Sempre (Forever Series #1)(119)

The lawyer talked about naturalization and citizenship, but none of it made sense to her. He filled out paperwork as he spoke but hesitated on a document, glancing at Haven. “Miss, what’s your birthday?”

Her heart thumped wildly. “I’m not sure. Mama said it was in the fall.”

The man’s forehead creased as his eyes shifted to Michael. “Mr. Antonelli? Her date of birth?”

Michael grumbled but said nothing coherent as Corrado sighed exaggeratedly. “September tenth, 1988.”

The lawyer wrote it down, while Haven stared at Corrado. She wondered how he knew, the date running through her mind. September 10 . . . it was two weeks away.

When finished, the lawyer handed the paperwork to Corrado, who set it on the desk in front of Michael. “Sign it,” he demanded.

Michael begrudgingly signed before shifting the stack of papers in Haven’s direction. She could feel his eyes on her as he held out the pen. She took it without looking at him. Glancing through the papers, she spotted the blank lines beside where he’d signed. Her hand trembled as she scribbled her name beside his.

She wondered if he was surprised she could write. Take that, buddy.

“That’s it,” Corrado said. “It’s done.”

What was done? Haven wasn’t sure, but Michael didn’t appear happy about it.

* * *

Haven stepped onto the porch of the house, taking a deep breath of the scalding desert air. Her stomach felt queasy, her nerves running amuck. She needed space. She needed to be away from those people. She needed Carmine.

She called for him, but a loud commotion stopped her before she could step back inside. Startled by the disruption, Haven turned, her breath hitching when she saw her mama standing at the corner of the house, a bunch of metal tools laying in a pile at her feet.

Unlike Michael, she looked different. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and wrinkles lined her weary face. A dirty shirt swallowed her skeletal frame, a pair of shorts exposing startlingly thin legs. Her mama had always been skinny, but now she was a shell of her former self.

“Haven?”

The sound of her voice was like blistering iron striking Haven’s chest. Her feet frantically carried her to her mama, their bodies colliding as they both fell to the ground. Her mama’s embrace was strong despite her frail body, her hands traveling Haven’s back and hair as she clung to her. “My baby girl! You’re here!”

“Yes,” she choked out. “I’m here.”

Her mama pulled from the embrace. “Why are you here? You have to get away!”

“It’s okay,” Haven said. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

“You can’t be sure! You know how they are!”

Haven tried to smile through her tears. “I’m here to see you.”

Her hands explored Haven’s face. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Carmine brought me. He’s, uh . . . he’s my master’s son. I love him, Mama.”

“You love him?” She stared at her, blinking rapidly. “This is bad. You can never let him know!”

“Stop!” Her mama’s panic caused her anxiety to flare. “He already knows. He loves me, too.”

“How?” She shook her head. “Haven, he’s—”

“Wonderful, Mama,” she interrupted, knowing whatever she said would be wrong. “He treats me like a treasure, and he’s giving me a life . . . the kind of life you always wanted me to have.”

They sat on the ground for a few minutes, neither speaking after that was verbalized. Her mama’s panic lessened, the look Haven had seen growing up creeping back in.

Hope.

Eventually, Haven stood and helped her mama to her feet. “These are nice clothes,” her mama said, giving her a once-over. “I hope they don’t get mad you got them dirty.”

Haven blocked her mama’s hands as she tried to brush the dirt away. “It doesn’t matter. They’re different.”

Tears welled in her mama’s eyes at the statement, but the banging screen door stopped her from saying anything. Michael stepped onto the porch and looked at them. “Miranda.”

No good ever came from being singled out. Frenzied, her mama gathered the things she had dropped. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m supposed to be in the garden.”

Michael put his hand up to stop her, and Haven and her mama both flinched at his sudden movement. “Don’t interrupt me. The girl’s here with, uh . . . she’s our guest, so work can wait for now.”

Her mama gaped at her after Michael walked away. “Guest?”

Haven smiled. “I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?”

* * *

They spent the next few hours walking around the property as Haven told her mama about life in North Carolina, telling stories about celebrating Christmas, watching fireworks, and going to a dance. The more Haven spoke, the more her mama lit up. The life came back into her, little by little easing Haven’s guilt.

They were standing at the edge of the garden as her mama kicked around some dirt in her bare feet, pulling a few stray weeds. She couldn’t refrain from working even when told she didn’t have to. “The DeMarco family. That name sounds familiar.”

“They’ve been here before,” Haven said. “I used to think the woman was an angel.”