When we get to the kitchen I confront him under the lights where I can see him better. His pupils are dilated.
“Are you taking anything?” I ask.
He frowns. “What do you mean?” He sniffs, licks his lips again.
“To dull the pain,” I tell him.
His face darkens. “What the fuck do you think? I killed a man today. Of course I’m going to get high.” He shoves past me to head upstairs.
“I’m just as much to blame as you,” I call after him. “I okayed your visit to the hospital!”
He spins around. “Don’t try to take this burden away from me, because you can’t. It’s mine alone to bear. Mine and Roberto’s. I won’t let any of you take it. I can’t do that to you.”
Then he dashes upstairs before I can say anything else and slams the door to his room behind him.
Luciano approaches from the family room. “I’ll talk to him.”
“No.” I grab Luciano. “Give him some space. He needs to be alone, I think. Check on Roberto, though.”
A few minutes later Luciano tells me that Roberto is drunk out of his mind on the beach, in about the same state as Matteo.
I nod. “They’ll have to work this out on their own. They’ll be better tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” Luciano says. “It doesn’t take much to become addicted to coke. Or alcohol.”
“No,” I agree. “But they’re strong. All the Morettis are. We’ll be there for each other.”
I wonder if it will be enough. Matteo was falling into the darkness right before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do about it.
4
Massimo
The next morning, when Roberto doesn’t join us for breakfast, I head out to the beach to check on him. I find him sitting on a towel in the sand next to shore. An empty bottle of wine lies next to him. He’s bawling his eyes out as he watches the sunrise. It’s a bit shocking, seeing the brother I love cry like a baby. All I want to do is reach out to him and hug him, but I hold back. I want to give him his space.
So instead I sit beside him on the sand. His head tilts toward me for a second before he returns his gaze to the sunrise.
I don’t say anything, just sit beside him, let him know I’m there.
Finally he says: “I was always a weepy drunk. I suppose now is the moment where I confess my feelings of inadequacy.”
I rest a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. I know he’s not drunk anymore. He would have finished that bottle the night before. Hung over, maybe, but not drunk.
“Do you think there’s a heaven?” Roberto asks me.
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Do you think momma and papa are there?” Roberto presses.
I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“What about the guy I killed?” Roberto asks.
I don’t answer him.
“Well, if there’s a heaven, that means there’s also a hell,” Roberto finishes. “Reserved for men like me.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you’ll never want for company,” I tell him. “Because I won’t let you go alone.”
