by Kali Brixton
After cleaning up in the activity room, I followed the kids outside to find Mom standing on the porch with two of the moms who recently sought refuge here. They all have their backs turned to me, no doubt hawk-eyeing the children as they find a soccer ball and decide to kick it around for a while. But when I get to where they’re standing, a swinging red blur and a high-pitched giggle turn my attention elsewhere.
I’m pretty sure my shriveled-up ovaries just went on the fritz because watching Luca throw Rory high in the air as she squeals with laughter, both of them sporting massive smiles when he catches her, is doing something weird to them. Maybe they’re finally giving up the ghost and moving onto bigger and better things, like serving as rabbit-ear antennas for my uterus. Fun to look at, but completely unnecessary.
Her tinkling giggles intermingle with his deep laughs, making my heart grow fuller and heavier at the same time. I watch them interact with such familiarity, each so comfortable with the other. They play together for a while before Luca throws her up in the air one more time. He catches her seamlessly as she grabs onto his face and squeals once again. A perfect moment.
“That needs to be blown up and put in a frame,” Mom interrupts my thoughts as I zoom in on their facial expressions with my phone.
Busted. “Rory looks so happy, doesn’t she?” I hand her the phone to let her peruse the new album I apparently made while observing them.
She never looks up, smiling the entire time she flips through the pictures. “They both do. Will you send that one to me?” she asks, pausing on a picture of Rory hugging Luca’s neck, looking over his shoulder. Even though you can only see his backside, his dark head leans against hers, his arms pulled to the front like he’s hugging her to him.
It’s the kind of moment families decorate their homes with—snippets of time you don’t want to get lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life.
The type of forever moments I want with her—and used to dream about with him.
“Done.” Closing out the photos app, I check my texts and see that I still haven’t received one from somebody who was supposed to meet us here today. “Where’s Dad at, by the way? I thought he was going to come by and admire my new wheels?”
Mom never takes her eyes from Luca and Rory as they go exploring around a few of the trees in the yard, their hands fused together as they walk. “Work.”
“Again?” That’s the third time in the past two weeks he’d bailed on something I had planned with him, which is entirely unlike the Rian Greene I know and love. “Mom?”
“Hmm?”
My throat aches with the lump that’s quickly growing in it as I lower my voice. “You’d tell me if something was going on between you and Dad, right?” Because even after twenty-six years, my parents’ love story has long served as the model for what marriage could—and should—be like.
Her green eyes dart to mine, compassion in them. “Everleigh Kherington Greene, I promise you. Everything is fine between your father and me.” She smoothes a random hair back from my face and gives me a small smile. “Why don’t you go see what Luca and Rory are up to over there?” Her head bobs in their direction. “I’m going to go see if Aileen needs any help.”
Before I can say anything else, she strides across the porch, throwing her medium-length black hair up in a messy bun as she disappears into the house.
Then why do you keep having this weird reaction, Mom?
Leaves crunch beneath my feet as I sneak up behind Rory, who’s watching Luca intently and pointing. I catch Luca in mid-lesson while he shows her the different types of trees growing in the yard.
“This is a maple. That’s an oak.” Hearing my footsteps, he turns and gives me a smile, then looks back at Rory. “And this right here,”—he points in my direction—“is an Evergreen.”
She peeks over his shoulder and her face lights up. “Gree!”
There’s got to be a way to shake the stupid nickname my brother so kindly gave to me when he saw my name on the third-grade honor roll listed as Ever. Greene. Although it’s provided endless entertainment for my brother and his Italian lap dog over the years, it’s never carried a meaning past annoyance for me.
Therefore, it must die.
That’s right, sugah. One day, as Gawd as my witness and recycled curtains as my fashion statement, I will nevah be cawled Evergreen again.
Rory shimmies out of Luca’s hold and runs into my open arms. Settling her on my hip, I scold him, “Should we really be teaching impressionable young minds ridiculous nicknames?”
