It wasn’t the world she had envisioned for their future.
All she could think about were their plans slipping away. Going somewhere no one knew them, starting over fresh where he could just be him and she could just be her, untainted by slavery and the labels forced upon them. Going to college so he could play football while she studied art—all of it a distant dream. Getting married and having a family—the concept overshadowed by reality. She wasn’t sure what was possible anymore, where they could go or what they could do. Would he be allowed to go to school? Could they bring children into that world?
More importantly, what would happen to Carmine? Could he live that life and be the same person she loved? Could someone do bad things, but not be a bad person? After being brutalized her entire life, how could she accept him becoming one of them?
How had Maura done it?
* * *
Vincent stood at the front of the dim church, staring at the flickering flame of the candle he had lit. It glowed brightly, illuminating his hand as he sullenly made the sign of the cross. There was a quiet shuffling behind him after a moment. Vincent turned to see Father Alberto approaching, clutching a Bible. He nodded at the priest. “Father.”
“How are you, my child?”
“I’m well.”
Father Alberto shook his head. “There are certain people in life you can never fool, Vincenzo, and your priest is one of them.”
“Who are the others?” he asked curiously. “My mother?”
The sober old priest actually barked with laughter. “I’ve known your mother for decades. I can safely say she sees and hears only what she wants, nothing more. It’s a gift with that woman.”
Vincent smiled. “Should you talk that way about people?”
“I’m not judging,” he said. “I’m simply telling the truth. While in church. It’s a nice concept. Would you like to give it a try?”
“Sure.”
“Then I’ll ask again. How are you, my child?”
Vincent hesitated. “Terrified.”
There was no surprise in Father Alberto’s expression. “What scares you, Vincenzo?”
“Corrado’s in the hospital.”
“I heard. Is he getting better?”
“Not that I can tell,” he said. “Celia believes he’ll be fine, that he’ll wake up soon, but I don’t see how. His brain went without oxygen for too long for him to walk away from this.”
“How long was he without oxygen?”
“Almost four minutes.”
“Is it impossible to recover after being down for four minutes?”
“Impossible? No, but it is improbable.”
“A doctor would also say an Immaculate Conception is improbable.”
“No, a doctor would say an Immaculate Conception is impossible.”
“But yet Mother Mary had Jesus.”
“She did.”
“Miracles happen,” he said. “There’s a reason you don’t see what Celia does.”
“Because I’m a doctor?”
“No, because you’ve lost your faith.”
Vincent looked at the priest with disbelief. “If that were true, I wouldn’t come here.”
“On the contrary, Vincenzo. You come here because you wish to find your faith again. You can’t fool God, either. He knows everything, and it’s okay, because He’ll forgive you. The question is whether you’re ready to be forgiven.”
He was quiet, turning back to the lit candle. “I am.”
“Then ask.”
Vincent took a deep breath before speaking again. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Alberto’s voice was gentle. “Go on. You’re safe here.”
The word safe made him hesitate again. For the first time since he was that young boy, walking into the church and believing he belonged, he felt like he was truly safe there.
“The first time I killed a man, I was eighteen. I shot him once in the heart with my revolver. He lost consciousness instantly, but it took exactly a minute and twenty-nine seconds for him to stop breathing. I counted. Seems so quick in retrospect, but while I watched it happen, it felt like he’d never die. And the whole time I stood there, all I could think was how wrong it seemed.”
“Wrong because you shouldn’t have killed him?”
“No, wrong because there wasn’t enough blood. Some seeped out onto his shirt, and his nose bled as he choked on a bit, but it was a relatively clean scene. He bled out internally. I thought a shot to the heart should’ve been messier.”
Father Alberto was silent for a moment. “Why did you kill him?”
“He raped my wife,” he said, his voice an octave above a whisper. “I was judge, jury, and executioner.”
“You didn’t think God would make him pay?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just made it so he’d face God sooner.”
“Why?”
Vincent’s brow furrowed. “I told you why.”
“You told me what this man did wrong, what sin he committed, but you didn’t tell me why you killed him. I remember you at eighteen. I married you and Maura at eighteen. You weren’t a vengeful person, and Maura wouldn’t have wanted you to do it.”
The priest was right, of course. “My father sanctioned it, called it my wedding present. I hadn’t wanted to, but it wasn’t open for negotiation. Permission to kill him was my first order, my first test. He thought he was doing me a favor.”
“What other favors did your father do for you?”
