Sempre: Redemption

5

Merry Christmas!”

Haven jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around from the kitchen window. Celia stood just inside the doorway, smiling warmly, her eyes bright and awake with enthusiasm, even though the sun had barely started to rise outside.

“Uh, Merry Christmas,” Haven said. “Good morning.”

Strolling over to the pantry, Celia rooted around, pulling out what she would need to make Christmas dinner. She was dressed in a gray long-sleeved dress and a pair of matching heels, her shiny dark hair cascading down her back and her makeup freshly applied. It was the complete opposite of how she had appeared when Haven last saw her in Chicago a mere month ago. Her glow was back, compassion and love radiating from her like warm sunlight.

Longing struck Haven’s chest. It made her think of her mother. Oh, how she missed her, especially on days like this, days when she needed someone to talk to, someone who truly knew her and would know what to say.

“Isn’t it awfully early for you to be awake?” Celia asked.

“I guess so.” Haven turned back to the window. The darkness gradually faded with every second that passed, making Carmine’s car more visible in the front yard. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a lot on my mind last night.”

“Like?”

“Like everything.”

Celia laughed. “Well, that certainly clears it up.”

Haven managed a smile as she peeked at Celia, her good mood infectious. “It’s just that Carmine got back really late last night. He was gone all day, told me he had shopping to do, but he didn’t bring any bags home.”

“Ah, shopping.” Celia sighed knowingly. “Corrado used that one. Of course, he knew enough to stop by a store and buy something before coming home—usually throwing in some flowers to butter me up. I kind of miss those days, believe it or not. He doesn’t bother anymore.”

“With flowers?”

Celia laughed again. “With excuses, kiddo . . . although, flowers again would be nice. It’s been ages.”

Haven toyed with the hem of her shirt, mulling over Celia’s words. “Doesn’t it bother you to be lied to, though?”

“At first it did. I would get so angry with him, thinking it meant he didn’t trust me. I told him I wanted us to have the kind of relationship where we told each other everything.”

“What changed?”

“He told me everything one day. I never asked him again.” She closed her eyes at the memory, pausing to shake her head. “I think it’s easier for them to not bring that stuff home. It helps to know they have a sanctuary, that one place they can go and not have to be Mafiosi for a while. I’ll never be able to forget the things he said that day, the look on his face as he talked, as much as I wish I could. I don’t like my husband killing, and while I selfishly prefer it to him being killed, I learned that day that I don’t want to hear about it, either.”

Haven wasn’t sure what to say. “I can’t even think about Carmine being that way. That’s not him. That’s not the boy I know. He doesn’t . . . kill.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It wasn’t Vincent, either, believe it or not. Maura was afraid the man she loved would disappear, but they won’t if they have a reason not to. Carmine will always be the same person deep down inside. He’ll see things he’ll wish he could forget, and he’ll have a lot of guilt over things he can’t control, but don’t we all? Your love will still save him at the end of the day.”

Haven frowned. “It doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

“That’s because you’re scared,” she said, wrapping her arms around Haven in a hug. She stroked Haven’s hair with her hand, just like her mother had when she was younger. The ache in her chest intensified. “Neither of you seem to realize fear can be a good thing. It’s healthy and keeps us safe, warns us of danger. When you stop fearing things, you stop fighting. You lose motivation. You lose perspective, and you never want to do that.”

A throat cleared behind them. Celia let go of Haven and turned to look, tensing. Corrado leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “Am I interrupting?”

Haven dropped her gaze to the floor. She hadn’t seen him since they had shown up. He had remained upstairs, secluded from the family. “No, sir.”

“Of course you are,” Celia said. “We were having girl talk.”

“So I heard,” he said. “I thought we agreed you would stay out of it.”

“And I thought you knew me better than that,” Celia replied. “You really can’t be that dense, Corrado.”

Haven gaped at Celia, stunned anyone would speak to him that way.

“Pardon me for hoping you’d listen to common sense for once,” he countered. “Meddling in other people’s affairs—”

“Only gets people hurt,” she said, cutting him off. “I know. I’ve heard you say it a million times, but they’re just kids, for heaven’s sake.”

