by JM Darhower
He hugged her back, pulling her closer and leaning his head down to rest on top of hers. Haven’s smile grew. Despite everything, she still felt safest in his arms.
* * * *
Haven clutched onto the rail as she slowly descended the stairs. She’d been moving around for a few days, and on a whim decided to venture downstairs for the first time. She hadn't thought out her plan, and halfway down her legs started to give out. Weakened, she sat down in an attempt to catch her breath.
“Help?” she called out, even though nobody was there. Carmine had been called away again, and Dr. DeMarco went to the hospital after checking on her an hour ago. Miss Clara had gone back to Salvatore’s, where she’d been since leaving Blackburn.
She was debating whether to try to stand again, or if she should wait, when the front door opened. Celia stepped inside, and Haven was instantly relieved. “Celia?”
Celia rushed up the stairs. “What are you doing out of bed?”
She didn’t have a good answer for that. “Change of scenery.”
Celia shook her head as she pulled Haven to her feet, helping her to the living room so she could sit down. “It's much too soon for you to be navigating stairs on your own. Where's Carmine?”
“He left,” she said. “Got a call.”
“Oh.” Her sudden shift in disposition told Haven she knew exactly what that meant. “He should’ve called me. I would’ve come home to look after you.”
“I don’t need to be looked after.”
“You still have a lot of healing to do and shouldn’t be alone right now, at least not until you’re off the pain killers,” she said. “It’s a good thing I came home to change when I did.”
She eyed Celia curiously. Her clothes were disheveled, her unkempt hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. “Were you out all night?”
“Yes, I am most nights. I stay with Corrado.”
“Where do you stay with Corrado?”
“At the hospital. They’re pretty accommodating, thankfully.”
Haven’s stomach sunk. “Why’s he at the hospital?”
Celia looked at her with surprise, sitting down on the couch and taking her hand. “I can’t believe neither of them have told you. Corrado was hurt when they found you.”
Haven felt like she was going to be sick. “Is he… he’ll be okay, won’t he?”
“He will be... with time,” she said. “But you shouldn’t worry about him right now. How are you?”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Well, that’s all we can do, isn’t it? Our best?”
The front door opened then, and Carmine walked in. Celia called his name as he started up the stairs, and he turned in their direction. “What are you doing down here?”
“She’s tired of being cooped up in that bedroom, Carmine. Can you blame the girl?” Celia asked, standing up. “How about some lunch? I’ll whip something up for you.”
Celia headed for the kitchen before either of them could respond. Carmine ran his hand through his hair nervously as he took a seat beside her. He still hadn’t gotten a haircut. It was strange for Haven to see. Having lost so much time, it felt like he’d changed drastically overnight. “She told you about Corrado, didn’t she?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how to. You have enough to deal with, and it’s not like you could’ve done anything.”
“You still should’ve told me.”
They sat in silence after that. Celia returned with soup and sandwiches, leaving them to eat before Carmine helped Haven back upstairs.
* * * *
Days turned into a weeks. Haven grew stronger, her injuries starting to heal as her body came back around, but she still struggled mentally. She spent most days resting but was eventually able to venture outside with Carmine. He held her hand one afternoon as they strolled down the street for the first time, pointing out different landmarks from his childhood. They were about a block away when her legs grew tired, and the two of them came to a stop in front of a large white house. Carmine pulled her over and sat down on the front porch.
“I don’t think you should just sit on someone’s steps like that, Carmine,” she said. “They might get angry.”
“This is our house, tesoro,” he said with a small smile, continuing as she took the seat beside him. “It's where I grew up, but it’s been empty since my mom...”
Since she was murdered, Haven thought, finishing the sentence he still couldn't seem to say out loud. She glanced behind them at the bright blue door, a stark contrast to the chipped red paint of the shutters. “It's nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
They were both quiet, deep in thought.
“What are we going to do, Carmine?” she asked. “What happens now?”
“We go back to Durante,” he said. “Salvatore’s gonna give me some time before he expects me to move here. Other than that, I don’t know. I guess we just figure it out as we go.”
* * * *
And that was exactly what they did. A few days later, Dr. DeMarco rented a car, and the three of them started the long trip back to Durante. She slept a lot, sprawled out in the back seat as Carmine and Dr. DeMarco took turns driving. They stopped so frequently that it took a few days before they saw the brown wooden ‘Durante Welcomes You’ sign.
An odd sensation overcame Haven when they pulled off the faded highway and up to the familiar plantation house. She got out of the car and paused, glancing around. It was dusk, but there was still enough light for her to make out the lush green trees that were fading to brown. A few fireflies flickered nearby, and she reached out to catch one. It wasn’t hurt or heartache she felt, although it was deep within her chest, surrounding her heart and stealing her breath.
It wasn’t until Carmine muttered the words that it struck her what it was. “We’re finally home.”
