Sempre: Redemption

38

Kelsey and Haven sat at the diner near their brownstone in a booth by the door. It was Sunday morning on their first weekend of summer vacation. There were a few other patrons in the diner, an elderly couple a few seats away and a family in the back, as well as two men drinking coffee at the bar.

A lady in a white top and khakis with a black apron tied around her waist plopped two plastic menus down on the table. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”

“Coffee,” Kelsey said. “Two creams, a dash of skim milk, and three packets of Splenda. Oh, and two ice cubes.”

“I’ll take coffee, too,” Haven said. “Just black, please. You know, normal.”

She returned with their drinks as Haven opened the menu and scanned it. Kelsey rattled off a list, emphasizing her need for extra bacon, whereas Haven asked for a stack of pancakes. As hungry as she was, nothing sounded appetizing.

“I’ll have it to you in a jiffy,” she responded, taking the menus and walking off. Haven sighed and picked up her coffee, taking a sip of the hot bitter liquid as she gazed out of the window. She heard one of the men ask the waitress to turn on the television and a few seconds later the diner was filled with the sound of the news.

The reports were mainly politics, with local scandals dominating the headlines. She had spent some time learning about political parties in New York. Kelsey’s dad was running for office again and Haven often asked her about it, but she always blew off the questions and claimed none of it mattered. She said she wouldn’t bother voting if her father’s job didn’t rely on it, insisting nothing would ever change no matter who got into office.

Haven never contradicted her, but she didn’t agree at all. Abraham Lincoln and the Thirty-eighth Congress passed the Thirteenth amendment that abolished slavery. Woodrow Wilson and the Sixty-sixth Congress passed the Nineteenth amendment to give women the right to vote. To Haven, it mattered.

The men started debating issues, the two opposite on everything. She sipped her coffee as their bickering grew louder, a debate about gun control, and Haven froze, spilling her coffee when she caught a glimpse of the television. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the familiar man, her eyes quickly scanning the caption on the bottom of the screen: D.O.J. Special Agent Donald Cerone.

The coffee scorched her skin and she gritted her teeth from the searing pain as her coffee cup clattered to the table, slipping from her hand. The diner grew quiet as people turned to the commotion at her booth, but Haven ignored them, her attention focused squarely on the television. She had a hard time catching the words, the throbbing in her hand distracting, as she felt like she was sinking under water.

“. . . Issued a statement about the incident in Chicago . . . embarrassment for the department . . . massacre at alleged Mob boss Salvatore Capozzi’s home . . . single deadliest incident in the history of the Outfit . . . debate on how witnesses are to be properly handled . . .”

It hit Haven like a ton of bricks when a picture of Dr. DeMarco flashed on the screen. “Alleged mobster had been on the run . . .”

“Oh God,” she gasped as they showed a clip of a large mansion, dozens of police cars parked in front of yellow tape.

“A federal witness . . . provided information that triggered the raid . . . opened fire before police arrived . . . unsure of the main target . . . warrant issued for Capozzi . . . believed to be injured in the gunfire . . .” They showed a picture of Salvatore with a number on the bottom to call. Haven shuddered, tears welling in her eyes. “. . . Seven dead at the scene . . . several taken into custody . . .”

Haven gasped as a picture of Carlo flashed on the screen, followed by footage of several others. Victims, they said, dead when police arrived. She stared in shock . . . Carlo was dead? She was so stunned she almost didn’t catch the next words.

“DeMarco’s funeral is scheduled for tomorrow . . .”

Funeral.

One of the men in the diner sighed exasperatedly. “Perfect example of why we need gun control.”

“No way,” the other man said. “They do us all a favor by killing each other.”

A loud sob escaped Haven’s throat when it hit her and she quickly brought her hands up to cover her mouth. She trembled, shaking her head furiously. Funeral? Dr. DeMarco was dead?

“Hayden?” Kelsey’s voice rang out. “Are you okay?”

Haven tried to respond, but as soon as she uncovered her mouth another sob echoed through the diner. She jumped up from the booth and nearly fell, her legs barely able to withstand her weight. She pushed past her friend as she ran for the door and bolted down the street to her apartment. Kelsey yelled after Haven but she didn’t turn around, fumbling for the keys and rushing inside. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on herself. The words of the news report continually ran through her mind, although she couldn’t make sense of it. How could he be dead? What happened?

After her breathing was under control, she opened her eyes again and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Grabbing the small black cell phone, she dialed the Chicago number and listened as it rang. “Corrado Moretti. Leave a message.”

Haven pushed back the nerves that always accompanied the call. The words escaped her lips, the burn in her chest dulling as another sensation settled in. Through the shock, through the horror and fear, she felt the resolve.

“I’m coming to Chicago.”

Haven left her apartment under the cloak of darkness, taking only a small bag of clothes. She locked up before making her way down the block to the nearest parking garage, taking the elevator up to the third tier. She spotted the black Mazda parked precisely where she had left it almost a year before. The thick layer of dirt and dust covering the paint concealed the scratches still adorning the top.

It took nearly every penny she had in her pocket to pay the parking fees and fill up the gas tank for her trip.

Her heart ached as she drove out of the city, thoughts of Dr. DeMarco infiltrating her mind. Unlike so many times before, when the incident where he had punished her would spring to mind, all she could think about were the good moments: the time he had given her the picture of her mother, the holidays, the sound of his laughter, and the look of pride on his face when Dominic graduated. She thought about the food he had given her and how he had handed over his keys so she could learn to drive. He hadn’t even been angry when it was returned with a scratch.

It seemed as if more than a year’s worth of memories flooded Haven, and with them came the tears. Dominic’s words ran through her mind, ones he had spoken down by the river in Durante.

“I already lost my mom to this life,” he’d said. “I don’t want to lose him, too.”

Dominic had made Haven see that it was okay to want more in life. He had helped her face her worst fear. It was only fair she would be there to help him face his.