“They’re adults,” Corrado said. “What they choose to do in their private lives is none of our concern.”

Celia laughed dryly. “None of our concern? Have you forgotten you vouched for her?”

“That doesn’t mean I own her!” Corrado snapped, shooting Haven a quick glance that sent a chill down her spine. She had never heard him raise his voice before.

Celia narrowed her eyes. “No, but it’s your job to help her.”

“I know what my duties are,” he responded coldly. “I’ll watch her.”

“Like Maura was watched?” Celia raised her eyebrows. “You told me to stay out of it, to mind my own business. A lot of good it did then, huh?”

“Maura was not my responsibility. She was Vincent’s.”

“You’re right,” Celia responded, “but Haven is yours.”

Corrado stood silently and stared at her, his expression blank. Celia stared right back, her gaze unwavering. The tension in the room mounted with each passing second. Uncomfortable, Haven fidgeted, feeling dizzy as the blood rushed furiously through her.

“I, uh . . . I probably shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, turning for the door. She made it as far as the foyer before Corrado’s firm voice rang out, the sound of it halting Haven in her tracks.

“Stop.”

She turned around as Corrado stepped into the foyer, glancing at her briefly and nodding before heading for the great room. She watched him for a second, unsure of what to do, before following slowly behind.

The sun started to peek over the trees outside, but the room remained eerily dim. Haven was as quiet as a corpse as she took a seat on the couch and picked at her brittle fingernails, purposely avoiding Corrado’s powerful gaze.

“Do you know what it means to vouch for someone, Haven?” he asked, breaking the tense silence that quickly enveloped the room like a thick, toxic cloud.

Without looking at him, Haven nodded stiffly. “Carmine said it meant if I ever told about where I came from, you’d get in trouble, but I swear I never will.”

He held his hand up to silence her before she could really start pleading her case. “It’s more than that. It’s not just what you say and who you say it to . . . it’s what you do, too. People like me—we vouch for others every day. Associates, friends, family. We swear they’re good people, that they’ll never bring us any harm. We swear they’re trustworthy. If we’re wrong, it means we lied. It means they don’t benefit us by being out there in the world, by being alive, and frankly, maybe we shouldn’t be either. Your life may be your own now, but I can’t have that doubt lingering over my head, so there are some limitations because of the circumstances.”

Haven tensed. “Limitations?”

“Yes, limitations,” Corrado said. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Going to stay with Salvatore,” he said. “Or death. I’m not sure which you’d find worse, but neither would be pleasant. So limitations it is. Besides, everyone has them. Most people are ruled by petty laws—wear your seat belt, don’t take what’s not yours. Catholics follow the Commandments—don’t covet thy neighbor’s wife or take the Lord’s name in vain. Nuns commit themselves to celibacy, lawyers and priests rely on confidentiality, and we, Haven, take a vow of silence and loyalty. We all live through the same Hell, just with different devils.”

Pausing, Corrado tinkered with his wedding ring. Haven wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she said nothing. He continued after a moment. “Our devil doesn’t give the benefit of the doubt. Our devil shoots first and asks questions later, if at all. One look, one wrong move, and you’re guilty. They’ll carry out your punishment before you even know you were accused. Our devil shows no mercy. He can’t. You got that?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“If you want to stay safe, stay out of the limelight,” he said. “Mind your own business, lay low, and never associate with the police. If a cop ever tries to question you, ask for your lawyer and call me. I don’t care what it’s about. And never invite one inside your home. Never.”

The color drained from her face, coldness running through her as she immediately thought of Officer Baranski. “I, uh . . . I didn’t know . . .”

“Didn’t know what?”

“An officer came by to ask about Nicholas. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to talk to him. Dr. DeMarco said I should answer his questions so he’d go away.”

Corrado stared at her. “Vincent told you to talk to the police?”

She nodded hesitantly. “He invited him inside.”

