by JM Darhower
“None of you can answer the door for me?” Tess called out. Haven tensed as she walked toward them.
“Hello, Tess,” Dr. DeMarco said, his attention still on the screen. She paused and glanced around at all of them, her eyes lingering on Haven for longer than she was comfortable with.
Tess squeezed in the chair with Dominic, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around him. Dominic hugged her as they shared a smile, their expressions warm. Haven smiled at the sight. Tess was cold toward her, but Haven realized she wasn’t a mean person.
Haven turned back to the television and tried to focus on the movie, but Carmine kept inching closer to her. It clouded her mind.
“Hey, Doc, did your son tell you he beat up Lisa’s car this morning?” Tess asked.
“I hit it once,” Carmine said. “It was only a small dent.”
“Well, you better find a job to pay for that dent,” Dr. DeMarco said. “I’m not forking the bill for you anymore, remember?”
“I shouldn’t have to pay for anything. She deserved it for busting in here like some goddamn interrogator.”
Those words drew Dr. DeMarco’s attention from the movie. “And why did she come to interrogate you?”
“She wants a relationship or something. I don’t know.”
Dr. DeMarco laughed. “That’s what happens when you lead girls on.”
“Whatever, I don’t lead them on. And regardless, maybe I deserve the shit, but Haven didn’t deserve to get dragged into it.”
Dr. DeMarco’s eyebrows rose. “How did that happen?”
“She was standing there,” Carmine said. “Wrong place, wrong time. Lisa called her some names.”
“I don’t think she meant me any harm,” Haven said quietly. “She was just angry.”
“Bullshit,” Carmine said. “Lisa knew what she was doing.”
Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “You shouldn’t be put in the line of fire with Carmine’s puttani.”
Haven had no idea what puttani were, but she had a feeling it wasn’t very nice. “It’s fine. I’ve survived a lot worse.”
Dr. DeMarco’s gaze was intense as he stared at her. “Yes, you have.”
Everyone turned back to the television, but Haven fidgeted in her seat. Uncomfortable, she wanted a reason to leave the room and leaned toward Carmine. “Do you want something to drink?”
He shrugged. “You can bring me something.”
She stood up, taking a few steps toward the kitchen, but paused before exiting the room. “Do you need anything, Dr. DeMarco?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll take a bottle of water,” Tess chimed in. “Thanks for asking.”
Haven was frightened she’d made a mistake, but Dr. DeMarco spoke, alleviating her worry. “You’re capable of getting your own water, Tess. There’s nothing wrong with your legs.”
Haven made a Cherry Coke for Carmine and grabbed a bottle of water, hesitating before getting a second one. She walked back into the family room and handed one to Tess. “Here you go.”
Tess raised her eyebrows as she took the water and turned back to the television without saying a word.
Haven sat back down and handed the soda to Carmine. “You didn’t have to do that. Actually, you didn’t have to do any of it. I can get my own drink.” He brought his glass to his lips and took a sip. “I appreciate it, though.”
“You’re welcome,” she said as something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Dr. DeMarco was staring again.
The home phone rang then, and everyone jumped at the sound. Haven hadn’t heard it ring before. Her heart raced as Dr. DeMarco stood up to get it.
“What the fuck is that?”
Haven glanced at Carmine, seeing the baffled expression on his face. “It’s the telephone.”
“No, I get that, but where did it come from?”
She shrugged as Dr. DeMarco answered it, sitting back down in his chair. “DeMarco residence.”
He listened quietly to the person on the line. “How many hits did you say you had?”
Haven tried not to listen, not wanting to appear to be spying, but Dr. DeMarco spoke loudly. “Who? How the hell is that possible?”
“Seriously,” Carmine said. “When did we get a phone?”
Dominic laughed. “Weeks ago.”
Dr. DeMarco raised his voice even more. “Do it again. If it comes out the same the second time, we’ll redo the entire thing. But it has to be wrong. There’s no way it’s true.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Carmine asked.
“The better question, bro, is why didn’t you notice?”
Dr. DeMarco sighed. “Keep it off the record. I don’t want this getting out until I can make sense of it.”
He tossed the phone down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Child, do you know anything about the Antonelli’s business?”
“No, sir,” Haven said. “Frankie took me with him once when he went to an, uh, auction, but I don’t know… I mean…”
She trailed off, having no idea where she was going with her words. Dr. DeMarco stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he stood up. He grabbed the Cherry Coke right out of Carmine's hand and stalked out of the room.
Stunned, Haven glanced at Carmine. “What happened?”
He shrugged, staring at his empty hand. “Beats me. I didn’t even know we had a damn phone.”
* * * *
The door to the office on the second floor was uncharacteristically open. Vincent sat behind his desk, his glasses low on his nose as he rummaged through files. Carmine stood in the doorway, watching him. “Who jizzed in your coffee?”
Vincent's head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“What’s your problem?” Carmine elaborated as he stepped into the room and took a seat. “You were fine and then suddenly it was like you swallowed someone’s bitter junk.”