Home. She got it now. For the first time in her life, something felt like home. It was the place they’d come together. It was where they’d found love.
Chapter 51
Settling back in hadn't been easy. Memories haunted Haven’s dreams and continued to follow her during her waking hours. Brief flashes of faces, horrific screams and scathing words constantly ate away at her, and the worst part was that she wasn’t even sure if any of it was real.
She started scribbling in notebooks again, sketching pictures in hopes that the images would stop. Her monster returned, taunting her with his scaly face and evil eyes. It was a reminder that no matter where she went, that part of her life was never far away.
Carmine was just as distracted, nightmares infesting his sleep once again. He’d sneak out of bed at night, and sometimes she’d follow, listening as he played music for hours on end. Always the same song, the same eerie melody on repeat.
They were two broken kids, desperate to be whole again, struggling to find balance in a world out of their control. What's black and white and red all over? Carmine was, Haven thought. A soul savagely ripped in half, bleeding out for all to see. The ying and yang, the good and evil, the love and pain all at odds with each other. Two sides, two vastly different worlds, but someday they’d merge as one. They had to.
Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali. Time heals all wounds.
* * * *
Some things in life only happen once, the memories of them lasting forever. They’re moments that alter you, turning you into a person you never thought you’d become, but someone you were always destined to be. There’s no magical rewind button in life, no take backs or do-over’s to fix things you wish you could change.
If there were, Carmine would be eight-years-old again, demanding his mom wait for a car to come pick them up. They wouldn’t wind up in that alley, and his mom would live to see another day.
He'd go back to sixteen and put his gun away instead of driving to his best friend’s house in anger. Bygones would be bygones, and there would be peace, instead of public rivalries that hurt everyone around them in the end.
<
br /> He’d be in that kitchen at seventeen again, cleaning up his spilled orange juice instead of frightening Haven so badly she nearly passed out. He wouldn’t have passed judgment on the strange girl, and maybe he would’ve known what love was sooner.
He'd go back to Blackburn and tell Haven's mom they were there to take her away, so she’d know she didn’t have to suffer anymore. Maybe then she’d have chosen to live. Maybe then Haven wouldn’t have lost her mom too.
There were many places Carmine would go back to, many things he'd do different, but one thing he wouldn't take back was what he’d done to save her.
Sacrifice. It was something he learned from his mom, when she gave her life to save a young girl. He'd learned it from his father, when he swore himself to an organization just to be with the woman he loved. Even Corrado had put himself on the line, risking his safety to spare them more pain.
And he learned it from Nicholas, who helped a virtual stranger and got nothing in return. Nothing, that is, except for a bullet to the chest, ending his short life.
If Carmine could go back, he would've apologized to him that day.
Life’s a struggle, and it would be so easy if it came with an eraser, but it didn’t. What's done is done, as hard as that was to accept.
Sometimes, though, people get second chances. They get more tries. It was too late for others, but Carmine was blessed with more time. Time to try to make things right. Time to try to be whole again.
“Carmine?”
Carmine glanced at his American History teacher, Mrs. Anderson, and felt the strangest sense of déjà vu at her expectant look. He’d failed her class last time around and was back in it senior year, a requirement for graduation.
Not as if he was counting on graduating. He’d already missed over a month of school and lost his place on the football team.
“Yeah?”
“It's your turn.”
Sighing, he stood up and strolled to the front of the room, the eyes of his peers fixed on him. He'd never had any classes with them before, being as they were all a year behind him, but they'd heard the stories of his antics in the past. They were expecting a show, a repeat episode, but Carmine only had one thing on his mind.
Redemption. A second chance to get it right.
“The Battle of Gettysburg was fought in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 18-something-or-nother. The year doesn’t matter.”
Mrs. Anderson started to interrupt but closed her mouth when he continued. “They considered it the turning point of the war, and President Lincoln showed up to give his big speech. Who really cares what it was called? I don’t. After it was all over and the North won, Congress passed the 13th amendment to free the slaves. It outlawed owning another person, yada, yada, yada, but it was a waste of time. All of it. Every bit. Completely pointless.”
“Uh, Carmine?”
He ignored his teacher, continuing on as if she hadn't spoken. “All those people died and it didn't change anything, because it doesn't work if they don't enforce it. They just ignore it, turn their backs and say it’s not their problem, but it is. It's everyone's problem. They can say slavery ended all they want, but that doesn't make it true. People lie. They'll tell you what they think you wanna hear, and you’ll believe it. Whatever makes you feel better about your dismal little lives.”
“That's enough, Carmine.”
“So, whatever. Go on being naive. Believe what the history book tells you if you want. Believe what Mrs. Anderson wants me to tell you about it. Believe the land of the free, blah, blah, blah, star spangled banner bullshit. Believe there aren’t any slaves anymore just because a tall guy in a big ass top hat and a bunch of politicians said so. But I won’t believe it, because if I do too, we’ll all fucking be wrong, and someone has to be right.”