Corrado’s mask slipped, his brow furrowing briefly before he straightened it back out. “When was this?”

“Two days ago,” she said. “You were upstairs. It was right after you arrived.”

Silence permeated the room for a few minutes. Haven did nothing, terrified of what his reaction would be. He just stared straight ahead, unmoving, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was blinking she might have wondered if he were even still alive.

“You didn’t know any better,” he said finally. “No one explained it to you, but now you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

Corrado stood and without a word started to walk away. He made it as far as the doorway before his footsteps faltered. He lingered there for a moment as Celia approached from the foyer, smiling proudly. She had clearly been eavesdropping.

“Stay out of it,” he warned her again. “I don’t want you meddling anymore.”

Christmas morning passed in a blur. Carmine seemed distracted, distant, his eyes watching everyone as if he were waiting for something to happen, lost somewhere in his mind instead of being there at home.

Haven would occasionally catch him casting angry glares and hear heated whispered conversations when she was out of earshot. Confused, she asked a few times what was going on, but he merely smiled and told her not to worry.

Don’t worry. She had heard it so many times the past week that the phrase alone was starting to worry her.

They watched holiday movies and exchanged gifts in the evening. Haven got some books and art supplies, clothes, and a new pair of pink-and-white Nike’s. The festivities were quiet, almost gloomy in a sense. Something lingered in the room with them, infecting the air they all had to share. She wouldn’t call it misery, but it was certainly close—guilt mixed with sadness, confusion, and morose thoughts.

They sat down at the dining room table when dinner was ready, Carmine pulling out the chair beside him for Haven as Celia and Corrado took seats across from them. Dr. DeMarco cleared his throat and Carmine immediately grabbed Haven’s right hand as Corrado reached across the table, holding his out to her. She blanched as she stared at it, studying his extended hand. Other than a long jagged scar diagonally on his palm, nearly camouflaged by the natural creases and lines, it appeared unscathed. His nails were freshly manicured, the skin smooth with not a single cut or callus. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it surprised her—his hands appeared awfully clean for a man with a lot of blood on them.

Taking it carefully, so not to cause a scene, Haven bowed her head.

“Lord, thank you for the blessings on the table today, and for all the people gathered around it,” Dr. DeMarco said. “We ask that you help us to remain mindful of the needs of others and continue to bless us with love and forgiveness, happiness and peace, and most of all we ask that you help the innocent among us find the freedom they deserve. In Jesus’s name, we pray.”

“Amen,” they all murmured, letting go and raising their heads. Haven glanced at Dr. DeMarco curiously, surprised by his words, and he smiled softly when they made eye contact.

“Dai nemici mi guardo io dagli amici mi guardi iddio,” Corrado muttered under his breath as he picked up his fork.

Carmine laughed dryly. “Amen to that.”

They started eating but Haven merely pushed the food around on her plate as a tense silence once again overcame the room. Everyone cast glances at one another while avoiding her gaze. It was as if they all shared a common secret, one Haven was certainly not aware of. She fidgeted nervously as she listened to the forks clanking against plates, her appetite dissipating as her stomach churned from anxiety.

Haven was so uncomfortable with the stillness she briefly considered leaving the room. Before she could act, Dominic cleared his throat. It seemed to be magnified, echoing off the barren walls. “It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years.”

Carmine went rigid, his fork stopping midair. Realizing Dominic was referring to their mother’s death, Haven looked around cautiously, waiting for the imminent explosion of rage.

Dr. DeMarco’s head dropped, his eyes drifting closed as he set his fork down. “Seems like just yesterday we lost her.”

“We didn’t lose her,” Carmine spat, the edge of anger stabbing his words. “That makes it sound like we were negligent. It’s not our fault that shit happened. She was taken from us . . . from all of us.”

“You’re right,” Dr. DeMarco conceded. “She was unfairly taken from us.”

The atmosphere was suddenly lighter after he said those words, as if that one simple phrase had lifted a heavy weight from their shoulders. Everyone chatted casually, laughing as they shared stories of the past. They spoke about Maura, and instead of clamming up, Dr. DeMarco chose to chime in.

