Rooted (The Pagano Family Book 3)

by Fanetti, Susan

  Sobs came on her, and Carmen gave her a hug. She wasn’t very good at hugging—they always seemed to last longer than they should—but Adele grabbed her and held on, crying into her boobs, and Carmen let her go as long as she needed.

  ~oOo~

  That afternoon, Sabina brought Trey over straight from first grade. He was still young enough to be excited by the beginning of a new school year, and he was only finishing up his first week. He ran into the kitchen, where Carmen and Adele were washing up a large garden harvest.

  “Auntie Carm! Nonna D.! Look what I made!” He was holding up a lion mask made out of a paper plate, construction paper, and marker.

  “That’s great, Trey. What is that—a zebra?”

  “Auntie, you’re silly! Zebras are black and white and have stripes! Lions are yellow and orange and have no stripes! See?”

  Elsa came in and licked Trey’s face, thoroughly ridding him of any leftover goodness from his afternoon snack. Trey giggled and put the lion mask on her head. “Look! Elsie’s really a lion now!”

  Adele took the mask and stuck it to the refrigerator door with a magnet shaped like a chocolate bar. “This is good work, Trey. Did you wear it at school?”

  “Yeah! We had a zoo! I don’t want it on the fridge-ator, though. You can do that later. Where’s Pop-Pop? I want to show him. Misby said it would make him happy, and when you’re happy you feel better. I want Pop-Pop to be better.”

  Adele handed him the lion again. “He’s out back, lovey. He’s going to be so happy to see what you made. C’mon, I want to see, too.” She took his hand, and they went out back, Elsa following.

  “That is an amazing kid.” Carmen smiled at Sabina.

  “Truly. He is one of a kind.”

  “Any news on making him a brother?” After several interviews with different girls, a pregnant sixteen-year-old in Connecticut had chosen Carlo and Sabina to adopt her baby, a boy, and they had chosen her. They were covering her medical expenses now. She was from a working-class Latino family, and her parents had approved, too, despite pressure from other family members. She was due around the holidays.

  A cloud passed over Sabina’s face. “The adoption process is so difficult. Even private adoption, as we do. These girls—they are conflicted. Anna is conflicted. She sends me emails about what she wants for her baby. And I understand. She is under pressure, I think, too. It’s hard to trust that all will be well when she could change her mind even while I hold the baby in my arms, even after we bring him home.” Sabina paused. “And now I am conflicted as well.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you were sure you wanted this.”

  “Oh, I am. We both are. But into this world? With bodyguards and fires? Is it right?”

  “Fuck it, Sabina. That’s bullshit. What happened to you—that was your billionaire WASP asshole of a husband. What happened to Trey and Joey—a little blonde with a fancy private college education. The Uncles don’t corner the violence market. The world sucks—right outside our door or across the ocean. The world totally sucks. There’s no safe way to have a family. If we’re going to get bent out of shape over how dangerous the world is, then we’ll all just die out. Because there’s no end to the bad things that can happen. Every child born everywhere is born into a shitshow. At least you’ve got a guido with a gun outside holding it at bay. Do you want this baby or do you not? If you can answer that question, then fuck conflict.”

  Sabina smiled. “You are a passionate woman, Carmen. About everything.”

  “Yeah, I know. Gets me into trouble all the time. I’m right, though. Most of the time. Definitely now.”

  “Yes, I think you are. Thank you.”

  ~oOo~

  Two weeks later, Carmen went into her little beach cottage, which she had missed keenly while she was away. She went straight into the bathroom with her plastic shopping bag from the pharmacy.

  There was no more putting it off, no more attributing anything to stress or whacked out circadian rhythms from jetlag or anything else. She was missing her second one, now. And for the past four mornings, she’d puked from morning through lunch. And her breasts hurt so badly she could barely stand to get a bra on—or off, for that matter.

  She had no idea when, but she knew who.

  But first, before she panicked about all that, she opened the pink and blue box. Pink and blue. Of course it was a pink and blue box.

  ~oOo~

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Oh, sweet fuck.

  What the hell was she going to do now?

  ~oOo~

  She thought about talking to Carlo and Sabina. They were trying to adopt. But that was weird and wrong.

  For a brief few minutes, she considered abortion. But no. It didn’t even matter whether or not it was a sin—she was well acquainted with all sorts of sin—and she didn’t consider it murder. She was pro-choice and had been since college. But she couldn’t make that choice. Whether it was the way the Church seemed part of her cells or something else, she couldn’t even seriously think through that option for herself. No.

  She was going to be a mother.

  She looked around her beloved beach house. The loft bedroom. The tiny office with its daybed. The cozy space, perfect for one person. She tried to imagine raising a child in this home she loved, and she could not.

  Again, she would need to move off the path of want.

