“It’s really true,” she whispered when they were gone, and I turned back to her. “You’re home...and with Ethan Callahan?”
I stared as she shook and hung her head.
“Calliope...how? You know what those people—”
“Twenty years,” I interrupted her, stepping from the pews into the center aisle toward her. “It’s been twenty years since we’ve spoken, Mother. And the first thing you think to say is It’s really true and Calliope...how?”
Her brown eyes widened in surprise. “You’re right. It’s been a long time. How are you?”
“Well, now that you are not beating me with cable cords, pretty good, I guess.” I laughed, but, she did not find it as humorous.
Instead, her hands trembled, her face bunched up in pain, and I assumed she also remembered our past. “Calliope…I…I…”
“You’re sorry?” I finished for her.
“Yes. So sorry—”
“I don’t forgive you,” I answered, and she lifted her head to meet my gaze again. The shock in it was also funny, but I didn’t laugh. And it took her a second to collect herself. I allowed her to do so.
“Right. Of course. It was…I was…I was sick, Calliope. But I’m different now—”
“I do not care, Mother,” I replied, stepping closer to her. Reaching up, I brushed her bangs from her face. “I also do not like this hairstyle on you.”
She snickered. “Bellarosa did it for me.”
“That explains that. Bellarosa does not really have the best taste,” I replied with a laugh, dropping my hand, but she grabbed it, holding it in place.
Her eyes shined with hope and joy. “You don’t have to forgive me. I understand. But at least give me a chance to make up for so much lost time. You can come home. We can have dinner, catch up—”
“I am all caught up, Mother,” I cut in. “Over the years, I’ve heard so much about you. How gracious you are. How big your heart is. How devoted to the faith you are. Always at church, always ready to help despite being such a socialite. You go to Mass on Saturday and Sunday and host a women’s fellowship group.” I giggled, shaking my head. “Camilla Affini, the patron saint of good works.”
“It’s my faith that saved me. It’s the reason why I’m different now.”
“Is it? That’s nice. Do you know what first comes to mind when I see a cross?” I glanced over my shoulder, where at the altar, a golden cross now stood, directly under the mural of Christ. “I remember how you took the wooden cross off the wall and threw it at my skull. I still have a dent there—”
“Calliope!”
At her raised voice, my eyes widened. “Yes?”
Shaking, she shook her head. “Let’s not rehash the past here. Let—”
“Why?” I glanced around at the now-empty church. “What better place to face your sins than in church?”
“I’ve already done that—”
“No, Camilla, you have hidden and cloaked yourself in fake benevolence,” I replied. “I would ask you who you think you are fooling, but the answer is as clear as it has always been. You are fooling yourself.”
“I—”
“No,” I held up my finger to silence her. “I interrupt you; you do not interrupt me. Why? Because whatever forgiveness you think you have gotten from God, you have not gotten from me. And I am what counts here. So, get on your knees.”
“W—What?” She gasped, her mouth agape. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dino, Italo, please help my mother see how serious I am,” I called out.
Not a second later, they came from the ambry, the niche in the wall behind the altar; that the church used for storage. Struggling in Dino’s arms was Avena, her short black hair a scattered mess, her feet bare, and face pale. In her mouth was what looked to be a sock. She was still in her nightgown from the night before. While in Italo’s hands, Bellarosa was in a mini dress, her box-blond, platinum hair was black at the root, her makeup was smeared as tears came from her brown eyes, and even from here, I could smell the alcohol coming off her. I wondered what club he had picked her sorry ass up from.
“Calliope! What is this?” my mother screamed as she moved to run toward them, but I stepped in her path.