Vincent shook his head. “I don’t think there are enough hours in the day to tell you it all.”
“I have time,” the priest said. “Just as long as you’re finished by Sunday morning.”
Vincent laughed at that.
“Come on,” Father Alberto said, motioning toward the confessional. “We will do this right.”
The candle still flickered, and Vincent gazed at it before following him. The moment he sat down in the confessional, the words flooded from his lips. He spilled it all, every sinful thing he had done in his life—the men he had murdered, the places he had robbed, the people he had hurt. Every shameful act, every scornful word. Vincent didn’t stop until it was all out in the open.
“How do you feel?” Father Alberto asked when he finished.
How did he feel? He felt relief. He felt at ease. He felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, a weight no longer pressing on his chest. He felt freer, lighter. He felt forgiveness. He felt peace. “I feel like painting a door blue today.”
* * *
Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, Haven gazed through the large window at the world outside. It was close to dusk and dozens of kids wandered the street in costumes, stopping at houses with their colorful buckets for candy. She watched them, longing brewing inside her. They were all so young and carefree, ignorant to the dangers lurking a few feet from them. She had never known that type of innocence. When she was their age, the monsters in her life had been real.
“Hey, Twinkle Toes.”
She turned at the unexpected voice and saw Dominic in the doorway. He smiled as he walked forward, pulling an orange pumpkin-shaped lollipop from his pocket. He handed it to her, and Carmine groaned from his spot on the bed. He hadn’t left her side since going to his meeting with Salvatore days ago.
“She can barely keep soup down, and you’re giving her candy?”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “When did you become her guardian? She’s her own woman. Let her have a sucker. It won’t kill her.”
“Whatever,” Carmine said, standing. “I’ll get her something real to eat.”
“Yeah, you do that, Martha Stewart,” Dominic said. “Go knit her a scarf while you’re at it. Maybe some booties, too.”
“Vaffanculo,” Carmine hollered as he walked out.
Dominic turned to her. “That boy needs to chill before he bursts a blood vessel.”
“He’s trying to help,” she said. “Give him a break.”
“I know he’s trying to help, but that’s no excuse to deny someone candy on Halloween.”
“Thank you for it,” she said, pulling off the wrapper and sucking on it. “I didn’t realize it was Halloween until I saw the treatsters.”
He sat on the arm of the chair beside her and laughed. “They’re called trick-or-treaters.”
“Oh.” She looked back out at the kids in costumes. “I didn’t know, since I’ve never been. I didn’t have a normal childhood.”
“Normal is a relative term,” he said. “Besides, it’s never too late to trick-or-treat. Maybe we’ll go one of these years.”
She smiled, knowing Dominic would actually do it. “I’d like that.”
“It’s good to see you. I would’ve come sooner, but Tess made me promise to leave you alone.”
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to see friendly faces again.”
He nodded. “So, how are you holding up? Can’t be easy losing a month of your life.”
“I’m alive,” she said. “That’s more than I can say for some people.”
“Nicholas,” he said quietly. “He didn’t deserve what happened. He was a good friend, always had a joke for anyone who would listen.”
“He did.” Tears formed, guilt eating away at her. “It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about the last joke he told me. He was telling one when he was shot, but he never got to say the answer.”
“Yeah? What was the joke?”
“What’s black, white, and red all over?”
Dominic laughed. “Classic Nicholas. He’d give a different bullshit answer every time he told that joke, like a penguin with sunburn or a zebra with chicken pox. The real answer is a newspaper, though. It’s black and white, and read all over.”
“Oh.” She sat there for a moment before a light laugh escaped her lips. “I like that one.”
“It’s not stupid to think about it. He’d be honored to be remembered by his jokes,” he said, patting her head. “I’m glad you’re up and moving around. Everyone’s been worried, but I never doubted everything would turn out all right.”
“I wish I was as sure.”
“As hard as it is, you have to have hope. Remember I told you before? What my brother did sucks, but if I was in his shoes, I would’ve done the same thing, and I know you would, too. So maybe I’m not the only one who needs to give Carmine a break. I’m sure somehow you guys will figure things out, and it won’t be the ideal fairy tale, but when is life? Especially for the two of you.”
“You’re right.”
“Anyway, I should go.” Dominic stood and froze, clearing his throat. “Damn, that was quick, bro. You’re a regular ol’ Betty Crocker these days.”
“I didn’t make it, motherfucker.” Carmine handed Haven a bowl of vegetable soup. “I just poured it.”