by JM Darhower
Carmine hadn’t even thought about that. “Oh, well, maybe I won’t fuck him up next time I see him, since he’s being considerate.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s awfully kind of you, kiddo. And for what it’s worth, I think you guys are sweet together.”
“Thanks, but I'm not sure my father will agree.”
“He’s complicated.”
“I think Mom would’ve liked her.” There was a flicker of surprise on Celia’s face before she straightened out her expression, and Carmine narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It’s a big goddamn secret you guys are keeping, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” he said, heading for the stairs. “I’m gonna go take a shower and change out of these wet clothes.”
Celia’s soft voice stopped him halfway up to the second floor. “It would’ve been impossible for Maura not to have loved Haven.”
* * * *
Vincent was typing an email to a colleague when there was a timid tap on the door. “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and she stepped inside. She was a tough girl, the type who kept secrets well. A lot like his wife that way. That thought made him feel like he’d been kicked in the gut.
He motioned for her to sit down. “Are you having a good day?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Good. May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Before I brought you here, do you recall ever seeing me?”
Her face scrunched up, and he smiled involuntarily. It reminded him of the look she gave Maura that day.
“No, sir,” she said hesitantly.
“The very first time I met you, you were six-years-old,” he said. ”Well, you told my wife you were six, but you held up eight fingers.”
She looked startled. “Your wife?”
“Yes, my wife,” he said. “You wouldn’t remember her, either.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“An apology is unnecessary. I was just curious,” he said. “The reason I asked you up here is because I have something to give you.”
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the photograph, sliding it across to her. “I saw your mother a few weeks ago while on business and snapped that picture.”
Haven picked up the photo with a trembling hand, her composure slipping. Tears streamed down her cheek as she traced her mother’s outline with her pointer finger. “Thank you for showing this to me.”
“You’re welcome. That’s all I wanted, so you can rejoin the festivities.” She stood up, glancing at the picture briefly before holding it out to him, He shook his head. “Keep it. It’s the reason Celia gave you a frame.”
* * * *
Carmine climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, surprised to see Haven sitting on the edge of his bed. She was clutching a picture, her focus squarely on it. “What’s that?”
She glanced up at him, her eyes bloodshot. “My mama.”
Intense dread rushed through him. “Your mom? Did something happen to her?”
“No, it’s a picture of her. Your father gave it to me.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair as he walked over to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers. “Well, that was awfully nice of him.”
“It was.”
He dressed and sat down beside her. He reached for the picture, but she automatically gripped it tighter in response. “I just wanna see, hummingbird. I’ll give it right back.”
She smiled sheepishly, handing it to him.
He surveyed the photo of the skinny woman with short hair, standing in the front of a large wooden house. Beside it was a row of old horse stables, behind them a greenhouse and some smaller storage buildings.
Haven rested her head on his shoulder. “Now you see where I came from.”
“I can’t believe they made you sleep outside.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? There’s a lot more to life than just being ‘not so bad’ How about being happy?”
“Happiness is nothing but good health and a poor memory.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Albert Schweitzer said it.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“Thank you,” she said genuinely. “No one has ever really called me smart before.”
“Prego.”
She just stared at him. “Prego? The spaghetti sauce?”
He chuckled. “It’s a brand of sauce, yes, but it means ‘you’re welcome’ in Italian.”
“Oh.” She turned her attention back to the photograph. “Carmine, why don’t you have a picture of your mama?”
“I do, but they’re a little hard to constantly look at. I’ll have to dig one out so you can see her one of these days.”
Haven smiled. “I bet she’s beautiful.”
“Of course she is,” he said playfully. “She made me.”
* * * *
Vincent sat in the silent office for a moment before opening his top desk drawer again. He pushed a few things around and grabbed the small photo from the bottom. It had been there for years, the edges worn and image faded although it rarely saw the light of day.
He gazed at the picture of his wife, his chest aching. He desperately wished she were there, because she, out of everyone, would be able to tell him what to do. She’d know what to say, how to make everything right again. Maura always had the answers, even if they were ones Vincent hadn’t liked to hear.
Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out the chain that hung around his neck and absent-mindedly fiddled with the small gold band. It matched the one he still wore on his finger. He’d never had the nerve to take it off.
There was another knock on his office door as he sat there, this one forceful. Before Vincent could utter a single word, the door flew open, and Carmine walked in with a long box.
Vincent tucked the ring back into his shirt and dropped the photo in the drawer. He admonished his son, but there was no energy to his words. “You really shouldn’t enter a room without permission, Carmine.”
“Why? Is there something you’re trying to hide?” he asked. “I didn’t think we kept secrets.”
