Corrado yanked him upright by his shirt and shoved him again, forcing him back to reality. “Get a grip, Carmine.”
A small wooden stool lay on the ground in front of him, tipped over in a pile of hay, while a pair of dirty bare feet swung a few inches above it. The frail, familiar form hung limp like a rag doll, affixed to a low rafter by a piece of thick rope.
Carmine lunged forward and grabbed Miranda’s legs as he yelled for help. Corrado yanked a pair of garden shears from the wall and snipped the rope. The body fell on Carmine, and he staggered a few steps, nearly losing his footing. Laying her on the ground, he checked for a pulse but couldn’t find one.
Katrina and Michael rushed in as Carmine did CPR, pounding on her chest and desperately forcing air into her lungs. Her body was still warm like she was asleep, but her wide eyes and ashen face told another story. Carmine could hear Katrina shouting and Michael’s rushed voice, but the sound of his blood pumping through his body drowned out their words.
Panic. All he could feel was panic.
Nothing Carmine did helped. Ribs cracked sickeningly under the force of his compressions, her body not absorbing any of his air. Miranda lay still on the ground, her heart no longer beating.
Corrado grabbed his shoulder. “She’s dead.”
Carmine shrugged him off. “No, she’s not! We have to save her!”
“It’s too late.”
“It’s not!” He hysterically pushed on her chest some more. “Why are you just standing there?”
“There’s nothing we can do.”
ne stood at the window, watching Haven out in the yard as time wound down, the sun dipping below the horizon and turning the sky the color of glowing coal.
He could feel Michael’s eyes boring into him from where he sat across the room, puffing on his third cigar. The stench of smoke made Carmine’s stomach turn. Michael wheezed when he breathed, like he was constantly struggling to speak, but not a word had come from him in more than two hours. Fucking coward.
Corrado strolled over to Carmine, both of them taking in the scene outside.
“You have to help her,” Carmine said, the thought of separating them tearing him up inside.
Corrado continued to stare straight ahead. “Do you remember when your grandfather died?”
“Vaguely,” he said. “I was only six.”
“I was outside your grandparents’ house after the funeral, and your mother sat down beside me. Your mother . . . she never liked to come near me, so for her to do it was a big deal.” He paused. “When she gathered the courage to speak, she said those exact words: You have to help her.”
Carmine gaped at him. “Haven?”
Corrado nodded. “I told your mother it wasn’t my place, but I should’ve tried. I owed her that much.”
“You owed her?”
“Yes, I did, but why is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is I never made it up to her.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna help?”
He cut his eyes at him. “I vouched for her, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did, but . . .” Carmine trailed off, glancing out at Haven in the yard. “What about her mom? Can’t you help her?”
“I can’t help everyone. There will always be someone, somewhere, who needs something.”
“I know, but this isn’t just someone,” Carmine said. “This is her family, like we’re family.”
Corrado’s stare was hard. “You’re playing the family card?”
“I, uh . . .” Carmine hesitated, but there was no point denying it. “Yes.”
“You’re certain you want to do that?”