I muttered a quick “I’m just going to fetch something from the…” to one of the men outside as I hauled ass to get away from him, from all of them. They were only doing their jobs, but I felt like the same woman I had been in that cage, confined with madness.
I hadn’t truly realized where I was headed until the lemon trees, long past picking, leaves curling against the bite in the air, came into view. A strong, sharp wind blew, making me curl into myself, like the leaves. The veil fluttered, the fuzzy slippers waving like grass against me.
Staring beyond the expanse of the land, my eyes suddenly felt dense and tired, burdened with sleepless nights, fatigue, and sorrow buried so deep that it clawed at my insides for breath.
“What are you doing, kid?”
I jumped, my hand coming to my chest with a resoundingwhap!
“Mitch!” I snapped, and then shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He pointed to the iron bench. I nodded, wiping at my eyes. Tears had started to leak, so warm against the coolness that clung to my skin. He handed me Brando’s (my) leather jacket.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a seat next to him, settling into the familiar warmth of the leather. The iron mimicked whatever the weather condition was. It was so cool that it burned like heat for the first couple of seconds, before my body temperature adjusted somewhat.
He grinned, the deep lines around his eyes never so apparent. “You look like you could be the Bride of Frankenstein with that thing on your head.”
I touched the top of my head. “I do, don’t I?” I grinned too, a tear slipping and falling onto my leg. “I feel like it lately.”
“Yeah, he has been a pain in the ass.” His eyes traveled the length of the landscape. “This is a beautiful spot. If I would’ve known about it, I would’ve come sooner and sat for a while. Seems like a good place to think.”
We both became quiet. The rustling of leaves overhead, the faint perfume of a lamented zesty lemon lingering in the air, and the whine of the wind when it sweeps low to the ground seemed to be the only proof that life moved on.
“What do you need council on, kid?”
“Council?” I laughed, letting the tears fall. No use in trying to hide them.
“I’m getting the hang of this Italianothing.”
“Are you making me an offer that I can refuse?”
He scoffed and then laughed. “Yeah, talk to me. You’ve been out of sorts lately. Are you missing Marzio? You seemed to have a connection with him.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I am.”
I had fallen in love with the old man, for whatever reason. Perhaps because I knew deep down that he had a good heart, only misguided. The tears fell faster, harder, at this thought. My vision became blurred, and it hurt to breathe. Mitch put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in.
“Is that all, kid?”
I shrugged, crying more, before I asked, “How did you feel when Violet had the boys?”
He didn’t answer right away. He patted my shoulder in an abstract way, staring beyond, thinking.
“An anchor,” he said, voice soft. “I purposely got Violet pregnant, Scarlett.”
I went to look at him, but he held me in place with a firm hold.
“She keeps everything close to her heart. Even though she’s easy enough to read, for me. But I did. I had to give her to my brother. It was the only way. I’m not good enough for her. Not stable enough. I knew he wasn’t playing it safe either, with her, and I panicked. I wanted to have her in a way that he didn’t. I wanted half of me and half of her together. Does that make me horrible?”
“I—”
“You don’t have to say it. It does. But the consequences never mattered much to me. I never thought that I’d live to be as old as I am. I just had a feeling—what do you call it, a premonition?—that I’d die young. I needed a weight, something to secure my place here. The good in me, that’s what I wanted to leave behind, though most of the time kids screw up anyway. They end up like us. But that’s our hope, as human beings, as parents. That they’ll take our good and make it even better.”
“Do you feel secure now?”
“Depends on the day. But, yeah, for the most part, I do.” He bent down and pulled a tuft of grass from its roots, putting the green part to his mouth. “My mother never really liked me, kid. You know how the story goes. Mick is the favorite. Nothing he does is wrong. If it is, it’s somehow my fault.” He smirked and chewed the grass harder. “For all that I lacked, though, I had stability. My mother woke us up at the same time every morning. We had to brush our teeth, comb our hair, and lunch would be packed. Then off to school we’d go. After, we’d have a snack or two, homework, some playing around, dinner, baths, and then bed. Repeat five times a week. It was a routine that a kid could find security in. Our old man was gone, but our mother was there.”