“She loved Christmas,” he said, smiling. “She’d get the boys dozens of presents, so many we’d hardly be able to fit in the den Christmas morning.”

“I remember that,” Dominic said. “She spoiled the shit out of Carmine.”

Rolling his eyes, Carmine picked up a green bean with his fork and flung it down the table at his brother. “You were just as fucking spoiled.”

“You were,” Dr. DeMarco confirmed. “Anything either of you wanted, you got, and not just on Christmas.”

“I never got that bike I wanted,” Dominic said. “Remember it? It was that little camouflage Mongoose with that wicked horn on it and the wooden basket. I begged and begged for it.”

Dr. DeMarco sighed. “You got it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” he said quietly. “You just didn’t know. It was delivered to the house after . . . well, after she was taken from us. She bought it for you because Carmine was getting the piano. She wanted to be fair.”

Solemn silence festered in the room until Dominic spoke up again. “Do you still have it?”

Dr. DeMarco shook his head. “I gave it away.”

“Damn,” Dominic said. “I’d still ride it, you know.”

Laughter escaped from Dr. DeMarco’s lips. “I know you would, son.”

They went on to talk about trips they had taken, things she had taught them, and books she had read, every memory accompanied with smiles instead of tears. It was heartwarming to witness, the love for Maura still just as strong even though she had been gone for more than a decade.

After dinner, Haven offered to help Celia with the dishes. The two of them worked silently, Celia’s attention elsewhere as she went about it in a daze. They were finishing when Celia let out a resigned sigh, taking a plate from Haven’s hands. “I’ll finish here. You should go enjoy the rest of your Christmas.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, drying her hands before quietly heading for the family room. She made it halfway there when she heard Dominic’s boisterous voice, his words catching her off guard.

“You’re making a mistake, Carmine,” he said. “There’s no way you mean that. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Leave him alone,” Dr. DeMarco said. “You can’t understand the situation unless you’ve been in it.”

“You’re wrong,” Dominic said. “I do understand, and he’s going to regret it! It’s not too late to change your mind, and for all of our sakes, please change your mind. I’m begging you, bro.”

“It is too late,” Carmine said. “I get that you don’t agree, but you don’t have to. I’m the one who has to live with it.”

“Can you?” Dominic asked incredulously. “Can you seriously live with this?”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” Dominic said, the passion in his voice startling. “I can’t believe anyone would actually think this is a good idea!”

Haven finished the last few steps in their direction, pausing at the entrance to the family room. Dominic paced the floor, frenzied, as Carmine stood off to the side, clutching his hair in aggravation. Vincent and Corrado merely watched the boys, the atmosphere so tense she could feel it pressing on her skin.

“He’s my son,” Dr. DeMarco said. “I’ll support him any way I can.”

“This is bullshit!” Dominic spat.

The force of his words startled Haven. She flinched. Heads instantly turned her way, four sets of eyes now boring into her.

“Is everything okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s fine,” Dr. DeMarco said. “We are just having a disagreement, but this isn’t the time or the place for it.”

She glanced around, dread running through her as she took in their expressions. Despite what he had said, something was definitely wrong. She turned to Carmine, raising her eyebrows, expecting him to offer some sort of real explanation, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it.

“I think I’m going to go lie down,” she said, taking a step back.

“I’ll come with you,” Carmine said, shooting Dominic an angry glare as he stalked past. He took her hand and she mumbled good-bye to everyone as he pulled her toward the steps, not saying a word.

“Are they mad about what you did in Chicago?” she pressed when they reached the bedroom.

“Something like that,” he muttered. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’d rather just . . . be. Just for a little while.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to push back the sick feeling in her stomach. He plopped down on the bed and she followed his lead, lying down beside him.

“La mia bella ragazza,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. She tilted her head to the side as he leaned in and kissed her neck, humming against her skin. “I was hoping today would be perfect.”

“We were together,” she whispered. “That makes it perfect to me.”