by JM Darhower
She blushed, her eyes downcast. She looked so sweet, so willing, and Carmine didn’t feel guilty about the fact that he was going to benefit from it.
An hour and a half later, Carmine waltzed into his second period classroom and disrupted the American History teacher, Mrs. Anderson, in the middle of a lecture. She smiled curtly. “Mr. DeMarco, I'm happy you could join us. You're just in time to give your presentation on the Battle of Gettysburg.”
He groaned, having forgotten all about it. She motioned toward the front of the room, and he begrudgingly took his place as she sat behind her desk. “You can begin any time.”
“Uh, the battle happened in Pennsylvania. It was, like, 1800s.”
“1863,” Mrs. Anderson corrected him.
“Yeah, what she said. General Lee led his army up from the South; they met the North in Gettysburg. A bunch of people died on both sides, hundreds of thousands.”
“Tens of thousands, Mr. DeMarco.”
“Same difference,” he said. “The South lost and the North won. Abraham Lincoln came and gave the Emancipation Proclamation.”
“The Gettysburg Address,” Mrs. Anderson said. “The Emancipation Proclamation was delivered six months before the battle.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Who's giving the report here?”
She waved her hand. “Proceed then.”
“Like I said, the North won. The slaves were all freed. Hurrah, hurrah. The end.”
He bowed jokingly, and everyone laughed as Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Did you even read the material?”
“Of course I did.”
“Who was the leader of the North?”
“Lincoln.”
“No, he was the president.”
“Yes, which means he was the fucking leader of everyone.”
Mrs. Anderson's face clouded with anger. Oops. “You won't use that language in my classroom.”
“Could've fooled me,” he said, “because I thought I already did.”
There was a collective gasp among his classmates as Mrs. Anderson stood up, and Carmine started toward the door before the words could even come from her mouth. “Principal's office,” he muttered, mocking her the same time she said it.
He strolled down the hall, in no rush to see the principal again so soon, and froze in the lobby when he heard voices. “You just don't understand, Dad,” Meghan said, standing right outside the office with her father. Carmine snickered when he noticed her skirt was crooked, but his amusement faded when Principal Rutledge spoke.
“I understand enough. I want to know what you did, young lady. Why weren’t you in class?”
Carmine turned around and went the other direction.
The house was silent when Carmine made it home. He headed to the third floor and paused when he reached the top of the stairs. Standing in the library, in the same spot she'd been hours earlier, was Haven. She stared out into the backyard with a vacant look on her face, her arms wrapped around her chest.
He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she flinched but didn't look his way. After a moment, he strolled over and paused beside her. Her body grew rigid as she held her breath, and he could feel the tension rolling off of her when their arms brushed together. The simple contact wouldn't have even registered with him if not for her reaction. “Have you even moved? I saw you here hours ago.”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but no more words came. It wasn't until that moment that he realized she was wearing his shirt and pants, vaguely recalling his father taking them from his room. “You have on my clothes.”
Carmine didn't think it was possible, but she somehow managed to grow even more rigid. “I can take them off.”
He stifled a laugh at her words. “You're offering to take off your clothes for me?”
She shook her head. “Your clothes. I have none.”
And just like that, she made him feel a twinge of guilt. She'd have clothes if he would've done what his father asked of him. “What happened to whatever you came here in?”
“They were bloody, so Dr. DeMarco got rid of them.”
“Whose blood?”
“Mine.”
He tilted his head and stared at her. There was something strange about the way she stood motionless but still managed to seem like she was fidgeting. It made him uneasy.
“Well, you can keep the clothes,” he said. “They look good on you.”
Her blank expression slipped, her mouth falling open, and he started backtracking when it dawned on him what he’d said. “I mean, you know, just keep them on. No need to give them back.”
She regained her composure. “Okay.”
“I’m gonna take a nap, Heaven,” he said, wanting away from her to clear his head. He didn’t like feeling uncomfortable in his house.
