“I can’t,” he said. “I have football.”
“You don’t tell me what you can’t do. I tell you!”
Carmine clenched his hands into fists. “So you’re gonna take football from me?”
“You brought this upon yourself.”
Carmine narrowed his eyes as his father moved from the desk to the dresser. “I’m just living the life you gave me!”
“You can’t blame me for this,” Vincent said, opening the top dresser drawer. Carmine groaned as he pulled out his set of keys. “Your brother turned out fine.”
“My brother didn’t go through what I went through! But you know what? I don’t care. Go ahead and take football. You might as well. I’ve lost everything else because of you!”
There was a moment, when those contemptuous words hung in the air between them, that it seemed like time stopped. It was a low blow, and Carmine almost felt guilty when he saw the hurt in his father’s eyes. “You’ll always blame me.”
“You’re damn right I will,” Carmine said. “Give me my keys back.”
“No.”
Every ounce of sensibility Carmine had slipped away when his father turned his back to him. “If you don’t give me my keys, I’ll call the police.”
Vincent turned back around so fast the movement startled Carmine. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’d risk everything over a car?”
“Yes,” he said. “You would, too, if it was all you had left.”
That flicker of hurt returned but faded as fast as before. Vincent threw the keys at Carmine, hitting him in the chest with them. “Keep the car, and go play your precious football, but the credit card’s mine.”
“I don’t care. I don’t need your money.”
Vincent laughed dryly. “We’ll see about that.”
A dozen overflowing shopping bags littered the bedroom floor, splashes of brilliant color against the dreary carpet. Dr. DeMarco had brought them in, saying they were necessities, but Haven had gone her whole life without so much stuff. “All of this is for me?”
“Yes.” Dr. DeMarco stood in the doorway behind her, rocking on his heels. He was irate, though she wasn’t sure why. “If you find there’s something missing, let me know.”
Haven mumbled her thanks as he left, leaving her alone with her new belongings. She unpacked carefully, hanging the clothes in the closet and putting the bathroom items away. Used to having a bar of white soap, she had no idea what things like bath salts and pumice stones were for. She found a brush, though, and ran it through her hair, cringing as she snagged on the massive knots.
She changed into some fresh clothes, taking off what belonged to Carmine, before heading downstairs to start dinner. Cooking hadn’t been her main job in Blackburn, as her mama usually worked in the kitchen, but Haven had helped her whenever she got the chance.
Cooking, according to her mama, was an art. Recipes and instructions were unnecessary, because the best meals were made with intuition and heart. Her mama always put her all into her food, even if she hadn’t been allowed to taste it. It was a trait Haven had picked up, one that was coming in handy as she stood in the DeMarco’s kitchen.
Dr. DeMarco walked in as she finished a pot of spaghetti, and she stood back, nervously awaiting his reaction. He scanned the meal before nodding. “Will you be eating with us?”
Instinctively, she shook her head.
“You don’t have to, but I do insist you eat something every day. I won’t allow you to starve under my roof.”
Even something as generous as offering food sounded like an order coming from him.
4
Living in Blackburn hadn’t been easy for Haven, with an overabundance of work and a lack of food, but she always found a way to get by. It was a dismal life, but it had been hers, and it was the only one she’d ever known.
Durante, on the other hand, with its slow pace and down time, intimidated her.
By the third day, she fell into a routine. She cleaned during the day and cooked at night before hiding away until everyone went to bed. She’d slip downstairs then and eat something in the dark dining room, before retreating to the bedroom. She’d climb into bed, the music always starting not long after. She wasn’t sure where it came from but the sound of it would ease her to sleep, and she’d stay there until everyone left the house for the day.
While easier, little things knocked her off-kilter. The strong mint of real toothpaste, hot bathing water, and eating with silverware were small amenities, but each made her stumble a bit. She had been deprived of things everyone else took for granted. Even wearing shoes made her feet hurt. She didn’t like them a bit.
It was a few minutes past three on her third day when Haven encountered Dominic again. He came into the house and dropped a backpack on the floor before taking a seat in the family room. She considered fleeing upstairs, but that made her feel guilty. He’d been overwhelmingly kind to her.
She stepped into the family room, nervously picking at her brittle fingernails. “Can I do something for you?”
Dominic shook his head. “I’m cool.”
“Are you sure? There has to be something I can do.”
“Uh . . . I could always eat something, I guess.”
She smiled. “Eat what?”
“Surprise me.”
Haven headed for the kitchen and made a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich before grabbing a paper towel. She walked back into the family room, and Dominic took it. “You seriously didn’t have to do this.”