  She held her phone in her hand. She’d been sitting here forever, trying to decide what to say, how to say it. There was no question that she’d tell Theo. But she had no idea how he’d take the news and what it would mean for the future. Her intent was to absolve him completely.

  But what if he wasn’t satisfied with that?

  Fuck.

  Deciding that she couldn’t confront him on the phone just out of the blue, she finally landed on sending him a text, which she did. Hope you’re well. We need to talk soon. She tapped ‘send’ and stared at the screen for a long time.

  Nothing happened. She checked the time and did some time-zone math. Around nine at night there. Maybe he was out.

  But he’d have his phone.

  She stared longer. After half an hour without a response, she sent a follow-up: It’s important.

  The next morning, when she checked her phone and saw that he still had not responded, Carmen closed that door and made sure it was shut tight.

  On her own, then. That was better.

  ~oOo~

  She waited as long as she could to say anything to anyone. She’d had her first prenatal exam before she’d even considered telling anybody, and by then she was, according to her OB/GYN, almost ten weeks along. Her clothes still fit—she’d always lived an active life and had the tone to show for it, and with all the puking, she’d actually lost weight—but her family had commented a few times on the fact that she looked tired and down. Rosa, who’d, of course, blabbed to everybody about Theo, had them all convinced that she was suffering from a broken heart.

  That was true, too. That Theo had ignored her texts had shattered the last little bit of restraint she’d had left, and she’d tumbled into a pretty dark place. It was her fault, she knew. She had torn them apart, and he had no reason at all to reply to her texts. She thought about texting again and being specific, but how do you text the words ‘I’m pregnant?’ What would it be like to get a text like that? Then she thought about calling. But she just couldn’t.

  No, that door was closed, and it was her fault.

  So she let her family think that heartbrokenness was her only problem. But pretty soon, no matter how much puking she did, she wouldn’t be able to hide what else was going on.

  One Sunday evening, a few weeks after she’d found out, while she was over at the house on Caravel Road—she couldn’t imagine ever thinking of the house she’d grown up in, the house she’d run after her mother had died, as her brother’s house—after a family dinner and round of games, she went into the living room, where Carlo was flipping through albums. Sabina an
d John were cleaning up. Adele had taken their father home next door. Joey, Trey, Rosa, and Eli were in the cellar, playing foosball, and their gleeful sounds came up from the open door. Elsa, who hated the open-riser stairs and almost never went to the cellar, whined at the top, sure she was missing something great.

  “Hey, Carlo?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Can we sit outside for a bit? I need to talk.”

  Her big brother stood up. “Sure, Caramel. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just need an ear.”

  “I’ve got two.”

  Just then, apparently something exciting happened in foosball, and a roar rose up from below. Eli’s voice carried up: “Eat that, bitches!”

  And then Trey’s: “Yeah, bitches!” And then a lot of laughter. It was good to hear Joey’s laugh among the others. He’d started therapy again and had been getting better, needing oxygen less during the day. His speech seemed like it was never going to be better, but Carmen was glad to see his face again without the tubes across it.

  Carlo laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know why we bother teaching him manners. He’s surrounded by the Lost Boys—and I mean Kiefer Sutherland, not Peter Pan. I think I like Eli, though. He sure likes Rosie.”

  Carmen felt a sharp pain, but ignored it and smiled. “Yeah, he’s good people. Good for her, too. Really down to earth. You know she’s leaving, right? She said she was going to tell you.”

  “He got a job in New York, and she’s going, too. Yeah, she said. That scares me. I don’t know how Pop’s going to take it.” He led Carmen out onto the front porch, and they sat on the settee.

  “It’s not so far. She’ll be home almost as much as she ever was. And it’s a good job for Eli—he wants to be a chef, and this is an apprentice thing, I guess. Anyway, he’s excited. And she’s got interviews lined up. She has to tell Pop soon, though.”

  “Yeah. It’s weird to think about the little Peanut growing up and starting a life. Doesn’t seem like that long ago you and I were playing Mom and Dad for her and Joey.”

  “Carlo, I’m pregnant.” The words had been jumping on her tongue since she’d asked Carlo to come outside with her, but they’d surprised her almost as much as him by coming out right then.

  “What?”

  She didn’t say it again.

  “Carm, are you sure? How? When? Who?”

  “I’m sure. Took the test twice, and I’ve already been to the doctor. I’m a little more than ten weeks. In Paris, with Theo. I can’t be more specific than that. I guess we got sloppy.”

  “You guess?”

  “There was…” Shit. She hated admitting this. “We were drunk sometimes. I guess we must have forgotten and not noticed that we had. I honestly have no idea when.”

  “Jesus, Carm. Since when are you ‘sloppy’? And you were drinking? That much? Since when do you drink like that? You were pregnant and drinking? Jesus!”

