at his father. “Fair enough.”
Vincent turned his attention to his food. “I just wonder if you know what you’re getting into.”
“Well, I’m kinda sorta hoping the asshole who owns her won’t own her forever.”
Vincent’s eyes snapped in his direction. “That’s a nice piece of information to have, but it wasn’t what I was talking about. Why do you think I asked you to teach her to drive, Carmine? Why I asked you to take her grocery shopping?”
