by JM Darhower
The room grew silent as Carmine glared at her. His shift in demeanor startled Haven. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “You, I’m not so sure about.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, Haven, is something’s bothering you. Since I picked you up, you’ve barely said a dozen words and half of them were ‘okay’. You know how I feel about that shit, and you stopped doing it a long time ago. Did something happen?”
“No.”
“Did you fail?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you freak out or something?”
“No, I think I did okay.” She cringed as she said that word again.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m just thinking about my mama.”
“You miss her.”
“Yes.”
“You wanna talk about her?” he asked, his voice quiet and genuine, all traces of anger melted away. “You don’t have to keep it to yourself.”
“I know, but I don’t know what to say. I miss her, and I’ll probably never see her again. I never got to tell her goodbye or that I love her. It hurts to think about it now, because I used to wonder if we even loved each other. It’s easier to be detached, because people die and that can rip you apart, but I realized today that Mama did love me. And I love her, but I never told her that.”
“Never?”
She shook her head. “Never”.
Carmine jumped down from the counter. “I’m sure she knows.”
“I wish I could tell her, though.”
“I wish you could too,” he said, kissing the top of her head, "but some shit is out of my hands.”
“I know,” she said. “I really shouldn’t be crying about this to you, because you have more reason to grieve than me. My mama’s still alive, and yours is…”
He flinched before she could speak the word. She pulled back from his arms and tried to apologize, but he pressed his pointer finger to her lips. “My mom lived, Haven. She was free to make her choices, and she did just that. She made fucking decisions and saw them through, and she died because of it. Your mom has never been able to make a decision of her own, so I think you have more to grieve than I do.”
She opened her mouth to respond but he shook his head. “You’re gonna burn your dinner. What would your mom say about that?”
* * * *
Sunny Oaks Manor was anything but sunny today. A storm waged outside, rain steadily falling as gusts of wind bent the flimsy trees around the property. Thunder rumbled as lightning lit up the darkened afternoon sky, making it feel more like the middle of the night.
Vincent stood in the front room of his mother’s apartment, watching the ambulance parked right outside. The EMTs, in their yellow raincoats, loaded the stretcher with the black body bag into the back. Quietly, he made the sign of the cross and whispered a short prayer.
“Don't pray for that old hag,” Gia said, somehow overhearing him without her hearing-aides in. “It's her own fault she's dead.”
“How so?” Vincent asked, turning to his mother. The staff had said Gertrude died peacefully in her sleep.
“She left her bedroom window wide open last week. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. That black bird flew in like it owned the place.”
Vincent sighed. “I don't think it was the bird, Ma.”
Gia waved him off. “What do you know?”
“Well, I am a doctor.”
“Oh, you quacks never know what you're talking about,” she said. “You always want to give people pills and take their blood from them when it's unnecessary. God doesn't make mistakes, Vincenzo. People die when they deserve to. You know that.”
Vincent clenched his hand into a fist at the subtle dig about Maura. “What about Dad? Did he deserve it?”
“As many goomah's as your father had? I'm surprised his heart lasted as long as it did.”
Shaking his head, Vincent turned back to the window. He'd never understand his mother's callousness. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered visiting her when she obviously didn’t enjoy his company.
The ambulance was pulling away from Sunny Oaks, and Vincent's gaze followed it to the corner in the storm. It disappeared from sight but his gaze lingered there, his stomach dropping as he took in the dark SUV parked less than a block away. He watched it for a moment, hoping he was imagining things, but his instincts told him it was no coincidence.
Gia was talking, but Vincent heard not a word of what she said. He'd only been joking when he suggested to Corrado that they were watching him, but he realized then that he'd been right. He was being followed, but by who? He wasn’t sure.
“Are you listening to me?”
“No,” he admitted, turning to his mother. “What did you say?”
“I’m not repeating myself for you,” Gia said. “It’ll just suck the breath from my lungs and take time off of my life. That’s probably what you want, isn’t it? For me to be dead? Then I wouldn’t be such a burden anymore. Your own mother… you treat me like garbage.”
Vincent sighed exasperatedly. “What do you want from me, Ma?”
“Nothing, Vincenzo. I want nothing.”
He glanced at his watch. He’d used up all of his patience today. “I should go. Dominic and Tess are waiting for me.”
Gia narrowed her eyes. “Who are they?”
“You know who Dominic is,” he said, trying to keep calm, but he’d had about as much of her as he could take. “He’s your grandson, and Tess is his girlfriend.”
“Is she Italian?”
“No, she’s American. Scottish heritage.”
“Scottish? At least that’s better than the Irish. What about that other boy of yours? Does he have an Italian girl?”
Vincent walked over to his mother and kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Ma,” he said, heading toward the door without answering her question.
