Sempre (Forever)

by JM Darhower

  “You’ll be safe, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, he’s not going to shoot me or anything,” he said. “I look too much like my mom for him to ever hurt me. I tested him a few times, and he even pointed a gun at me once, but he couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  He thought that would make her feel better, but her panicked expression only grew. “He pointed a gun at you?”

  “Relax, he’s probably pointed a gun at everyone at some point,” he said as he finished getting ready. “You gonna miss me, tesoro?”

  “I always miss you when you aren’t here.”

  He smiled as he put on his coat. “Give it a few more months and you’ll be tired of my ass.”

  “Never.”

  “Great to hear, but what’s that shit they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever? Me leaving just means you’ll love me even more when I get back.”

  * * * *

  The outdoor firing range was a few miles outside of town in the Swannanoa Valley near Black Mountain. It was a field about 400 yards in length, with a covered pavilion and various sized targets scattered around. They’d visited it a few times over the years but hadn’t been back since the incident with Nicholas.

  Carmine had been a decent shot since he was a kid, but he had nothing on his father. Vincent’s aim was impeccable, his hands as steady as a professional marksman. He could hit a moving target at nearly 250 feet, and resting targets were even easier. His bullet ripped straight through the bull’s eye effortlessly. Carmine often wondered how many people died because of those skills, but it was a question he knew his father would never answer.

  Vincent reloaded the M1 Garand after expelling all of the rounds and held it out to Carmine. “Do you want to try the rifle?”

  Carmine took it and hesitated before handing his pistol to his father. Aiming, Carmine fired once and smirked when it hit the target.

  “That was luck,” Vincent said, loading the pistol and firing it. He hit the farthest target, unloading all eight rounds into it.

  “Fucking show off,” Carmine said, taking another shot and hitting the target again. “See, that shit wasn’t luck. That was skill.”

  “You’re not so bad. Nicholas can attest to that.” Carmine rolled his eyes as his father exchanged weapons with him again. “That’s a nice gun.”

  “It does what it’s made for,” Carmine said, reloading it. “It’s so easy to handle even Haven could probably do it.”

  The words slipped from his lips as he squeezed the trigger. The shot completely bypassed the target.

  “Something tells me she’d have better aim than that,” Vincent said. “You’ve pulled a lot of stunts, son, but I hope you’d be man enough to talk to me before you ever did something like that.”

  “Of course I would.” He was lying. He would’ve done it without even telling his father.

  Carmine shot once more, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. Vincent unceremoniously fired off a few rounds before lowering his weapon and staring off into space.

  “I couldn’t help it,” Carmine said, knowing he’d have to crack first.

  “Couldn’t help what?”

  “I think you know what,” Carmine said, the stress making his voice quiver. “It’s not like I set out for this to happen. It just… was.”

  Vincent remained silent, his lack of response grating on Carmine’s nerves. “Come on, I know you have an opinion—no need to hold back. I can take it. Go ahead and tell me I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. Tell me how fucking disgusted you are that your son would go as low as to fall for a damn sla—”

  He faltered, unable to finish the word.

  “Whether or not you say it doesn’t change anything,” Vincent said. “It doesn’t make the girl more or less of one.”

  Carmine stared at him, waiting for something more. “Is that all you have to say? I said I can take it. Tell me it’s wrong, that it’ll never work because people like us don’t belong together. Tell me she’s not good enough for me. Tell me she could never love me.”

  “Is that what you want to hear?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

  Vincent casually glanced at his watch like he was unaffected by the conversation. “Why don’t we get some lunch?”

  Carmine cocked an eyebrow. “It would be easier to kill me here.”

  “Kill you? What kind of person do you take me for, son? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Well, fuck. I thought you might be the kinda person to hurt an innocent girl. Good to know I was wrong about that shit.”

  “I’m a man who makes mistakes, a man who doesn’t expect to be forgiven for them, but a man who does expect his children to be respectful,” he said sharply. “If you want to talk this out using our anger, we can, but I was hoping we could discuss it like adults.”

  Carmine hesitated. “Fine.”

  “Are you going to apologize for throwing that in my face?”

  Carmine scoffed. “I’ll apologize for saying it when you apologize for doing it.”

  Vincent and Carmine were seated as soon as they reached the restaurant and both ordered the first thing on the menu. After the waiter brought their food, Vincent turned to his son. “I want you to listen carefully, Carmine. What the two of you have going on is harmless right now, but I don’t want to see it or hear about it. You may care for the girl, but she isn’t yours. You’re probably going to hate me for saying this, but regardless of your feelings, I’m in control. The first time she neglects what I tell her, I’ll put a stop to it all.”

  Carmine clenched his jaw as his anger boiled over, and Vincent held his hand up to stop the impending explosion. “I’m not going to harm her, but I’ll send her away if you force my hand. I’m not giving you my blessing, but I'm not forbidding it either. I’m smart enough to pick and choose my battles, and I have more important ones to fight right now.”

  He stared at his father. “Fine. That’s fair enough.”