“Haven,” she corrected him as he started to walk away.
“I know,” he said. “I kinda like Heaven though.”
She turned to him, and their eyes met for the first time since he’d walked into the room. “Me, too.”
* * * *
Despite Carmine’s fierce protectiveness over his belongings, he wasn’t careful about what he did with things. His bedroom was cluttered, his possessions haphazardly strewn around the floor. Shoes were scattered among the heaps of dirty clothes, his hamper sitting empty in the corner of the room. His desk was covered with papers and books, a laptop buried somewhere in the mess.
It never bothered him. He was used to it, nothing about his life neat or tidy. He felt safe there, tucked into the chaos, surrounded by the things only he controlled. It was that which he craved—control over his life—because it was the one thing Carmine felt he never got to have.
A loud succession of bangs pulled Carmine from his sleep. He climbed out of bed and staggered to the door to find his father standing outside. He barged into the room, stumbling over some stuff that was lying on the floor. Grumbling, he kicked it out of the way. “Where are your keys?”
Carmine rubbed his eyes, his guard going up now that someone was in his space. “What?”
“Your car keys,” Vincent said, starting to search through the desk. Carmine watched with shock as he opened a drawer, furiously pushing things around and tossing half of it on the floor. He slammed the drawer after not finding what he was looking for and moved onto the next one.
“What the hell do you want my keys for?”
“Just give them to me!” Vincent opened the top right drawer and grabbed Carmine’s wallet. Fumbling through it, he pulled out the silver American Express credit card and shoved it into his pocket before tossing the wallet aside, going right back to searching.
Carmine’s blood started to boil. “What do you think you're doing?”
“I tried to be your friend,” Vincent said. “I cut you some slack, hoping it was a phase, but you only got worse. So I got tough and sent you away. After what you did last year, so help me God, I hoped you’d get the message. But no, you come back home and start the cycle all over again. The fighting, the back-talking, the disrespect... I can’t take it anymore.”
“What the hell did I do?”
“The better question would be what didn’t you do.”
“Christ, is this about that damn list again?”
“No, it’s not about the list.” He slammed a drawer and grabbed the bottom one, but it wouldn’t budge. “What's in here?”
Carmine didn't answer, just watching as his father yanked on it.
“Where's the key to open it, Carmine?”
“You're not getting it. You're not getting any of my keys.”
Vincent stood up straight at his words. “I am getting your keys. You're on restriction. I mean it this time. You'll go nowhere but to school, and you'll stay there. No more cutting class. You'll do your work, you'll watch your mouth, you'll keep your hands to yourself, and when that last bell rings, you'll come straight home. That's it. Nothing else!”
“I can't,” he said. “I have footba
ll.”
“You don't tell me what you can and can't do. I tell you!”
Carmine clenched his hands into fists. “So you're just gonna take football from me? Just like that?”
“You brought this upon yourself.”
Carmine narrowed his eyes as his father moved from the desk over to the dresser. “I brought none of this on me. 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 a set of keys. “Your brother turned out perfectly fine.”
“My brother didn't go through what I went through! But you know what? I don't care anymore. Go ahead and take football. You may as well, considering I lost everything else because of you!”
There was a brief moment, when those contemptuous words hung in the air between them, that it seemed like time had stopped for Carmine. It was a low blow—he knew that—and he almost felt guilty when he saw the hurt in his father’s expression. “You'll always blame me.”
“You're damn right I will,” Carmine said. “Give me back my keys.”
“No. I paid for the car.”
“I don't care who paid for it,” he said. “It was bought for me, so it's mine. Give me the damn keys.”
“I said no.”
Vincent started to leave, and every ounce of sensibility Carmine had slipped away when he turned his back to him. “If you don't give me my keys, I'm calling the cops.”
His father 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 just as fast as before. Vincent threw the keys at Carmine, hitting him in the chest with them. “Fine, keep the car. And go to football if it’s that important to you, but the credit card is mine.”