Mrs. Anderson stood up, and Carmine smiled to himself. Maybe they got a show, after all.
He grabbed his belonging and was heading for the door before she could tell him to get out of her classroom. The hallway was deserted, everything silent and still as he made his way toward the front office. Principal Rutledge stood near the secretary's desk, and he looked at Carmine with surprise when he walked in. “Did you get in trouble?”
“Me? Trouble? Of course not.”
Principal Rutledge sighed. “It's been awhile.”
“I know, but don’t worry… it’s the last time you’ll have to see me.”
* * * *
Haven stood in the kitchen making herself lunch when Dr. DeMarco walked in. “When you get a minute, can you come to my office?”
She nodded, nervous as to what he’d want to see her for. She wrapped up her sandwich, her appetite suddenly gone, and placed it into the refrigerator to save for later. Even though he rarely left the house, since the hospital had terminated his job after news of his arrest leaked, she and Dr. DeMarco hadn’t exchanged more than basic pleasantries in weeks.
She headed up to his office when she couldn't delay it any longer and softly knocked, opening the door when he told her to enter.
“Have a seat,” he said, motioning toward the chair across from him. “How are you?”
She sat down, watching him cautiously. “I’m okay, sir.”
“Are you?” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem okay.”
She stared at him, debating how to respond. “I’m dealing.”
“Are you starting to remember things?”
She nodded, anxious of where the conversation was heading. “I’m not sure how much of it to believe, though. I hallucinated a lot.”
“It's not my place to press you for details, but if you have any questions, I can answer them for you.”
She debated his offer. “Am I really a Principessa?”
He leaned back in his chair, giving her an interested look. “Technically speaking, yes. My wife got too close to discovering that, which is why she was murdered.”
Guilt consumed her. “Because of me.”
“No, not because of you,” he said, his tone serious. “For you.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes, there is,” he said. “I once blamed you, believed it was because of you, and it took me a long time to see that my anger was unfounded. There are a few people I could reasonably blame, myself included, but you aren’t one of them. I wish I would’ve realized that sooner. It could’ve saved us both a lot of hurt.”
She stared at him with surprise, and he continued after a brief pause. “The day we found you in Chicago was October twelfth. I was so caught up in everything that it wasn’t until the next afternoon that it dawned on me that it had been the anniversary of Maura’s death. Last year on that day, you didn’t stand a chance. No matter what you did, I would’ve gotten you, because it wasn’t about you—it was about her.”
A chill shot down her spine at the memory of that afternoon.
“I want you to know that I’ve never hated you. I couldn't hate you, because I never knew you. And I didn’t want to know you, because I didn’t want to care about you. Nine years in a row, I spent October twelfth wishing I could punish you, but this year, all I could think about was rescuing you, which is what got her killed in the first place.” He paused. “I’m probably talking in circles, and I’m not sure if you’ll even believe me, but I want you to know that I’ve grown to care for you. And as for what I did to you last year, I don’t expect forgiveness, but I am sorry about it. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t.”
He pushed his chair back and walked over to her, pulling up his pant leg to show his ankle bracelet. “Do you know what this is?”
“No.”
“It’s a GPS monitoring device. A stipulation of my bail was that I had to wear it.” Her eyes widened, and he laughed at her expression. “It’s something, isn’t it? You don’t know what it’s like to have your every move watched until it happens to you. Somewhere there’s a man watching to see where I am to ensure I’m not trying to get away.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I’m sure it does,” he said. “I had my reasons for chipping you, but that doesn’t mean what I did was right. I called in one last favor with a colleague of mine, the one that fixed Carmine up after the accident, and I made an appointment for you. I may be stuck with my monitoring device, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have yours removed.”
Her mouth fell open as she struggled to find words. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I don’t deserve your gratitude. I’m only fixing my mistakes at this point.” He sat back down as tears started to spill down her cheeks. “Anyway, one more thing before you go. I want to give this to you before our guests start arriving.”
“Guests?”
“Yes, guests. It could very well be my last Christmas with my family, so I’d like to make the best of it.”
His words made her stomach twist. “You think you’ll go to prison?”
“I’m sure they’ll get me one way or another,” he said as he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a familiar leather bound book. He set it down in front of her. “My wife’s journal. I think you should keep it.”
“Me? Why?”
“She wrote a lot about adjusting to life after what she went through and her conflicting feelings about the world I belonged to,” he said. “It might help you going forward.”
She picked up the book cautiously. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I think Maura would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Standing up, Haven headed for the door, but she hesitated before she reached it. “Not long after I got here, you asked me not to call you Master because it made you feel like my father. Michael Antonelli was a horrible man, and despite everything, you’ve been kinder to me than he ever was. So I do forgive you for hurting me, because you've helped me more than anyone else. You’re a good man, Vincent, and I think sometimes good men just find themselves doing bad things.”