Those hazel orbs glimmer with mischief. “I don’t know, Evergreen. Seems like CaCa falls under that umbrella too.”
Touche, douchebag.
“Ca. Ca.” Rory repeats as Luca groans, earning a chuckle from me.
Maybe some nicknames aren’t so bad, after all.
We head inside to the dining area, which is laid out like a long banquet hall. A couple of the tables are filled already with adult ladies in various states of conversation, showing various signs of what “home” used to be like for them. The newer ones are typically a lot quieter, with many of them escaping from homes where they’ve been told to be quiet or to not speak at all over and over again. The ones who have been here for a while chatter more openly, comfortable in their new surroundings as well as with their newfound voice. I always try to sit at one of the kids’ tables and mingle with them. It’s a bit full today with multiple volunteers plus Rory and me, and an unexpected guest. Many of the women and children eye Luca cautiously because the men in their lives aren’t like him. For all his faults, I know in my heart he could never be mean to a woman—other than the time he told me why he really wanted to sleep with me in college.
With Rory in my lap, though, my attention deserves to be on her. There are too many souls in this room who have suffered far more than a broken heart, so I’m not going to add my sour feelings toward him to the mix.
“Is this seat taken?” A deep voice behind me asks.
He’s a donor, Ev. Be nice. His firm did a marvelous thing for Hope House. Swallowing my pride, which consequently tastes bitter and a lot like the yucky kind of cough syrup everyone hates, I gesture to the seat on my left.
“Thank you. I’ve worked up an appetite today.”
Rory looks up and sees her play buddy and gives him a big smile.
“Long time no see, Rory.”
She wiggles in my lap like a wooly worm, which I assume is her trying to get comfortable. But hearing her grunt and feeling her body sway to the left, I realize she’s trying to climb in Luca’s lap. His face conveys my surprise perfectly, but seeing him get her situated on his lap and their grins at each other, my heart floods with hope and loss at the same time. He looks so natural with her, so poised, yet relaxed.
And no, those are not tears trying to claw their way out of my eyes right now.
“Everyone, let’s all take hands and say grace.”
Crap. I forgot all about grace, which means…
Kids and adults alike take each other’s hands and prepare for the blessing over the food. All except the two people who used to know each other’s bodies intimately. Consequently, it’s the exact same people who are now acting like awkward teenagers because they used to bang each other’s brains out, yet have never held hands before.
Rory looks at everyone around her and notices the pattern. Not wanting to break with convention apparently, she grabs Luca’s arm and pushes it toward mine. Our forearms brush against each other, firing every nerve in my arm’s arsenal at once. I hope to Pete, he doesn't notice the goosebumps that are rising on my skin right now.
He stares at our brushed arms for a second, then looks at me, a serious but soft expression taking hold. As he slowly flips his hand over and opens the once tightly closed fingers to receive mine, as a footman would for a princess getting out of a carriage, I cautiously extend my hand and feel the warmth in his enveloping mine. My ears burn as I fight back a blush that shouldn’t be working its way
up my chest and onto my cheeks.
Deep breaths, Ev. Deep. Breaths.
My aunt asks everyone to bow their heads as Mom prepares to lead us in prayer.
Thank you, Lord, for all your blessings, especially the one giving me an opportunity to not have to look at him so I don’t turn to mush or stone.
Before Mom can utter the first syllable, a tiny hand finds a home on top of mine and a big thumb that doesn’t belong to me reaches up to pin it down, making her a joint part in this moment.
It feels good. And right.
And so wonderful.
Nothing that I should be feeling at the moment, yet do.
But just like the stroke of midnight, the magic ends when my mom utters Amen, breaking the spell, even though our hands stay joined for a few seconds longer than they have any right to be.
I pull mine back first and reach for the pea salad Mom made to distract me from things I shouldn’t allow to take root. Though, considering Luca’s snarling reaction to the very dish which holds an unpleasant memory—for him, at least—I think I made the right call.
