Still holding the switchblade, it occurs to me there might be better things to discover here. Nico will be Capo soon, and he must know plenty about everyone connected to the Trio here. Could there be something in his room that would help me find my sister?
Snooping feels wrong but so is pocketing his knife. I open the top drawer of his bureau. Blushing furiously over the contents, I quickly close it again.
I study the painting above Nico’s bed next, a scene of several little waterfalls falling over sharp rocks in a lonely wood. I’m fascinated by the swirling streaks of walnut, marigold, indigo and moss. I note the title –Sorrow’s Cascade.How appropriately gloomy. I wonder if he chose it or his wife did.
A small cry from the nursery reminds me I’m not here for sightseeing, and I hurry back. By the time I reach the doorway, both babies are awake and screaming their little heads off. I have two hands and two mouths that want to be fed. Getting the bottles ready takes five times as long as it does when I have Zeta’s help. Wrangling the tandem baby sling on my own isn’t easy either.
Once I manage to settle into the wide-armed rocking chair with them, their little faces are tear-streaked, my pulse is pounding, my armpits are sweaty, and my bladder is growing more uncomfortable by the second, but I can do this.I think.
***
Unlike the afternoons I wiled away beneath the peach trees on our farm watching lambs play, time moves at a glacial pace when I’mentertaining two fussy babies.“What do you want from me?”I whimper when Amadeo spits his pacifier out and shrieks again.
Two bottles.
Two diaper changes.
Two babies spitting up immediately afterwards as if they planned it, the little demons.
They’re clean now, but I have no clothes to change into. My soiled shirt stinks, my braid has come undone, and I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown as I keep checking the time. How long did Zeta say that appointment would take?
They hate the rocking chair if there’s no bottle involved.
They hate their cribs.
They hate the storybook I read.
They hate hearing about the mean girls in my class.
They quieted for a couple of minutes when I placed them on the soft duvet covering their father’s massive bed, and I was tempted to crawl under it and hide forever until they decided they hated it there, too.
However, they do like the enclosed garden when we step outside. My bladder is still full, but the sun is shining, and the breeze is pleasant. I could have put them in their stroller and taken a walk around the block, but Zeta said to stay here, and memories of my abduction quickly turn me off to that idea anyway.
Propping the patio door open, I carry a quilt outside with us, spreading it out on a fine grassy patch while the babies watch with curious eyes. Then, I take a seat, freeing them from the sling and giving them the tummy time Zeta’s always recommending.
Tugging off my shoes and socks, I relish the feel of the soft grass on my bare feet. Lucia likes having her feet free, too, so I tug off hersocks, kissing her little toes. Amadeo looks like he’s trying to swim while lifting his head and moving his arms and legs back and forth. And Lucia in her pale green jammies reminds me of a turtle stretching her neck.
“What a little angel,”I coo when she gifts me with a precious smile… and rips an unholy fart. I’m on the verge of gagging from the stench when Amadeo makes a similar horrifying noise. “Oh.Oh Dio.”
Realizing we’ll have to return to the nursery for another diaper change, I carry the babies inside, laying them on the playmat in the sitting room before dashing out to grab the quilt.
I’ve barely stepped onto the grass when the patio door swings shut behind me.“Oh Dio!”
I can just make out the babies squirming on their playmat through the frosted glass as I frantically yank on the doorknob. Locked.Merda!
What am I going to do? I don’t think I’m capable of picking the lock with the knife I took. Should I climb over the garden wall and go find the guard parked out front? Oof, Nico will hear of that. I shiver, remembering the threat he made while showing me his scary knife.
My heart nearly stops the next instant when I see two tall figures moving around inside through the frosted glass. Oh no! Someone has broken in! They’re going to steal the children!
“Don’t touch them!”I shout in Italian through the glass. One of the men leans down to pick them up, and I scream again.“I will boil you alive if you hurt them!”
Wild with panic, I pick up a patio chair, flinging it at the door and shattering the frosted glass panel. An alarm sounds. That will draw the guard out front into the house, but will he be quick enough? Rammingmy hand through so I may twist the knob from the inside, a shard of broken glass slices me. I cry out in pain, but I can’t let them take the babies.
Just as the knob turns, one of the dark figures grabs my wrist with his hand. A tanned and veiny hand. A crisp dress shirt, silver cufflinks and a wedding band. Through the broken pane I finally get a good look at the home invader. The invader who’s wearing a familiar scowl on his scarred face – Nico.Merda.
7
Nico
