Unless a woman attempted to kill him. Then the situation spoke for itself. It was almost absurd to even think that way, but given our lives, it had happened before.
The phone rang, and Scarlett looked at me before she went to answer it. I almost laughed. She had forgotten that we had a home phone here.
“Violet? Yes! I’m here. Can you hear me?”
New York had been our first stop after leaving Italy. The kids had had a long flight, and we all needed to hit the pavement for a while. Scarlett had some business to take care of there, and it gave us a chance to reconnect with Mitch, Violet, and the kids.
We had reconnected every so often over the years, for the launch of our book some years ago, occasional trips for business, or when they would visit Violet’s family in Greece. But each visit seemed a little more strained than the previous one.
The memory of our heart-to-heart was still felt fresh, even though it had been years ago. When I had asked Mitch to stay with us in Italy—he had refused me. And the ocean between our families had taken its toll. We still spoke over the years, but visits were slim, and time has a way of turning things upside down.
Our latest reunion was close to awkward.
Mitch had opened his own bike shop, and the men around him became his friends—Weekend Warriors was what they called themselves. Violet had found friendship in, of all places, the woman Mick had been planning to marry. Claudia. She had a daughter with Mick. Nicole. The kids were all close, all being related somehow.
On our end, I had grown closer to my brothers, Romeo most of all. Rocco and Dario were always too busy planning world domination with our father. Scarlett and Juliette, in turn, became closer than ever.
All the women had become close, to a certain degree, after they had worked through the initial jealously Luca had inadvertently caused.
Romeo and Juliette had flown to New York with us, and I didn’t miss the scalding looks Violet sent Juliette when she and Scarlett would move in tandem, used to the ebb and flow of things. Sometimes they would laugh at a private joke that Violet didn’t get.
Scarlett had her moments too. She’d almost broken a glass when Violet and Claudia told a story about a vacation they took in the Poconos—how they laughed and danced all night.
Mitch and I had our own issues, but I’d be damned if I acted pissy about them.
Since summer still ruled, and school didn’t start for another two months, Violet and Mitch decided to see if they could still find a home in our small town.
Rumors after Mick’s death had been rampant. The children suffered from forked tongues that spoke openly and freely about what a scandal it had been. Time has a way of moving on, though. Then again, they had left right after, and they were coming back married. A fact that would either have cooled after the years or would rekindle what had been simmering on the back burner.
My son made a noise that seemed to start in his throat but come from his nose, like a quiet growl, trying to remind me that he was there waiting but not.
Before I took him by the head and turned him away from antique Santa Claus, I let him sweat it out a bit. Then I sent him toward the front room, where his sister and Livia had just come through the door.
“Take him outside for a bit, my heart,” I told her in Italian. “Keep an eye on him.”
Mia scooped him up, kissing his cheeks. He lifted his shoulders, trying to hide his face, scrunching up his nose.
“Tell your brothers they have ten minutes and then I want them inside to wash up for dinner. And Marciano,” I called before Mia took him out the door. “Listen to your sister, ah? Or you will answer to me.”
“Si, Papà,” he said, his voice low.
Scarlett laughed, then told Violet she’d see them soon. She wished them a safe trip right before she hung up.
“That was Violet,” she said unnecessarily. “Their plane leaves first thing in the morning.”
I met her in the kitchen, standing with my back against the wall, watching her. Though she laughed and joked on the phone, something about her mood felt off. No matter how close we had gotten to other people, we were still the closest to each other. Closer than ever.
“Tell me, baby,” I said.
She tapped her fingers against a pad on the counter, one that still had notes from the last time we were here. Years ago.
Ribbons had been doodled around the edges, a number scribbled, and the date of an appointment next to it. The appointment that had confirmed we were pregnant with Mia. Not that she would have forgotten, but it was there, nonetheless. Proof that the time had existed.
“It’s just…” She lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. “A different world now.”
“Here,” I said.
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes staring down at the writing, fingers tracing the loops of swirling ribbons. “Nothing feels the same.”