29
Luca
Everleigh had plans for this evening, so she had to leave with Rory right after lunch. Or at least that’s what her mother Kyleigh told me when I came back from using the restroom and found them both gone. As much as pea salad still turns my stomach, I can’t help but believe the butterflies from holding Ev’s hand were what kept me on edge throughout lunch today.
I offered to stay back and help clean up, which Aileen and Kyleigh happily accepted. What the sisters have accomplished with Hope House is nothing short of amazing. Aileen’s a domestic abuse survivor herself who came back to Georgia with her son Kyle when he was a young boy. Apparently, her husband was an abusive prick who nearly killed them both during a botched escape attempt. Thankfully, he’s currently serving life in prison for attempted murder and a slew of other charges.
Rian and Kyleigh helped the two get back on their feet and find purpose. With Kyleigh’s background in grant writing, they could establish Hope House, which has helped many women and children over the years leave dangerous home environments and receive the support they need to heal and to become independent.
It’s hard to imagine what would’ve happened to my own sister had she not found the courage to leave her abusive husband when she did. I’ll never be able to repay the Greenes for all they did to help Lia after our dad shut her out of the family because she wanted to leave Giacomo. She was so lucky to have them in her life, as many who try to escape a situation like hers end up on the streets...or dead. My father’s not the same man he was back then, but he’s got a long way to go in rectifying his sins against Lia.
Convincing him to talk to DA Redmond about Antonio Cervelli was a step in the right direction, though. I made a convincing argument, but it was Lia who finally got him to budge. Mrs. Redmond assured him that with his full cooperation, he’d receive immunity from the crimes he committed as one of Antonio’s accountants. Dad has kept thorough notes over the years, though the lynchpin is still most definitely Gia.
I’ve not been able to crack the mystery yet with what leverage Antonio has on Gia, but considering I’ve got reinforcements flying in from Italy for our wedding in a few weeks, I hope that if I can’t figure it out, Papi Dean can.
My second phone buzzes as I weave through part of a detour on the way home from Hope House. Ever since I spoke with DA Redmond, I purchased a burner phone and prepaid minutes with cash and started using it to call Papi Dean. Growing up in the family I did means suspicion is ingrained in my blood, so I thought it would be safer to talk to my personal counselor on a secure line. Who knows what they’re doing behind the scenes? “Hello, Papi Dean.”
Musical notes float through as none other than my grandfather serenades me in Italian. In the background, Franco and Paolo play their instruments with expert precision, complementing my grandfather’s rich baritone voice. While I lived in Italy, I met a lot of his friends, including the dynamic duo of Franco and Paolo, string musicians who often entertain the guests at Giuseppe’s, one of his favorite local restaurants. Papi Dean’s home became the refuge I sought every single chance during my time there.
It was the feeling of home I needed, especially when I had a tough day in law school or a rough day working at Antonio’s cousin’s firm. Because home is not a place, it’s a people—perhaps even one person in specific. And if you’re lucky, you’ll be their home too.
Papi Dean finishes his song with a flourish, the Italian take on “Happy Birthday” always one of his favorites to perform.
The man knows how to make someone feel special on their twenty-ninth birthday. “Bravissimo!”
He chuckles. “How is my favorite grandson doing on his birthday?”
I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see it. “You mean your only grandson?”
“One or a hundred, you’d still be the favorite. Just like my Magnolia Blossom will always be my favorite granddaughter.”
This. This is why he’s the world’s best grandfather. “Well, thank you either way.” I think back to the time I spent at Hope House this morning and afternoon and how wonderful it was to be with Rory, Kyleigh, and Ev, even if only two of the three seemed happy to see me. I’ve more than earned Ev’s ire over the years, so I’ll take it if it means I can just be in the same space as her. “What have you been up to today?”