She averted her gaze. “But you made me one . . .”
She went to the kitchen before he could respond and wiped down the counters. A little while later, as she defrosted chicken for dinner, she spotted Dominic lugging his hamper downstairs. She stepped into the foyer, directly in his path. “Can I get that for you?”
He laughed. “You’re offering to do my laundry?”
“Yes.”
Dominic hesitated but let go of the hamper so Haven could pull it to the laundry room. He followed, pausing in the doorway. “Look, Twinkle Toes, I don’t know who you are . . .”
She chimed in. “I’m Haven.”
“Haven. The point is I make it a habit to stay out of my father’s dealings. It gives me plausible deniability, which means I have no idea what’s going on with this”—he waved his hands all around them—“situation. The way I see it, since you’re staying here, it’s only right for me to be hospitable. So if I get you a sandwich, don’t feel like you have to make it up to me. It’s just a sandwich.”
She said nothing, but he was wrong. It wasn’t just a sandwich. It was more than that to her.
“And I appreciate the offer to help with my laundry. Thanks, Haven.”
He walked away as she whispered, “No, thank you.”
Dinner was ready again at a quarter to seven, and Haven kept it warm as she folded Dominic’s clothes. The front door opened while she was in the laundry room, and she stepped out to greet Dr. DeMarco.
Was she supposed to? She wasn’t sure.
“Smells terrific in here,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. The food’s ready.”
“Great. Carmine should be home from football practice in a few minutes.”
Her pulse quickened at the mention of Carmine. She hadn’t seen him since their awkward encounter in the library, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him so soon again.
She set the table, placing the food in the center for them to serve themselves, before grabbing Dominic’s hamper and heading upstairs. She made it to the second floor when the front door swung open, Carmine’s voice hitting her instantly. “Cazzo, what smells so good?”
She smiled to herself and resumed walking, placing Dominic’s clothes outside his bedroom door before shutting herself away to hide.
The next evening, Dr. DeMarco arrived home as Haven was looking for something to make for dinner. “I forgot to tell you. You have the night off.”
She closed the pantry door. “Okay.”
“It’s Friday, so the boys will be at the football game, and I’ll be gone this weekend on business.”
Confusion set in. He was leaving? “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you something before you go?”
“Positive.” He reached out, and she flinched, but it didn’t discourage him from grasping her shoulder. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
She followed him into the family room, where he picked up a cordless telephone. “I had a phone installed in case you need anything when I’m away. Speed dial number one goes directly to my cell phone. If I don’t answer and it’s an emergency, speed dial number two is Dominic.”
“Is Carmine number three?” The words flew from her mouth before she had enough sense to restrain them.
“Yes, but any trouble you encounter won’t be as bad as the trouble that follows my youngest. So if you need anything, call the first two.”
“Okay.” She stared at the phone. “How do I do that?”
Sighing, Dr. DeMarco gave some quick instructions on how to place a call. A flurry of thoughts hit her as she listened, but Dr. DeMarco cut them off. “I’ll know any time it’s used, so don’t get any bright ideas like calling 911.”
Her brow furrowed. “Who’s 911?”
He stared at her as if he thought she might be joking. “Let’s just say calling 911 is the last thing you want to do, child.”
Dr. DeMarco left, and those words ran through Haven’s mind as she wandered the empty house. She ended up in the family room after a while, standing in front of the white telephone again.
Picking it up, she turned it on like Dr. DeMarco had shown her. She hit the 9 button before pressing the number 1, her finger hovering over the 1 again. She stood there, her heart pounding rapidly, before pressing the button to turn off the phone.
She did it three more times before placing the phone into its cradle and leaving the room, too frightened to press the last number.
The sun was setting when Haven ended up in the library. She came across some paper and swiped a few pieces, finding a pencil before eagerly running to her room. She lay down in bed and sketched, her mama’s face emerging on the paper. With no pictures, Haven was desperately afraid she would forget what her mama looked like, afraid her memory would fade with time.
Drawing came naturally to Haven. When she was little, around the age of seven, her first mistress, Monica, gave her paper and crayons. It was the first time she’d given her anything, and it turned out to be the last, but Haven cherished the gift until the last shred of crayon disappeared.
As she grew older, she’d sneak supplies from the ranch house, but afterward destroyed all evidence so no one would find out. She usually folded the sketches and stuck them in her pocket, burying the papers the first chance she got.
Haven lost track of time as she immersed herself in the drawing of her mama, and it was nearing midnight when the sound of music captured her attention. It was earlier than the other nights. Curious, she set the drawing aside and crept to the door to peek out.