“I suppose I keep as many secrets as you do, son.” Carmine stared at him, a brief flicker of panic in his expression. Vincent had been seeing it a lot more lately. “Are you going to sit down?”
Carmine set the box down on top of the desk before taking a seat across from him.
“A gift for me?” Vincent asked.
“Did you really think I’d shun you on Christmas? I thought you knew me better than that.”
“I do know you,” he said, opening the box. His eyes fell upon the M1 Garand, and he smiled. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Carmine laughed. “No one said you deserved it.”
“Well, thank you, anyway,” Vincent said. “Where did you get this?”
He was curious about his son’s connections, since he never went through him or any of his usual sources. It frightened him that his youngest was already so deep into the life that he could obtain such a gun with relatively little problem. Vincent wanted more for him. He knew Salvatore held high hopes for Carmine joining him in Chicago, and Vincent was being a hypocrite by not wanting it to happen, but the idea of him following in his footsteps sickened him.
“Oddest thing,” Carmine said. “I was walking down the street and it just fell out of the sky. True story.”
“I bet.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Carmine said. “We’ll say it’s my way of making up for the bullshit I pulled.”
“Oh no, it’s going to take a lot more than a gun to make up for that,” Vincent said. “You could’ve killed Nicholas. You can’t bribe me with a gun and expect that to be forgotten.”
“You sent me to prep school for months with a bunch of degenerate geeks. I’ve paid for my crime.”
There was another knock on the open door, and Vincent glanced over to see Haven standing there. “Yes?”
“Celia asked me to tell you that dinner was ready, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Prego.”
Vincent looked at her with surprise, and Carmine smirked. “I taught her that a little bit ago. She’s like a sponge, soaking up everything you throw at her. I’m surprised she hasn’t started cursing yet from hearing me.”
“Oh, but she has,” Vincent said. “I overheard her.”
Carmine turned to Haven. “What did you say?”
She didn’t respond, and he sighed. “Come on, you can say it. Was it fuck? Because I say fuck a lot. Motherfucker? Shit? Asshole?”
“I think that’s plenty,” Vincent said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The word doesn’t matter, but if you insist on knowing, she said ‘damn’.”
“Oh, just damn? Not even goddamn?”
Vincent cringed. He loathed that word.
* * * *
Carmine pulled out a chair for Haven in the dining room and sat across from her, giving her a small smile. Tess and Dia stayed for dinner, sitting on the side with Haven, while Dominic and Celia sat near Carmine. Vincent took the chair at the head of the table and bowed his head, saying his usual prayer.
They helped themselves to food and Carmine watched as Haven got a spoonful of everything, but it wasn’t much at all.
They told stories about past holidays, and Haven listened intently, absorbing every word. Her eyes twinkled, a smile on her lips. It was an odd moment, but as Carmine glanced around the table, for the first time in a long time, he almost felt whole. It just felt right, like they were all supposed to be there. That she belonged there with him, with all of them, and some twist of fate led them there. At that moment, he knew it would all be okay. Someway, somehow, they’d make it out of this.
He didn’t care what she said—happiness was a lot more than good health and a poor memory. Happiness was this. It was her, and him, and that moment. Fuck Albert Schweitzer. He could kiss his ass. Happiness was real.
After dinner, Haven and Carmine headed upstairs to his room. Much to his surprise, it was her turn to attack him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers lacing through his hair as she pulled him to her, kissing him passionately. He resisted at first, caught off guard, but caved and walked her back to the bed. Pulling off his shirt, he tossed it to the floor before lying down on top of her. She rocked her hips, pressing into him. Carmine hissed as the unexpected friction sent shivers through him.
He wanted her. At that moment, right there in his room, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. He wanted to consume her, to taste her flesh as he explored every centimeter of her body. And he wanted to fuck her, but he knew he couldn’t. She wasn’t a girl to be fucked. She was a girl to be made love to, and as much as he wished he could do it, he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t even know how.
A small voice in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t right. He didn’t know where the voice came from, but it wouldn’t go away. It nagged at him, like a bitter old bitch, telling him not to push her that far.
He pulled from her lips, his strong voice contradicting the desperate yearn in his body. “We need to stop.”
“Stop?”
“Yes, stop.” He hesitated—when the hell had he become the voice of abstinence? “Not that I want to stop. We just, you know…”
He didn’t know, but she nodded. “Okay, Romeo.”
“Romeo?”
“Like in the book, Romeo and Juliet. They come from different sides but met in the middle. We have the forbidden love part, right?”
“Yeah, but we’re not killing ourselves, Haven, so that’s about as similar as it gets. Besides, Romeo’s an idiot. Pick someone else.”
“How about Shrek?”
His brow furrowed. “Shrek? Really? He’s an ogre.”