“I had a nice, long chat with an old friend.” If I was a betting man, my money would be on his close friend, Andrei—an intimidating man but someone who holds my grandfather in the highest regards. “He said to tell you congratulations on your upcoming wedding.” He pauses for a moment. “There is still an upcoming wedding, correct?”
As if my co-conspirator didn’t already know that. Before the bomb of Giacomo’s death had blown up in our faces, Papi Dean and I had constructed a plan to lose one girl and get back the one I truly want in my life. But his death put the kibosh on that, so Plan B it is. “That’s the plan.”
“Good to know.” The smile in his voice comes through loud and clear.
“You finally going to tell me how you and Andrei became friends?” I ask as I slow to a full stop at the next traffic light, knowing full-well the answer he’s going to give me. It was a well-guarded secret between the two men, but for what reason, I had no clue.
Italians and their closely guarded secrets… “I don’t want to bore you with the details of that old story.”
Bingo. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that in the last six years…
“Your father called me the other day. Sounds like my granddaughter missed her chance to become a litigator.”
“She impressed the hell out of me, for sure. You would’ve been proud.”
“That’s my girl.” Ever since Lia reconnected with my parents, Dad has tried to smooth over things with Papi Dean, yet another burnt bridge to rebuild because of his poor decisions. When Papi Dean found out that she had been excommunicated from the family, he and Dad didn’t speak for years, his disappointment in my father ringing loud and clear from across the ocean. “Any other updates?”
When I told him about the conversation with DA Skyla Redmond, he listened carefully, absorbing every word before fine-tooth combing all the details. He knows Gia plays the biggest part in this crazy scheme, but has yet to advise me on how to handle things with her. Odd, but his best advice always seems to come after mulling it over for a while. “Still no luck.”
He clears his throat. “Well, I think you need to invite her to dinner next Tuesday at your apartment.”
My brows knit together. “Why?”
“Because I’m coming in early and I’d like to meet her.”
Fuck yeah! Best birthday present ever. “I thought you weren’t coming until the week before the wedding?”
“I believe I can be of more use there than I can here. If you don’t mind an old man camping out with you for a bit longer than expected, that is.”
This from the man who always had the welcome mat rolled out for me as a child and as a full-grown man. “If you wanted to stay forever, I’d never run you off, Papi Dean.”
His loud laugh echoes through the phone. “I’m going to hold you to that.” A scratching sound breaks through, no doubt from him digging at his five o'clock shadow. “Luca, I want you to promise me you’ll do exactly what the DA says to do, okay? To the letter.” Papi Dean was a big believer in walking the line when it comes to the law, so his words don’t exactly surprise me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Things will work out just fine if you stick to their plan. Your father too.”
Horns honk loudly in front of me. I look up to see a green light in the distance, which means someone is most likely distracted up ahead. I crane my neck, trying to figure what’s holding up traffic. All I can see past the four cars ahead of me is a touch of blue, sort of like the color of the Durango Ev drove today. But she wouldn’t come this way from Greta’s house. There’s nothing but a few local stores and some seedy motel to my left that druggies and prostitutes frequent on this road.
“How can you be so sure, Papi Dean?”
“Your grandfather’s been around a long time,” he says in a serious tone. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. And I believe without a doubt, if you try to do what’s right, eventually it comes back to you.”
“I don’t think I’ve built up that kind of karma, Papi Dean.”
He eases a chuckle out to my jest. “Then what you lack, you can have from mine.”
The loud squeal of tires peeling out interrupts our little heart-to-heart. The blue vehicle that I can now plainly see is Ev’s new vehicle, loudly roaring down the highway as it leaves the rest of us in its dust. What the hell? It’s not like her to be so erratic in her driving.
“What’s that noise?”
Traffic picks up the pace as Ev continues to floor it. A low tingle grows in my chest, anxiety breeding more as the seconds pass. Something’s wrong. “Papi Dean, can I call you back tomorrow?” I flip my signal light on and start to weave through traffic, hoping I can catch up to her.
