He scrambled, grabbing the ingredients and shoving them back in the pan, as footsteps quickly descended the stairs. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the chicken just as Haven walked back in.
She gasped, freezing in the doorway as she surveyed the mess.
“Five-second rule?” he suggested, holding the chicken up by its leg.
“When’s the last time the floor was washed?”
“Does this count?” he asked, motioning toward the puddles.
“No.”
“Then, uh . . .” He paused, calculating. “. . . Eleven years ago when my mother lived here.”
She just stared at him, blinking. He dropped the chicken, letting it hit the floor with a splat, and reached into his pocket for his phone. He dialed Celia’s number and waited as it rang. “Yeah, uh, can we reschedule dinner for tomorrow night? Great. Thanks.”
He hung up with a sigh and looked over at Haven. “How do you feel about Chinese?”
“Chinese is great,” she said, sliding her eyes to the chicken on the floor. “Salmonella? Not so much.”
* * *
The church pew felt like steel beneath Carmine, his entire bottom half numb and tingling. Restless, he tapped his foot, trying to pay attention to the service, but it all sounded like blah, blah, blah to him.
“Why’s he fidgeting?” Gia asked, her voice a mock whisper that seemed to echo through the church. Worshipers in the surrounding rows turned to look, scowling. “He looks like he’s possessed! There’s a demon in that boy!”
Celia quietly scolded her mother while Corrado let out a low, bitter laugh. “It’s called addiction. He hasn’t had a drink today.”
Gia sneered. “Don’t let him take communion then. He’ll steal all the wine.”
Carmine rolled his eyes, relaxing back into the seat, but his leg steadily bounced as Haven grabbed his hand. What made him decide to tag along for Sunday Mass, he wasn’t sure, but he certainly regretted it now. Sweat formed along his brow as anxiety crept through his veins, bubbling up under the surface of his flushed skin.
The rest of the service dragged by slowly. He sat in the pew during communion, ignoring the snide comments that slipped from his grandmother’s lips as she moved past to join the procession to the altar. Haven remained right beside him, silently absorbing everything, her eyes wide with innocent fascination.
She had never been inside a church before.
After Mass ended, Carmine pulled Haven into the main aisle. He made it only a few steps before stopping, hesitating as he glanced at her. “Can you ride home with Celia and Corrado?”
Her brow furrowed with confusion, but she nodded, not questioning him. He gave her a quick kiss, making sure they would get her home safely, before he headed toward the front of the church. Father Alberto stood at the altar, talking to a few parishioners. He noticed Carmine’s presence and excused himself, making his way over to him. “Ah, Mr. DeMarco, do you need to use my telephone again?”
Carmine chuckled, pulling out his cell phone. “No, I’m covered today.”
“A ride?”
He pulled out his keys. “All set there, too.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“I was hoping we could talk.”
Father Alberto smiled. “Absolutely.”
The priest led Carmine into the back office, the same one the two of them had sat in before, and motioned for him to take a seat. Carmine nervously ran his hand through his hair as he sat down, remaining quiet as the priest settled into his chair.
“It’s good to see you,” Father Alberto said. “I wanted to catch you at the cemetery after Vincenzo’s funeral, but you were preoccupied with the young woman. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Yeah, that’s Haven. She, uh . . . she’s . . .”
“I know who she is,” Father Alberto said. “I’ve heard quite a bit about her.”