“His father died when he was just a little boy,” Ma says once the nurse leaves us alone, circling back to our conversation in the car. “And I swear, Matteo tried to take over as man of the house right then and there.”
I lean in, curious despite everything weighing on me. “What do you mean?”
“I came home from work one day and found him at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread out.” She laughs, soft and fond. “He’d circled three job listings in the classifieds. Looked at me very seriously and told me he was quitting school to get a job so he could take care of me.”
I can see it so clearly it hurts. A little Matteo, trying to shoulder the weight of their world.
“How old was he?”
“Six.” Ma’s smile is bittersweet. “He’s always been my serious boy. But I’ve noticed something different about him since you came along. A lightness. You bring out a softer side of him.”
“Do I?”
Ma studies my face.
“Of course, dear. He cares about you a great deal.”
I want to believe that. I really do. But the way he’s been pulling away makes me feel like I’m losing my grip on something I didn’t even know I had.
I glance around the treatment room. The nurses are busy with other patients. Nobody’s close enough to hear.
“Ma, you know our marriage isn’t exactly...” I pause, searching for the right words. “a love match.”
She chuckles, like I’ve told a joke. “Sure, it started that way. But are you saying you haven’t developed feelings?”
Heat floods my face. Ihavedeveloped feelings. Deep ones. The kind that wake me up at night wondering if he feels them too. But I can’t tell her that when I haven’t even told him, and the way things are going, I’m not sure I ever will.
“I don’t even know if the marriage will last long,” I say instead.
Her smile doesn’t waver. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
But she doesn’t understand what I’m really asking. She doesn’t know how cold his side of the bed has felt lately.
I press my palms flat against my thighs. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you think Matteo seems... distant lately?”
Ma considers this. The IV drips steadily, a soft clicking sound marking the seconds.
“Now that you mention it,” she says, “I saw him on Sunday, and he did seem a little withdrawn. But he was like that most of the time before you came along, so I didn’t think much of it.” Shepats my hand. “Don’t worry too much. I’m sure he’s just upset about Santino’s death.”
My spine goes rigid. “Someone died? Who’s Santino?”
For the first time since I’ve known her, Ma hesitates. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve before she answers.
“He was someone Matteo worked with.”
The wordworkedsits heavy between us. We both know what that means, even if we can’t say it in public.
I don’t know much about Matteo’s life with the mafia. I don’t ask, and he doesn’t offer. But I’ve heard him mention the men he’s close to in the organization. The way he talks about them, they’re more than colleagues. They’re family.
And now one of them is dead.
“When did this happen?”
“A few days ago. It hit all of them hard, but Matteo especially, since he was with him.” Ma’s voice softens. “He keeps things locked up inside. Always has. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them.”