  Vincent turned his attention to his food. “I just wonder if you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Well, I’m kinda sorta hoping the asshole who owns her won’t own her forever.”

  Vincent’s eyes snapped back in his direction. “That’s a nice piece of information to have, but it wasn’t what I was talking about. Why do you think I asked you to teach her how to drive, Carmine? Why I asked you to take her grocery shopping?”

  “To try to break us apart.”

  The answer irritated Vincent, and he dropped his fork. “Have you not been listening? You seem to think I’m a coldhearted person who gets off on toying with others. Do you honestly think your mother would’ve married me had I been that horrible?”

  “I don’t know. I have no idea what was going on in my mom's head, but I'm sure she wouldn’t have been happy about what you’re doing to Haven.”

  “You were young when she died, and frankly, your view of this is skewed. I’ve done a lot over the years that would disappoint your mother, but buying the girl isn't one of them.”

  “Buying her? You think my mom would be okay with that? You’re sick!”

  Vincent slammed his fist against the table. “Who are you to talk to me like that? Look how you’ve treated everyone!”

  “And whose fucking fault is that, huh?” Carmine pushed his chair back as he stood up. “Whose fault is it that I’m so fucked up? Whose fault is it that I had to watch her die?”

  Vincent glared at him. “Not mine.”

  A voice cleared beside them as the manager approached. Others were staring, disturbed by the commotion. Vincent stood up and pulled some cash from his wallet, throwing it down on the table before walking out.

  Not a word was spoken on the drive. When they reached the house, Carmine tried to get out, but Vincent stopped him.

  “I had you do all it so you'd see what you were getting yourself into. She’s been cut off from everything, Carmine. In the confines of the house, maybe things are great, but that’s not the rea
l world. On the off-chance you do get to be together, I figured it was better if you had experience dealing with that part of her. Because it’s going to be there every step of the way, and it’s all going to fall on your shoulders. You’ll have to lead her, because when you’re raised like she was, you don’t have the know-how to live any other way. I was trying to help you, not hurt you.”

  Shocked, Carmine opened his mouth to speak, but his father continued before he could. “You think your mother would be disappointed I brought the girl into this house? I think you’re wrong. Would she like it? No. I don’t even like it. But I think your mother would’ve been disappointed had I thrown the child into the world blindly and expected her to survive. Had I enrolled her in school, do you really think she would’ve been fine? She knows what she knows, and that’s that. Society would’ve eaten her alive. Probably still will.”

  Carmine had been focused on everything he thought his father was doing wrong and never even considered what might be helping Haven.

  “She needs structure,” Vincent said. “She needs a semblance of her normal before she can be introduced to ours, because they’re two different things. You love her? Fine, love her. But don’t contradict me. This isn’t fun, Carmine. I’m not enjoying this, but I’m doing it and that should be enough to earn your respect. You have to stop acting like you’re powerful and wise, because you’re neither. You need to grasp that, son, or I’m going to lose you just like I lost your mother.”

  Vincent got out, slamming the door so hard the windows vibrated.

  Haven lay in the middle of Carmine’s bed, sprawled out on her back when he entered. He took off his coat and shoes before lying down beside her. Haven’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times, smiling when they made eye contact.

  “La mia bella ragazza,” he said. “Napping in the afternoon?”

  “I ran out of stuff to do,” she said. “Everything’s clean.”

  He sighed. “A nap actually sounds good right now.”

  She eyed him curiously. “Bad day?”

  “It was confusing, but I wouldn’t call it bad,” he said. “Any day that includes lying in bed with you, tesoro, can’t be bad.”

  She smiled, running her fingertips across his lips. “I missed you.”

  “Mi sei mancata,” he said. “That’s ‘I missed you’ in Italian.”

  “Well, mi sei mancata, too.”

  He laughed. “That’s all wrong. I’m a guy, so you say, ‘mancato’. You know, with an ‘o’ on the end and not an ‘a’.”

  “Mi sei mancato,” she repeated.

  “There you go! Watch out, look at my girl getting bilingual.”

  * * * *

  Haven sat back on her knees, humming to herself as she surveyed the sparkling kitchen floor. She’d been scrubbing it for over an hour, getting the black scuff marks from the marble tile. Dr. DeMarco never spoke to her about cleaning. The rare occasions she got behind or forgot to do something, he always overlooked it. Sometimes she felt like she was living in another universe with how drastically things had changed in her life. She never imagined living an existence where she could throw down the broom and put the laundry on hold in order to catch a television program in the middle of the afternoon.

  A lot of it had happened without her even realizing it. Before she’d come into the DeMarco house, she was constantly focused on tasks to stay out of trouble, but now it seemed she was thinking about herself more.

  And that was something she’d never been allowed to do before.

  She stood up, catching a glimpse of something when she turned around. Dr. DeMarco stood in the doorway, watching her silently. “Hello, sir. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “I have the day off.”

  “Oh.” It was nearly noon, and she hadn’t even realized someone was home. “Are you hungry, sir?”