Vincent shook his head. “Must you always be so crass?”
“I don’t know,” Carmine said. “Must you always be so evasive?”
“Only when you ask questions you really don’t want the answers to,” Vincent said. “Did you need something? I have things to do.”
“Well, for one, I wanna know why you took my drink.”
“I was thirsty.”
“So you drank it?”
“No,” he said. “Any other questions?”
“Why did you ask Haven if she knew about business?” he asked. “Was it some sort of test?”
Vincent shook his head. “I was genuinely curious. I’m not surprised she knows nothing, but if she had, she wouldn’t have told me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because unlike some people, the girl knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
Carmine eyed his father suspiciously. “If you really think that, why do you have her locked in here like she’s on house arrest?”
“I don’t. She’s been outside.”
“Once. She went to the damn doctor. That’s not exactly fun.”
“She went to your football game too,” Vincent added. “She seemed to enjoy herself there. Up until you had one of your episodes, anyway.”
“One of my episodes? Is that what we’re calling them?”
“Unless you have a better name for it.”
“Whatever,” he said. “The point is she rarely gets out of the house. She doesn’t even have a code.”
Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “Why do you suddenly care?”
“Because she’s a person.”
“Well, so are Nicholas Barlow and Ryan Thompson, but you don’t seem to be very concerned about them.”
“It’s different. Someone ought to lock those two up, but she’s just a girl. She’s harmless.”
Vincent looked up again at those words, blinking a few times as if caught off guard. “Are you suggesting you’ve never hurt a girl before, Carmine? Because I think quite a few would say differently.”
The room remained silent for a moment. Vi
ncent pushed his files aside and took off his glasses. “She’s locked inside so much because I don’t have the time or the energy to take her anywhere, and there’s no one else to do it.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Carmine said. “I don’t even have enough gas in my car to take myself anywhere right now.”
“How do you plan to get to get to school then?”
Carmine shrugged. “Siphon the gas from your car while you sleep.”
Contrary to the tension that had been in the room, Vincent actually laughed at that. “You probably would.”
Carmine smirked. He would.
Vincent opened his top desk drawer and pulled out the silver American Express card. He set it in front of him. “I tell you what—I’ll make you a deal.”
Carmine eyed him skeptically. “I'm listening.”
“I'll give the credit card back if you make more of an effort.”
“An effort at what?”
“Everything. School and at home.”
“What, like keeping my room clean?”
“I said an effort, not a miracle,” he said. “And what I mean is straighten yourself out. Stop the fighting, stop the drugs, pass your classes, and when I ask you for a favor, I want you to actually do it.”
“Sounds fair enough,” Carmine said, grabbing the credit card before his father could change his mind. “I’ll make an effort.”
“Great, because I need a favor.”
Carmine just stared at him, not at all surprised.
“We need groceries,” Vincent said. “Enough stuff to last a while.”
“Like food and shit?”
“Just food, Carmine. But yes.”
“And you want me to get these groceries? On my own?”
“Of course not,” Vincent said. “Since you’re so concerned, take the girl with you.”
Carmine looked between his father and the credit card. “Is this the test? Because not two goddamn hours ago you said I was still cut off.”
“Things change, son.”
“What changed?”
Vincent shook his head—evading yet again. “You want a chance to prove yourself—to make things up to me—then do it. But don’t screw up this time, Carmine. If something happens to the girl, there will be a lot more dire consequences than being cut off financially.”
Carmine stood up, figuring he needed to get out of the room before his father came to his senses and changed his mind. He started to walk out but hesitated in the doorway. “Does this mean I’m no longer grounded?”
Vincent sighed. “You’ve been grounded since you were thirteen, and you’ll continue to be grounded for as long as you live under my roof. Not that being grounded has ever stopped you before…”
“So basically, I’m not really grounded.”
“Were you ever?”
Carmine laughed. “No.”
Chapter 13
Sunny Oaks Manor, located in the Hyde Park neighborhood in Chicago, looked like an upper-middle class apartment complex. The only thing that gave away its true nature was the staff, wearing the typical scrubs that most medical professionals wore to work. Everyone was friendly, the facilities clean and modern, but none of that mattered to Gia DeMarco.
Vincent had done everything in his power to make her comfortable, ensuring she had the biggest apartment and as many luxuries as allowed, but she only held resentment that she'd been forced to move there. Sunny Oaks wasn't her home, she'd told him, and as far as she was concerned, it never would be.
Gia sat in her usual chair at the window in her front room, dressed immaculately in a blue dress and black pumps as she gazed down at the courtyard below. Vincent sat down on the arm of the chair across from her, not surprised in the least that she refused to greet him. Same story, different day.
“It's nice outside,” he said, attempting to make conversation with his mother. “Maybe we could go for a walk.”
“I haven't seen you in months, Vincenzo,” Gia said, her voice venomous. “Months.”
Vincent sighed. “It's been three weeks.”
