She holds my gaze, scanning for I-don’t-even-know what. Seriousness. Hysteria. Truth. Maybe the competence I crave.
She reaches into her jacket. I expect her to take out a phone so she can call Santino and warn him. Instead, she quietly unsnaps her holster and slides out her gun. She presses it into my hand, then puts her finger to her lips.
“Go get our men,” she whispers, then cries, “What was that?”
“What?” Carlo turns to us. He’s a thin man with fat cheeks and hard green eyes.
“I heard something.”
“Like a crack,” I add. “Or a pop.”
“I’m going to check it out.” In a split second, Violetta’s in the road, leaving an open car door behind her.
“Signora!” Carlo jumps out, and I’m alone. Through the back window, Violetta’s running to investigate a nonexistent noise with Carlo chasing after.
He’s going to catch her in a few seconds. That’s how long I have.
I get out. The sun is brighter and the sounds are louder. In one last glance back, I see Carlo catching up to Violetta. She reprimands him in Italian, maneuvering herself so that if he wants to face her, his back is to me.
One day, I’ll be like her. Today, I need the help.
Gun pointed at the sky, hopeful I won’t have to shoot it in anyone’s direction, I run through the open gate and into Eden.
The sky seems bluer. The birdsong, more melodic. There are flowers everywhere. Either side of the drive is bordered with blooming bushes surrounding a garden.
I pass an empty golf cart in the middle of the stone drive. There’s no one in sight. No visitors or tourists. No staff. Following the curve of the road, I turn and find a circular drive around a gurgling fountain, in front of a majestic white building with a red tile roof. The name of the resort is painted onto the pristine white stucco, and on the patio that runs the width of the building, stands a woman.
I hold the gun up with both hands, aiming at her while I step closer.
“Who are you?” I call. She’s in her forties maybe, wearing gray trousers and a white shirt. It’s an outfit you can deny is a uniform.
“You don’t have to be afraid.” Her voice is soothing and calm, yet it carries across the distance between us, skirting the splash of the fountain and the chirping of the birds. I hear it as if it’s right at my ear.
“Where’s Dario Lucari?” I’m next to the fountain now. I never appreciated how loud moving water can be. I go closer.
“You’ll see him.” Her hands are still folded in front of her, and her smile is pressed tight—as if she’s trying to control it.
Led by the pistol, I can see her face between the steel borders of the gun site. She has hazel eyes and a high forehead. Her dark hair is cut short, but a few longer strands flutter across her eyebrows. When she brushes them away, her mouth relaxes. She has full lips with a chin that reminds me of Massimo’s, and when she drops her hands, she rubs her palms on her trousers as if they’re damp.
“Where is he?” I shout to crowd out the dawning of an overwhelming fact.
“Come closer.”
I know that voice.
Stopping at the base of the porch, I point the gun at her. She’s two steps above me, head tilted down to meet my gaze.
I may have a gun, but I am disarmed. I’m a child again, looking up at authority.
My hands drop to my sides. Her uncontrolled smile is back, but without the limits of a gun site clouding my vision, I see her whole. It’s Massimo’s chin. My eyes and lips. It’s her voice reading a book about a baby bird, and her kindness teaching me how to be competent in a world where my agency would be limited.
I choke back a sob. She comes down a step and puts her hand on my shoulder. I can’t stand the humanity of her touch without asking her the question at the front of my mind.
“Are you my mother?”
“Sarah…”
“Tell me. Are you my mother?”
She comes down another step, still taller but close enough to meet my eyes at the same level.
“Yes.” She puts her other hand on my shoulder. “I am your mother.”
I wrap my arm around her, letting the one with the gun in it drop to my side. She has my mother’s smell of Ivory soap and crushed flowers. She shushes me the way my mother did, kissing my head and stroking my back.
All I had of her was a silly garter and a few memories… but this was what I needed.
“They told me you were dead.”
“I know.”
“Then I found the severance papers, and they said you were…”
Hollowed. I can’t say it.
“I am sorry you found out that way.”
Was she here the whole time? Did Dario know?
Dario.
“Dario told me he didn’t know where you were.”
“Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry.”
“He lied to me.”
“I made him promise not to tell you. I couldn’t bear you knowing I turned my back on you.”
“I would have come for you.” I pull away to look at her. “I would have found you. But I came for Dario.”
“Come inside.” She backs up the steps and holds out her hand. “Come on.”
I take her hand and let her lead me into a huge lobby. The floor is laid with white, honeycomb-shaped marble pieces, and the orange chairs and couches are set for small groups to gather. A wall of windows overlooks a crystal clear beach.
Besides us, this beautiful room doesn’t have a soul in it. There are no guests in the seats and no one’s working behind the counter marked “Customer Service.”
This is Rosemarie. How can I help you?
“Are they gone?” I ask. My mother, Mary Ballardo—I can’t believe she’s here—leads me to a couch and sits next to me. “Did they get taken away?”
“The women of the Colonia?”
“Yes.” The gun feels too heavy now. I put it on the table. “And Dario. Where is he?”
She sighs, looks away, then back at me. “I thought I’d know where to start.”
“Just answer the question, Mom!” Calling her Mom is the weirdest and most natural thing I’ve ever done.
“Five days ago, we got a message that we were in danger. We had to leave immediately.”
“Five days?” I try to calculate what was happening in New York five days ago, but that time with my people is a jumble of vivid memories at murky intervals. “But Rosemarie answered the phone two days ago.”
“She’d set up call forwarding. She’s a bit of a workaholic. After that call, Willa put an end to anyone answering a forwarded call until we were done… um… choofing off I think they were calling it.”
I spit a laugh at how silly it sounds, and the relief that Connor somehow got my note.
“Choofing off is leaving,” I say, remembering Dario telling me what to say. He was protecting his women. When he traded all of them for me, he still had a sliver of hope I’d delivered the note.
“Yes. Everyone fled to safety.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“I did, but I couldn’t stay away. I snuck back here. They’ll be mad about it when they get back. But I had to see you and Massimo.” She looks at her lap. I know this posture, having kept it so many times when I was hesitant or ashamed. “And now I have.”