  He nodded. “You can make some lunch, dolcezza. We'll watch TV while we eat.”

  She blinked a few times when he walked out. We?

  After making some chicken salad sandwiches and distractedly throwing together two Cherry Cokes, Haven headed into the family room. Dr. DeMarco was lounging in a chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, his smile falling when he took his lunch.

  She sat down on the couch and picked at her sandwich as he took a sip of his drink. “Can I ask you something, child?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pulled a cherry out of his soda. “Did you start making these on your own, or did my son ask you to?”

  “I made it on my own. I just… wanted to be nice.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Is there something wrong with that?” she asked.

  “No, I was just curious. I'm curious about a lot, actually. Like, how did you know to use the special cleaner on my windows?”

  Her brow furrowed. “It was written on the bottle.”

  “So you’re admitting you could read then?”

  Her blatant mistake stunned her. She nodded, afraid to speak.

  “I already knew it at the time, but I was surprised you’d slip up on your first day. You aren't as slick as you think you are.”

  A queasy feeling overtook her. She set her sandwich down. “How did you know I could read?”

  “I discovered it years ago on a trip to Blackburn. You had a book. Had I not known, though, you would’ve given yourself away. The moment your illiteracy was mentioned, you looked left. That’s your tell. When you’re hiding something, you look to the left.”

  Haven said nothing, forcing herself to look straight ahead.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Chavis stood at the blackboard, her hands clasped in front of her as her gaze scanned the class. “Today we’re going to discuss something that has baffled people since the turn of time. Poets and scholars have been dissecting it for centuries, but no one can agree on a single answer. Can anyone guess what that question is?”

  A barrage of questions was shouted out at once: “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?” “If Superman could stop bullets, why did he always duck when someone threw a gun?” “If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn?” “Do penguins have knees?” “Why’s it called Rhode Island when it’s not an island?” “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if…?”

  Mrs. Chavis held up her hand to silence the class. “Enough. Those are indeed great questions, but that’s not what I’m talking about. We’re going to discuss love. More importantly, what is it?”

  There was a collective groan throughout the room as Carmine rolled his eyes. He started doodling in the margins of his copy of La Vita Nuova, already counting down the minutes until lunch.

  “Who wants to tell me what love means to them?” Mr. Chavis asked. “Graham?”

  Graham started stammering. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess it’s when you’re attracted to a girl. They turn you on, so you want them.”

  “That’s lust, idiot,” Kayla called out. “Love is when you really know someone, like way deep down, and you like everything about them.”

  “It’s a feeling you get when you trust someone,” another girl said. “It’s being devoted to them and only them.”

  “Yeah, love is when you always want to be with the person,” Lisa said. “You want to go everywhere they go and do everything they do. You’d follow them anywhere.”

  “That’s not love, Lisa,” Carmine said. “That’s called stalking.”

  His response was met with laughter from his classmates, but Mrs. Chavis didn’t appear amused. “Tell me, Mr. DeMarco. What’s love to you?”

  He shook his head. “I pass.”

  “It’s not up for negotiation. Participation is 25% of your grade.”

  He glared at his teacher. “I think it’s ridiculous you’re even trying to define it like it’s something material you can just go find if you want it. People use the word too loosely as it is. They say they love this and they love that, when they don’t. They just like the shi— uh, stuff. Love is something that
changes you, and if you really loved all the crap you say you love, you’d never know who you were because you’d constantly be changing. Once you love, you love forever. You can’t help it.”

  Graham snickered. “Told you he’d grow a vag.”

  Carmine stuck his middle finger up and waited for Mrs. Chavis to yell at them, but she just stood at the front of the classroom, gaping at him. “I think Dante would agree with you. Even though Beatrice married someone else and died young, Dante loved her his entire life. The love was a part of him, because to him, Beatrice was ideal. He barely knew her, had only met her twice, but yet he truly claimed to love her. Can anyone tell me why?”

  No one spoke up. Carmine sighed exasperatedly. This lesson was becoming frustrating to sit through. “Because he really loved the person she made him. It has just as much to do with how he felt as it did with who she was.”

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Chavis said. “Dante said of her, ‘she has ineffable courtesy, is my beatitude, the destroyer of all vices and the queen of virtue, salvation.’ To him, she was his savior, the epitome of good. She rid him of his evil, made him feel worthwhile. That, we could argue, may be what he loved most of all.”

  Chapter 29

  Carmine paced the foyer, the sound of his feet against the wooden floor echoing through the downstairs. The sun hadn’t even risen and he was already so worried he couldn’t stand still. He glanced at his bare wrist for what had to be the tenth time and groaned. He’d gotten dressed in such a rush that he forgot to put on his watch.

  After what seemed like another hour to him, although it was only a few minutes, he finally heard the car pull up outside. He swung open the front door so forcefully he was surprised he didn’t rip it from the hinges. “You’re late.”

  Dia pushed him out of the way and stepped into the house. ”I’m early, Carmine. You told me six. It's 5:45.”