* * * *
The week flew by in a blur as Haven and Carmine were left alone. It was easy for them to forget those days, when it was just the two of them, that there were barriers standing in their way. It seemed so simple, their lives merging fluidly in the confines of the house, but the outside world was closing in on them fast. It was a black cloud hovering in the distance, threatening to burst, but the problem was Carmine didn’t know when, where, or even how it was going to come down. It could be just an inconvenient drizzle, or it could be a flood that washed everything away. There was no way to prepare for the storm, because they couldn’t predict what would happen when it struck.
It was Friday afternoon, and they were in the family room watching a movie. Their bodies were pressed together on the couch, their legs entwined as she lay in his arms. His lips wandered down her jaw, his mouth vigorously sucking on the flesh of her neck.
The sound of Haven’s light moans were cut off abruptly by the beeping of the alarm and the front door slamming. Panicked, Carmine sat up as his father stormed into the room. There was fire in his eyes as he looked between the two of them. Carmine knew it then. The storm had come, and it was going to be a bad one.
Instinctively, he shifted his body protectively in front of Haven’s, and Vincent clenched his hands into fists. “My office. Now.”
“Who?” Carmine asked tentatively as his father walked away.
“You,” he snapped, his footsteps swiftly heading through the foyer to the stairs.
Carmine stood up and pulled Haven to her feet. “Go upstairs and stay there until I come up. I need to find out what’s happening.”
She followed him upstairs, but his legs were longer and she couldn’t keep up with his stride. Carmine went straight for his father’s office, thrusting the door open without bothering to knock.
Vincent was hunched over his laptop, typing furiously away at the keys. “They’re coming.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed at the vague statement. ”Who?”
“Ed McMahon and the prize patrol. Who do you think is coming?”
He was caught off gua
rd by the mocking tone. “Feds?”
“I wish,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “I could handle the police, and it’s probably only a matter of time before they come knocking now, but no… we’re not that lucky today.”
“Mafia.” It was the only other thing that made sense.
“I got a call a few minutes ago from Corrado. He caught word that Sal hopped a plane to come here with no warning. I don’t know why, and I have no idea what they want. Corrado’s away on business and had no knowledge of a trip planned.”
Vincent opened desk drawers and pulled out files, rifling through them as Carmine watched. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I doubt they’d come here to harm me. If Sal wanted me dead, he’d call a sit-down. I’m hoping it’s business, but it could be one of you they’re after, so I need to get you out of here in case.”
“Where are we supposed to go?”
Vincent sighed, tossing more files around. “Corrado doesn’t think you should be anywhere without protection.”
“I have a gun,” Carmine said.
Vincent’s head shot up. “A lot of good one gun does you as a nobody. They could go rogue and kill you, and no one would know any better unless you had one of us by your side.”
Vincent’s phone started vibrating against the desk, and he held his hand up to silence Carmine. He answered it formally, his voice as even as possible. “DeMarco speaking… yes, sir… I’ll be here.”
He hung up, tossing the phone down. “Pack some bags. Corrado’s going to meet you in California. We need to get the ball rolling on things.””
* * * *
Haven paced the floor in Carmine’s bedroom, listening attentively for any noises from below, but her ears were met with nothing but silence. No yelling. No screaming. No commotion at all.
The silence only served to fuel her imagination as she conjured up wild scenarios—none of them even remotely good. Her hands shook, fear coursing through her as a door slammed on the floor below. Footsteps hurried up the stairs as her heart thumped even harder, so frenzied she could feel the blood rushing through her body.
The door flung open, hitting the wall with a bang, and Carmine hurried into the room without even looking at her. He headed straight for his closet and started throwing things around, cursing to himself while Haven watched.
He tossed two duffel bags onto the bed. “Pack some shit.”
She didn’t dare move an inch. “What?”
“We need to get out of here, Haven.”
He headed into the bathroom, scouring around for something, and Haven felt woozy. She wanted to ask what was going on, desperately wanted him to explain, but she was terrified of the answer. Because the way he was rushing around hinted at one thing... he wanted to run.
She staggered to the bed and sat down as Carmine ran over to her room, Dr. DeMarco’s words echoed through her mind. She’d promised she’d never run again. She swore she wouldn’t follow Carmine blindly.
“Why are you just sitting there?” Carmine asked when he returned, his arms full of her clothes. He frantically tossed her belongings into the duffel bags, and she stared at him as he grabbed his own. Thoughts swirled madly around her mind as he zipped up both bags and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go.”
The moment the words rolled from his tongue, her mind was made up. No matter the consequences, she had to go with him. She trusted him. She loved him.
She grabbed his hand, and they hurried downstairs. Carmine pulled her onto the porch, not even bothering to close the front door in his haste. Unlocking the car doors, he tossed the bags into the backseat and motioned for her to get in.
As soon as they were settled, Carmine started the car and thrust it into gear. The tires spun, gravel spraying everywhere as he sped away from the house.
“What’s going on?” Haven asked once they got on the highway, her voice cracking from anxiety. Her stomach bubbled like she was about to be sick.
