What if it all goes wrong?
What if I never see that child?
“Tell him…”
I can’t finish. My breathing isn’t right. It’s doing this hitching thing. A sharp inhale, bubbling like milk at the end of a straw.
I’m crying? I’m fucking crying?
I haven’t cried since I was a kid and my father stood over me with knuckles he’d bloodied on my mother’s face. When I burst into tears, he was so disgusted with me he hit her again, and I willed myself to stop.
Even if I could blubber like a kid balling up a sticky fist and standing over a dropped cone, nothing would change. No woman has ever cried a single thing out of existence, and no man will improve upon what a woman’s perfected.
I clear my throat. Swallow the gunk. Shake it off.
“Dario? Are you all right?”
“You’ve surpassed me,” I say with one last croak, leaning my head against the side window. “I’m the one with nowhere to go. No skills I can use. In every way, you’re my superior. But I got it all wrong. I should have been learning from you.”
A loud clack erupts at the side of my head. I lean back to look out.
A cop had hit the window right where my head rested against it.
Asshole.
I start to roll down the window, but he waves his hand to get me moving. It’s rush hour. No standing. I nod to him, and he walks away to harass the guy in front of me.
“I have to go,” I say.
“I know.” She’s not talking about the phone call. “I’ll wait for you.”
Don’t.
Don’t wait.
Instead of telling her what to do, I tell her the only thing that matters.
“You don’t need me.”
“But I do if I want to be happy.”
She’s competent enough to protect herself and capable enough to live without me. One day she’ll even be happy.
“Three days, okay?”
“You’ll be with me before then.”
“I love you, prima. Never forget that.”
“Never.” She pauses. “Goodbye, Dario, my husband.”
“Good-bye, my wife.”
She hangs up.
CHAPTER 33
SARAH
I haven’t cried this hard or this long since my first night in the greenhouse.
The sobs are so profoundly physical, my mind removes itself from the body crunched on the bed. I’m an observer to this obscene show of weakness. I’m pathetic. Why? Am I crying for his danger or my future loss? For the family we’re about to make, but may never have? For the competence I have and can’t use?
None of it. All of it. The misery has no name or single purpose. It’s been building since Dario was taken, and now it’s too big to be contained inside me. It wants out. Even sadness wants to be free.
The sun rises. I bathe and dress in the company of aching eyes and a few leftover sniffles. I stare at the phone, waiting for him to be alive or dead.
When the double-beep for the front gate chimes, I assume it’s the woman who’s going to make my documents, so I open the gate, clear my throat, smooth my dress, and stand up straight.
“I can do this.”
In the mirror by the front door, I catch a glimpse of myself, red-eyed, gaunt, damp hair sticking to my collarbones. Standing sideways, I look for a bulge and fail to see what Dario saw. Maybe this was all a big mistake. I’m going to get a pregnancy test today. If he was wrong, I’m going to take those documents hot off the press and go down to St. Eustatius myself.
The black Suburban is pulling up when I come out to the front to greet the nameless woman and help with the suitcases. But when the door opens, a man gets out.
I back up. I didn’t bring a gun. I should have brought a gun.
A woman gets out of the passenger side. I recognize her but can’t place her. That’s bad. I’m not supposed to know the forger.
“Sarah!” She’s smiling.
If I say go, we go. Just say the word.
“Sarah Colonia.” I know the man’s accent.
I heard, but I didn’t believe.
I can’t stop staring at the woman.
Say a word.
“Violetta?” I say in disbelief. “From Armistice Night?”
“That’s me!” She embraces me.
I feel a hardness against my belly. I step back, holding her at arm’s length. “You’re pregnant.”
Five months, maybe. She must have been the last time I saw her—when she was ready to take on a yacht full of armed men to rescue me.
“Yup. I’m making a little DiLustro right here.”
“Congratulations!”
“Are the women finished?” Santino says with his arms crossed. “We have business, and you want to talk about babies.”
“Don’t mind him.” Violetta gives him an affectionate look. “He stopped smoking and he’s a little—”
“Where’s Lucari?” Santino interrupts.
Suddenly, I want to cry all over again.
“That was last night,” I say.
The pot of espresso is empty. I haven’t cried much through the entire story. Just enough to tuck a few balls of tissue between my saucer and cup. I skipped the part about me being pregnant. There’s still no proof I am, it’s not important to the story, and the real reason—it’s too painful to bring up.
“His head’s full of hen brains.” Santino flicks his Zippo open and closed.
I don’t know if he’s talking about Dario. If he is, he’s wrong.
“We should have come right away.” Violetta takes my hand. “When Junior told us.”
Junior called them? I’m not sure if that makes him trustworthy or treasonous.
“Codardo stupido,” Santino continues. “Coming back with his tail between his legs. We lost days.”
“You’re not saying that about Dario in his own house.” My fists are clenched. “He did everything he could.”
Santino tsks. “No, no. Remo.”
“He was sent home,” Violetta says.
“Like a baby.”
“And we came right away, but Precious Blood was empty. So Junior said you were here. But Dario’s gone, and now we know why.”
“I abandoned him.” I hold back new tears. “I let him go down there by himself against all of them while I sit here drinking coffee.” I push my cup away so hard it tips, spilling the last of the espresso across the white countertop.
Violetta and Santino look at each other in that way married people do, having a conversation without saying a word.
“I’m going to have a smoke.”
“Santi!” Violetta cries. “You said you threw them away.”
“I did.” He gets up. “I bought more.” He kisses the top of her head and goes out back for his cigarette.
“Okay, well. That’s going great.” She sighs and pushes away her cup without spilling. “Listen. We have a plane. That’s how we got here so quick. We can check on what’s going on down there.”
“Really?” I practically jump out of my seat.
“Well, yeah. But I can’t go personally because I promised not to do anything dangerous, being as I’m pregnant… which is turning out to be a big booboo on my part.”