It didn’t help that the house was deathly silent—no laughter, no chatter, no ruckus upstairs. No yelling, no fighting, no nothing at all. Dominic had stormed out after Carmine left, and soon both of his boys would be hundreds of miles away. Vincent felt like he was alone, although Haven was technically still there. She was above him on the third floor, passing the hours like a ghost as she lurked around in a trance.
He wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t find the words.
Soon she would be gone, too. She would step out the front door within a matter of days and likely never look back. Vincent felt a sense of accomplishment deep in his chest, but pressing upon it was something heavier.
It was the knowledge that his work was still not done, and he was beginning to wonder if it ever would be.
Pulling out his cell phone, he squinted from the harsh bright light as he dialed the Chicago phone number. It rang twice before it was answered, the familiar voice on the line simply saying, “I’m listening.”
Vincent took a deep breath as his gaze settled on the notebook, Carlo’s menacing eyes staring back up at him.
“We need to talk.”
* * *
No one bothered Haven as she locked herself away on the third floor. The days passed quickly, one after another morphing into the next, as the winter clouds drifted away, the sun again making itself at home in the sky. She read the letter Carmine left countless times, the words stinging as much the twentieth time as they had the first. She sought out some hidden meaning, some little nugget of information that could explain how it was all a misunderstanding, bordering on delusional as she waited . . . and waited . . . for him to return.
But he didn’t.
She heard people moving around the house and could hear their voices on the floor below, but it wasn’t until the end of the week that someone finally came upstairs. Dia didn’t bother to knock, just walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. Haven remained in her seat near the window, staring out at the barren back yard.
“How long?” Haven asked without even looking at her, her voice scratchy from not speaking in days. “How long ago did he tell you he was leaving?”
“Christmas Eve,” Dia answered. “He called, asked if I’d watch out for you.”
Haven blinked rapidly. Christmas Eve? “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You know why,” Dia said. “He wouldn’t have been able to leave if he did. Walking out the front door was probably the hardest thing he’s ever done.”
“And all of you knew it was going to happen?” she asked, finally turning to her. The quirky Dia looked uncharacteristically subdued in jeans and an oversize sweater. Her hair was nearly completely blonde, her natural shade, the ends tinged a faded light pink. “Everyone knew Carmine was leaving and no one told me?”
Dia sighed. “He only told me. He didn’t want anyone to know because he didn’t want it to ruin Christmas, but I let it slip to my sister and she told Dominic. I don’t think anyone told the others. They just put the pieces together. His aunt Celia was the last to know.”
“Besides me,” Haven said bitterly, turning back away. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You go on,” Dia said. “You can come to Charlotte with me if you want, or we can find you a place around here. Whatever makes you happy.”
“He makes me happy,” she whispered.
“I know,” Dia said, “but it’ll get easier. In time it won’t hurt as bad, and eventually, the day will come when you’ll be ready to move on.”
Haven shook her head, brushing away a few wayward tears. “It may not hurt as much, but I’ll never move on.”
She stood up and glanced around at the room, taking in all of Carmine’s possessions. It all appeared to be exactly where it had been weeks, even months earlier when he’d still been there. “Did he take anything?”
“Clothes,” she said. “Money. He left you an envelope of cash, you know, to get you through. He said you could have anything else you wanted, too. Whatever’s left is going to be shipped to him in Chicago after . . .”
Dia trailed off as Haven walked over to the desk and started sorting through things, separating her belongings from Carmine’s. “After I leave,” she said, completing her friend’s thought.
“You don’t have to do that now,” Dia said. “Take as much time as you need. They said you’re welcome to stay here as a guest as long as you’d like.”
“Guest.” The word sounded so foreign on Haven’s tongue. Once upon a time she had been a slave within these very same walls, trapped like a prisoner behind bulletproof windows and locked doors. After that, she had almost felt at home, like she had finally found somewhere she belonged, somewhere she was wanted. But now she was a guest, a visitor passing through on her way to God knows where.
It’s strange how those things work. One minute you’re the servant, the next you’re Cinderella, and then . . . then the story is over and you’re forced to close the book.
“How am I going to make it?” she asked. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“None of us really know what we’re doing,” Dia replied. “We just go out there and do it and have faith it’ll turn out okay.”