“Just relax, alright?”
“Relax? Why are we running? Did something happen?”
“We just needed to get out of there before they showed up.”
She gaped at him as they pulled up to a red light in town. “Before who showed up, Carmine?”
He started straight ahead. “Them.”
Not understanding, Haven followed the trail of his gaze. Her eyes fell on four sleek black sedans sitting at the same red light, facing the opposite direction. “Are they…?” she started, unable to even finish the question. She knew the answer. She’d seen those cars before.
“Cosa Nostra,” he said, the Italian words flowing beautifully, but the knowledge of what they meant sent a chill down Haven’s spine.
The light turned green, and Carmine started through the intersection. “You might wanna get comfortable, because it’s a long drive to California.”
Emotion hit her so intense that it nearly stole the breath from her. “California?”
He nodded. “Blackburn.”
Chapter 39
Carmine glanced at Haven in the passenger seat, frowning at the way her neck was angled. She was curled up the best she could with the seatbelt still on, her head resting on her shoulder.
It was a quarter after two in the morning. They'd been on the road for over eight hours. Carmine was growing weary, but he wanted to make it as far as the Arkansas border before he stopped.
Reaching over, he brushed some hair out of Haven’s face and tucked it behind her ear. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek, feeling the roughness of the red blotches from her crying. She hadn’t said anything when he told her they where they were going, but the tears that streamed down her cheeks spoke volumes about how she felt.
She was terrified, and he didn’t know how to make it right.
He drove for another thirty minutes, scanning through radio stations to keep himself awake, before finally crossing into Arkansas. He pulled off of the highway the first time he saw a sign for a Holiday Inn, figuring he wouldn’t find anything nicer in such a small place. Gazing at Haven, he gently rubbed her arm. “Wake up, hummingbird.”
She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking a few times as she regained consciousness. Straightening herself up, she grimaced and grabbed her neck. Carmine reached over and pushed her hand out of the way to gently massage her neck and shoulders.
Her voice cracked as she spoke. “What time is it? Where are we?”
“It’s after four, and we’re in some hole-in-the-wall town in Arkansas,” he said. “I’d keep going, but I really need to get some rest.”
* * * *
The sky was overcast the next morning, the sun hiding behind a wall of thick gray clouds. There was a cool breeze swaying the trees, a mist lingering in the air that left wet splotches on the dingy hotel windows.
Carmine reluctantly glanced at the clock, seeing it was approaching noon. He realized Haven wasn’t in bed. “Tesoro?”
“I’m in here,” she called from the bathroom.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he dragged himself out of bed and stretched. He was sore and still exhausted, but he knew they needed to get back on the road soon. He moseyed toward the bathroom and saw her standing in front of the large mirror, his eyes drawn directly to her neck. There was a bright red mark with tiny purple splotches above the neckline of her shirt on the right side.
Guilt hit him. He’d left a hickey. “Fuck, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize I was sucking so hard.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It didn’t hurt.”
“Doesn’t matter if it hurt. I shouldn’t have left a mark.”
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t do it to harm me. It’s actually kind of nice knowing it came from your lips.”
“It’s ugly.”
“It’ll go away,” she said, turning to face him. “Are we close?”
“Not at all. It’ll be another day, maybe even two.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, but her nervousness didn’t entirely withe
r away. They may not have been close yet, but they both knew they would be at some point.
Carmine called his father while Haven showered, but his cell phone went straight to voicemail. He tried the home phone next, letting it ring over a dozen times, but nobody picked up the line.
His worry lingered as they checked out of the hotel and got back on the road, heading west toward Oklahoma. The weather grew worse every mile they drove, the drizzling turning into a downpour. Carmine slowly navigated the heavy traffic, his nerves on edge as he firmly gripped the steering wheel.
Haven seemed to sense it and was quiet for most of the afternoon, just watching the scenery out of her foggy window. It wasn’t until a few hours into the drive that she attempted conversation. “Have you ever been to California?”
“Not that I remember,” he said. “I always wanted to go, though.”
“Do they have any colleges here?”
He glanced at her. “Of course. There are a lot, actually.”
“Any I could ever go to?”
“Sure.”
“Like?”
“Depends,” he said. ”What kinda classes do you wanna take?”
“Art, maybe,” she said. ”I don’t know if I’m good enough to—”
He cut her off. “You are good enough, so stop second-guessing yourself. And yeah, there are plenty of schools out there with art programs that could accept you.”
For the first time in over a day, something other than trepidation shined from her eyes. “Really?”
He chuckled. “Yes, really, but why California?”
She shrugged. “I like palm trees.”
Her serious tone as she answered caught him off guard. “Palm trees? They have them in more than just California.”
Most people overanalyzed where to go to school, choosing places based on student-teacher ratios, reputations, sports teams, and proximity, but she chose a place because of the scenery. He found it amusing, but he wasn’t at all surprised. The little things in life once again seemed to matter.