“I don’t care. I don't need your money anyway.”
Vincent laughed bitterly. “We'll see about that, son.”
* * * *
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 just necessities, but Haven had gone her whole life without so much stuff. She glanced around at them, thinking it had to be some sort of misunderstanding. “Are you sure this is all for me?”
“I’m positive,” Dr. DeMarco said, standing in the doorway behind her. He rocked on his heels, irate, though she wasn’t sure why. “If you find there’s something missing, let me know.”
Haven mumbled her thanks as he walked away, leaving her alone with her new belongings. She unpacked them 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 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 Miss Clara worked in the kitchen, but Haven often helped her whenever she got the chance.
Cooking, according to Miss Clara, was an art. There was no need for recipes or instructions, because the best meals were made with intuition and heart. Miss Clara always put her all into her food, even if she hadn’t often 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 was finishing 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. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he said. “Set the table, and you can be dismissed.”
Chapter 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 pull through. 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 temptations of normalcy, intimidated her. She didn’t feel like a slave there, although she knew she was. And as nice as it was not to be treated badly, she wasn’t sure what to make of it all.
By the third day, she’d fallen into a routine. She cleaned during the day and cooked at night before hiding away until everyone was in their rooms. It was then that she’d slip downstairs and eat something in the dark dining room, before heading up to the library. Wandering around the room, her mind would drift as exhaustion took hold of her. She’d slink back to the bedroom and lay in bed, the music always starting up not long after. She wasn’t sure where it came from but the sound of it would put her to sleep, and she’d stay there until everyone was gone for the day.
While it was easier, there were little things that knocked her off kilter. The strong mint flavor of real toothpaste, hot bathing water, and eating with silverware were such small luxuries, but each one made her stumble a bit. She’d been deprived of things everyone else took for granted and adjusting was a slow process.
Wearing shoes made her feet hurt. She didn’t like them at all.
It was a few minutes past three on her third day in Durante when she encountered Dominic again. He came into the house and dropped a backpack on the floor before taking a seat in the family room to watch television. Haven considered fleeing upstairs, but the thought made her feel guilty. He’d been kind to her, even made her a sandwich.
She walked into the family room, nervously picking at her brittle fingernails. “Can I do something for you?”
Dominic shook his head. “I’m cool.”
“Please? There has to be something I can do for you.”
“I could always eat something, I guess.”
She smiled. “Eat what?”
“I don’t know. 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, her voice quiet. “But you made me one…”
She went back 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. Haven grabbed the handle and pulled it toward the laundry room. He followed, pausing in the doorway “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. It’s just that I like to stay busy, and it makes me anxious not to have anything to do.”
Dominic stared at her as she started a load of clothes. “Look, twinkle toes, I don’t know who you are, but you seem nice.”
She chimed in when he paused to take a breath. “I’m Haven.”
“Haven. The point is I make it a habit to stay out of my father’s, uh, 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, you’re staying in my house, so it’s only right to be hospitable. So if I get you a sandwich, don’t feel like you have to bust your ass to make it up to me, because you don’t. It’s just a sandwich.”
She said nothing, but he was wrong. It wasn’t just a sandwich. It was much more than that to her.
“And I appreciate the offer to help with my laundry, because I hate washing clothes. Thanks, Haven. You’re a doll.”
He walked as s
he whispered, “No, thank you.”
Dinner was ready yet 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 even sure.
“It smells terrific in here,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. The food is ready.”
“Great. Go ahead and place it all on the table. 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.
She set the table, placing the food in the center so they could serve themselves, before grabbing Dominic’s hamper and heading up the stairs. 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 and resumed walking, placing Dominic’s clothes outside his bedroom door before shutting herself away again 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 from cooking.”
She closed the pantry door. “Okay.”
“It’s Friday, so the boys will be at the football game. I’ll be gone for the weekend on business.”
Confusion set in when she realized he was leaving for a few days. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you something before you go?”
“I’m 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.”
