“Those look great,” Izzy said, her eye on the box Effie held. She took my hand and pulled me to her side, her gaze on Salvatore. “Thanks for dropping her off.”
“Oh, I can stay,” he said, taking me by the arm and pulling me to stand beside him. “I’d love to see where Lucia grew up.”
“Didn’t you have to make a call?” I reminded him, unsure where my loyalties should lie.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It can wait.”
“Luke came by to help. Luke, this is Salvatore Benedetti,” Izzy said, introducing them.
The men eyed each other, neither offering a hand. “We know each other,” Salvatore said.
I watched Luke, saw how he stood a little closer to my sister than he maybe should, remembered my conversation with Izzy yesterday.
“Mommy, can I have one already?” Effie asked.
My attention went to the little girl. I looked from her to Luke and back. But then Salvatore spoke, interrupting my thoughts.
“Want me to take the first bite, so you can be sure they’re not poisoned?” he asked Izzy in Italian while placing a hand on top of Effie’s head. I realized he’d spoken Italian so Effie wouldn’t understand.
My sister’s eyes hardened. “Go ahead, honey,” she said to Effie, her gaze never leaving Salvatore.
“Thanks!” Effie, oblivious to the tension, chose the largest éclair and began eating.
“Okay, let’s go inside and get started.” I tugged my arm free from his hold, took Salvatore’s arm, and dragged him with me into the house.
“Did you know Luke would be here?” he asked in a clipped tone.
“No. I’m just as surprised as you.” I walked into the living room which, even on a sunny day, was dark because of the wide-covered porch, and today, with the heavy clouds overhead, Izzy had turned on several lamps even though it was early in the day. I stopped just inside the house, the faint but familiar scent of vanilla flooding my mind with memories. I’d forgotten that scent. Mom’s favorite candles. Papa had always claimed to hate them, but he’d kept right on buying them even after she died. It was all too many years ago. An entire lifetime ago.
“Is there something going on between your sister and Luke?” Salvatore asked, his gaze on the pair outside, who stood having a heated discussion.
“They’re cousins. They’re just close, that’s all.” Was that all?
“I don’t like it, Lucia. And I don’t like you around him.”
I faced him. “He’s my cousin too. My parents are both dead now. I need all the family I can get.”
“Sometimes family is bad for you.”
I paused, trying to read what I saw in his eyes, but Salvatore had a talent for being unreadable. Feeling weak, I sat on the arm of the sofa and took a deep breath.
“Don’t take them away from me too,” I whispered without thinking, knowing he could do just that. What would happen then? Izzy would start a war. Hell, she and Luke were already planning it.
Salvatore came toward me. He took my hands and made me look at him. “I won’t take them away.”
“Promise it,” I said after a long moment.
“I promise.”
That was the second promise he’d made me.
Without another word, I led the way up to my bedroom, where Salvatore helped me pack up the things I wanted to keep, mostly books and old diaries I’d hidden. My bed stood where it had always been, just beneath one of the two windows. My fatherused to ask me how I could sleep there in the summer months—didn’t the light wake me up too early?—but I loved it. I looked out onto the backyard, where he’d put up a second swing like the one in the front yard.
I sat down while Salvatore taped up the last box. It was when I picked up the pillow that I found it. A letter addressed to me, the envelope sealed, the handwriting familiar.
My father’s.
I picked it up and stared at it. My father’s suicide note had been brief. He’d said he was sorry. He’d said he’d failed everyone he loved.