“Shrek and Fionna thought they were different when they weren’t.”
He contemplated that for a moment until he realized he was seriously comparing his life to a cartoon. “Pick another one.”
“Titanic? Rose and Jack weren’t supposed to be together.”
“Seriously? He dies. I’m not gonna jinx myself here.”
She was quiet for a moment, running her fingers across his abs and tracing his scar with her fingertips. “How about we just be Haven and Carmine?” she suggested. “We don’t know the ending, but we can always hope for the best.”
“I like that,” he said. “Besides, there’s a reason we don’t know how the story ends.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t.”
Chapter 25
Haven opened the dryer door and started flinging the wet clothes into it, listening as everyone chatted in the foyer. Celia had a flight back to Chicago in a few hours, and Dr. DeMarco was going along with her for a few days. They were saying goodbye, so she’d slipped away and secluded herself in the laundry room, feeling like she was unfairly imposing on their family moment.
There was a light tap from the doorway after a moment, and she turned to see Celia standing there. Haven went stiff when she wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you.”
“You too, ma’am.”
“Call me Celia, dear,” she said. “Anyway, I have to go before Vincent starts complaining, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you.”
Haven was speechless, touched she cared so much. “Goodbye, Celia.”
Celia smiled, smoothing Haven’s hair before walking away. Haven turned back to the dryer, and Carmine walked in after they left. “Dia called. She wants to know what time we’re going tonight.”
“Do you think I should go?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you go with me?”
“Well, all of your friends will be there, so I’ll probably just be a complication.”
Truth was she didn’t want to watch Carmine from afar as girls fawned all over him. He’d said he didn’t even know where the party was being held, and the idea of going to a stranger’s house made her uneasy.
“Don’t ever call yourself a complication,” he said. “And yeah, I want you to come, because it's New Years Eve.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He ran his hands down his face with frustration. “Okay? We’re back to that again? If you don’t wanna, say so. I’ll stay home too, because I don’t wanna go if you’re not gonna be there. I just thought it would be nice to get out tonight. And honestly, everyone probably knows about us already because of Kayla’s big mouth.”
She looked at him with confusion. “Who’s Kayla?”
“Some schifosa who saw us kiss on Halloween.”
“What’s a schifosa?”
He tugged at his hair. “An ugly girl.”
“Is she really ugly, or are you just saying that because you’re angry with her?”
“She's alright, I guess.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Haven asked on a hunch.
“Are we fucking playing twenty questions again?”
She smiled, knowing her guess was right. Carmine often acted strangely when girls he’d been intimate with were mentioned. “No, I was just curious. And I'll happily go tonight. I just don’t want to embarrass my boyfriend in front of the schifosas he goes to school with.”
He stared at her hard, like he was dissecting her words, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong. “That's the first time you've ever called me that.”
“Called you what?”
“Your boyfriend.”
She hesitated. “Isn't that what you are?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve just never acknowledged it before. I was starting to wonder if you were embarrassed.”
* * * *
Carmine was making a mess again.
Clothes were scattered all around his bedroom, the contents of his dresser d
rawers thrown on the floor. He stood in the middle of it all, tossing things around and grumbling under his breath.
“Did you lose something?” Haven asked, stepping into the doorway.
His head snapped in her direction, his jaw rigid. “I’m looking for my green and gray shirt with the long sleeves. I wanted to wear it, but it’s gone.”
“It’s in the dryer,” she said, seeing it a few minutes ago in the laundry room. “I washed it this morning.”
He sighed, glancing around the chaotic room. “You could’ve told me that before I made a mess.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, even though he hadn’t thanked her. She headed into her room and showered, drying herself off before pulling on her robe. Her footsteps faltered when she stepped out of the bathroom and saw Dia sitting on her bed.
Dia’s voice was hesitant. “I hope you don’t mind I’m here, but I thought we could hang out before tonight. You know, have girl talk…”
While they’d met a few times, Haven and Dia hadn’t spent much time together. The suggestion surprised Haven, but at the same time it excited her. She’d never had another girl to talk to before. “I don’t mind.”
Dia smiled as she pulled Haven back into the bathroom and grabbed a brush. She started getting the knots from Haven’s hair while she just stood there, stunned. Was that what girls did?
“So, how are you and Carmine doing?”
“Good.”
Dia grabbed the blow dryer and plugged it in, the loud hum as it started making Haven tense. She’d never used it before and had no idea what to expect. The blast of heat felt good against her scalp, and she relaxed as Dia worked on her hair.
“He’s different,” Dia said as soon as she turned off the blow dryer. “I’m not saying he’s some Prince Charming, because he’s not, but he is better now. You didn’t know him before, though, so I don’t know if that even makes sense to you.”