“Three months, three weeks, it's all the same,” she said. “May as well have been three years. You don't care.”
“I do care, but I don't live in Chicago anymore, remember?”
“Don't remind me,” she said. “I hate thinking about my only son abandoning family.”
Vincent knew by saying family, she didn’t mean his blood relatives. She was referring to la famiglia, where he always knew her true loyalty lay. If ever there was a stereotypical Mafia wife, dedicated to the lifestyle until death, it was his mother.
“I didn't abandon anyone,” Vincent said.
“You abandoned me,” Gia said. “You stuck me in a hospital.”
“It's not a hospital. It's a retirement community.”
“It's a nursing home,” she said. “I don't belong here. I'm not sick! Your father, God rest his soul, would be ashamed of you.”
That was nothing new. “How about that walk now?”
“I don’t care what these quacks say,” she said, ignoring his suggestion for the second time. “They can’t be trusted. They’re all probably working for the government. Kennedy always had it out for your father, you know. He tried to bring him down.”
“Kennedy's dead,” Vincent said. “Has been for a very long time.”
“I know that,” she said. “I'm not crazy.”
Vincent laughed dryly. The jury was still out on whether or not that was true. The doctors suspected Gia DeMarco suffered from early onset dementia, but Vincent leaned toward her simply being stubborn. She refused to move past her glory days, not wanting to admit that life went on without her, that the world didn’t stop turning the day her husband died.
She was usually lucid, but every now and then would slip back to those times, when Antonio DeMarco was the most powerful man in Chicago and Vincent still cared about making his parents proud.
“Some fresh air would be nice, don’t you think?”
Gia reached up and rubbed her right ear, ignoring Vincent for the third time. “My ear's ringing. That old hag Gertrude next door must be talking about me again.”
“Did you take aspirin today? That can cause ear ringing.”
“It's not the medication,” she said. “It's her.”
He sighed. His mother was nothing if not superstitious. “Gertrude always seemed nice to me. I don’t think she’s the gossiping type.”
“Like you could tell, Vincenzo. You have the judgment of an imbecile! You and your Irish—”
“Don't start, Ma.” Vincent raised his voice as he cut her off. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this again.”
Gia was quiet, as if she were contemplating whether or not to finish her thought, but finally decided to change the subject. “Your sister visits me all the time and even takes me to her house. I see Corrado more than I see you.”
It was a lie, but Vincent let it roll off his back.
“Now that is what I call a good man,” she said. “Corrado's loyal. Always has been. His only flaw is he never gave your sister any babies. I always wanted grandchildren.”
“You have grandchildren,” Vincent said. “Two of them.”
Gia scoffed but managed to keep her opinion to herself for once. She stared out the window, shaking her head. “You don't care about me, Vincenzo. You never even want to take me outside anymore.”
* * * *
Carmine sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, shifting around in an attempt to get comfortable. He beat the end of his pencil against his desk, every tap irritating everyone around him. He could feel Lisa’s eyes boring into the back of his head, her exaggerated huffs only annoying him further.
He heard his name being called and glanced at Mrs. Anderson at the chalkboard. She looked at him expectedly, and he muttered under his breath—he hadn’t been paying attention. “Can you repeat that?”
“What’s the answer to chapter review question four?”
Carmine glanced down
at his history book. It was still closed. Fuck. “What page?”
There was some collective snickering from his classmates as Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Page 127, Carmine. Pay attention.”
She moved on to someone else as Carmine opened his book. Lisa leaned up in her desk, her mouth near his ear as she whispered to him, “Why are you so distracted?”
He moved his head, repulsed. “Like it’s any of your business.”
Lisa said nothing for the rest of the class. Carmine stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick away. When the bell finally rung, he shut his book and stood up.
“I don’t understand you anymore,” Lisa said, throwing her book into her bag. “You need to take some Midol and get over this PMSing.”
“Ever think maybe you just don’t know me? And why are you even talking to me?”
“Because we were friends.”
“Yeah, were,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Past tense. We’re not friends anymore, Lisa, so don’t bother.”
He walked out of the classroom before she could respond. Everyone else headed to third period, but Carmine strolled past his classroom on the way to the parking lot.
Since the DeMarco’s had moved to North Carolina nearly a decade ago, the boys had thrown a Halloween party every year. While the party evolved from candy and games to alcohol and dancing, the basic premise remained. The kids from school showed up in costumes, making Durante seem a lot less boring for one night.
Vincent was hesitant to agree to it this year, but after a bit of pestering, he caved with a few ground rules—no one was allowed in Haven’s bedroom, and she was to be watched at all times.
The house smelled like Pine-sol when Carmine arrived home, the stench so thick it stung his eyes. Carmine strolled toward the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, seeing Haven scrubbing the marble floor. She was humming again, oblivious to his presence, and he listened as he tried to place the song.
She stood up after a moment and turned around, the humming cut off by a yelp. “You’re home.”
He chuckled as she dropped the sponge. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, hummingbird.”