  “Carlo, stop. All of these thoughts are already in my head. There’s nothing I can do about what happened in Paris, because it already happened. What I need to think about now is what happens next.”

  “Does he know?”

  “No. I texted him, and he didn’t respond. So no. And I don’t want him to know.”

  The sound he made at that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “Carmen, that’s insane. Our sister is about to move in with his son. How do you think he’s not going to know?”

  “I know. I know! But I need to figure this out first. Please don’t tell anybody. Not even Sabina. Please. Give me some time to figure it out. Theo is in Paris until the end of the year, and then he’ll be in Maine. Rosa and Eli will be in New York, and we probably won’t see them until the holidays—if they last that long. I have weeks to work all this out. Okay? Please.” Her heart was doing at least triple time now, and her stomach rolled. Man, she was tired of nausea.

  “Are you hoping Eli will dump her so that he doesn’t find out about this and tell his dad?”

  She hit his arm. “No! Jesus, what do you think I am? I just need some time. I fucked everything up, Carlo, and I need a minute to catch my breath and see what’s left. Please.”

  He put his arm around her and brought her close. She fought it for a second, but she wanted the comfort, so she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Okay. I wish you could find a way to be happy, Caramel. I just want to see you happy someday.”

  She didn’t respond; she didn’t know how to.

  “You know I have to tell Bina. Spouse clause. She won’t tell anyone else. You know that, too.”

  It wouldn’t be so bad to be able to talk to Sabina about it, too. She nodded. “Nobody else, though. Let me tell everybody else. In my time.”

  “Okay, sis. Okay.”

  ~ 14 ~

  Paris was beautiful and lively any time of the year. Though summer was over and fall was aging, the city remained spectacularly beautiful and abuzz with people. But Theo felt a heavy November pall even so. He’d been alone now for more than two months and, despite Eli and Jordan’s frequent calls and Skyping, he was more lonely than he’d ever been. Though he’d been living here for seven months, he’d never gotten around to making friends among his neighbors or with any other residents. He’d had his sons, and then he’d had Carmen.

  And then he’d had bourbon.

  He still had bourbon. So he was alone.

  But he was writing. Six, seven, eight, twelve hours a day, the words flew from his fingers. Sometimes he wrote on the memoir, sometimes he wrote poetry, in his journal. And sometimes he wrote letters. Long letters, in longhand. To Carmen. They were all stuffed in the back of his journal.

  He thought there might be a way to bring some of them into the memoir, but the thought of baring those rawest of thoughts to the world stopped him from trying. In those letters, Theo was naked.

  On this chilly, rainy day, Theo was sitting at the kitchen table. He’d designated the table by the Eiffel Tower window, where his Mac sat, to be his memoir writing place. When he wrote a letter, he sat in the bedroom, where he felt the sharpest ache of Carmen. When he wrote poetry, he sat in the kitchen, with coffee going.

  He’d had the idea to open every chapter of the memoir with a short poem. Focusing his poetry so thematically at the initial stage had always been a challenge for him, but it was a good exercise, too, one he could abandon if it didn’t work. The freedom to change paths completely could be empowering.

  He read over what he’d been working on today, while raindrops pelted the windows and ran down in long streams.

  What Wants to Grow

  She wrapped her hand

  tightly,

  clutched tender leaves

  and stems,

  firm fingers brushing

  rich soil,

  and said: “Not here.”

  Her arm rigid, she pulled

  with force,

  tore green life away,

  broke

  the sun of the flower,

  discarded it.

  “Not this,” she said.

  The next day, a frail, green

  shoot

  rose up in that same spot.

  The roots,

  intact, would not be dislodged

  could not

  be dissuaded or discounted.

  We do not want what

  thrives

  where it chooses, what

  sends roots deep,

  what will not be denied,

  demands

  its belonging.

  What we call a weed

  is what most wants to grow.

  Theo sat with his pen poised over the page, looking for lines to rework. The whole thing had come out in a rush, almost without pause at all. Since then, he’d rewritten it five times, finding new line and stanza breaks, finding patterns in the words and rhythms. He considered everything he’d done today, all the rewriting and lining out, to be part of the first draft. Not until he came back in a day or so, with a fresh eyes and
mind, would he consider what he was doing to be ‘revision.’ But this was good. He could see the worthiness of this draft and knew it would grow into something of value. He felt the truth in it.

  He’d been a pathetic sack since August because there was so much truth in it. What he felt for Carmen was rooted now. It didn’t want to give up.

  His phone sat on the table; Jordan had called earlier while he was writing. Now, Theo picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He had two from Carmen, sent weeks ago—months ago—which he’d never returned. He’d been angry and hurt—not to mention drunk—and had stared at them when they’d come in, deciding then that he couldn’t face any more drama. She wanted to be done, so done they would be.