Sempre (Forever Series #1)(124)
He shushed her, and she could hear his voice tremble as he started to cry. “I’m sorry, hummingbird, but she isn’t coming back.”
His tears shattered what was left of her resolve. Uncontrollable sobs ripped from her as she wailed on him, screaming that he didn’t know anything. Balling her hands into fists, she repeatedly hit him in the back. He took every blow in stride, never once loosening his grip.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did everything I could, but she’s f**king gone.”
Her panic surged. She chanted the word no and screamed incoherently, telling him he needed to go make it right. She blamed him, because he wasn’t giving her an explanation, his reassuring words only stinging more. He ignored his ringing phone, not moving an inch as he took everything she threw at him, every harsh word and painful scream.
Every “I hate you” echoing from her chest was followed by an “I love you” from his lips. Every time she begged him to let go, he told her he would be there forever. His hold was strong, his arms familiar, but it did nothing to take away her pain.
“She didn’t suffer,” he whispered. “It was her choice.”
* * *
Haven barely said a thing for days. Carmine explained to her what happened, told her what he knew, but she didn’t react. She said nothing. They stayed in the motel in California for the rest of the week, but by the time the weekend rolled around, they had to go. The Mafia had departed and his father was still alive, having diffused another situation. They had only come to clean out the basement, worried about the police attention centered on Vincent.
The drive was strained without conversation. Carmine stopped frequently during the day to take breaks. By the time the weekend came to a close, they were pulling back into the city limits of Durante. He parked beside his father’s Mercedes when they reached the house, and he climbed out, stretching. Haven went straight inside, not bothering to wait for him. He followed her, running into his father the moment he stepped into the foyer.
Vincent eyed them cautiously. “Hey, kids.”
“Hey,” Carmine said.
“Dr. DeMarco,” Haven said. “May I be excused, sir?”
“Of course, dolcezza. You don’t have to ask.”
Carmine frowned, watching as she disappeared up the stairs. “I guess I’m going to bed.”
His father sighed. “Take it one day at a time, Carmine.”
42
Bookcases towered above Haven like skyscrapers. Strolling among the stacks, she occasionally pulled out a book and surveyed the front cover before skimming the description on the back.
They’d been back in Durante for a few days, just in time for Carmine’s senior year of school. He immersed himself in class and football, leaving Haven with days to fill on her own. She cooked and cleaned, but she still had hours left over with nothing to do and no one to talk to.
Needing something to distract her, she turned to the library, hoping to get lost in a different world, to be absorbed in a fictional time and place, the life of someone else. She wanted to forget about everything so she wasn’t constantly plagued with thoughts of her mama’s last moments. She found herself wondering what she’d been thinking: Had she been scared? Had she been in pain? Was there ever a moment that she second-guessed her decision?
The feeling of failure nagged Haven. She ran that day in Blackburn because she had been desperate to save her mama, and she hadn’t forgotten that. But now it was too late. Her mama was gone.
Haven ran her fingers along the spines of some books, and came across one without a name. She pulled out the leather-bound book and a piece of paper tumbled to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it, her brow furrowing when she saw it was a letter.
Walking to the chair by the window, she sat with the book in her lap as she scanned the withering note.
10/08/97
Mrs. DeMarco,
After careful consideration, I’ve decided I can no longer be a part of this investigation. I took the case without knowing the details, and had I known them at the time, I would have declined. For all intents and purposes, Haven Antonelli does not exist, and I implore you to forget you ever encountered her. Enclosed you’ll find a full refund of my fees. Consider our contract severed, and I request you no longer contact me concerning this.
Arthur L. Brannigan
Private Investigator
Stunned, Haven scanned the paper a second time, certain she had to have misread, as pieces of the puzzle filled in to expose a hidden picture that left her speechless. Eyes brimming with tears, her stomach dropped when she realized the date on the top of the paper.
October 8, 1997—a few days before Maura DeMarco had been killed.
* * *
Vincent tapped his pen against his desk, surrounded by mounds of files. Work piled up, but he couldn’t focus on it. His attention kept wandering, his thoughts and eyes drifting toward the live feed playing on the screen beside him.
It had been two weeks since the kids had returned from Blackburn, and the days had proven to be some of the longest of Vincent’s life. The atmosphere in the house was tense, the silence that followed both of them unsettling. He sat behind his desk every night and watched his son pace the hallway just feet from the office door, his hands assaulting his hair as he berated himself. Vincent couldn’t hear him, but he knew where his thoughts were.
Vincent pressed a few buttons on the computer and the screen changed to a view of the library. He spotted the girl, curled up in the chair by the window with a book on her lap. It was the same place she had been every night while his son paced—sitting in the darkness and staring out into the yard. She withdrew further and further as time went on, but Vincent was too exhausted to mediate.