Page 63 of KAI Tortured

I have to kiss her again. This woman has somehow crawled under my skin and is there to stay forever. Like an imprint on my soul.

“Baby girl, I can’t. I have something to do. Go get dressed and meet us in the living room.”

She frowns playfully and walks out with a stomp, which makes her even cuter.

I stand up and straighten myself out. I pull up my jeans, button up, then take my shirt from the floor and put it on, Orion watching me all the while.

“What?” I ask.

“You. Why didn’t you go with Maisy? You’ve talked about her every hour for the past three weeks.”

“I wanted to show you and Logan something. Come,” I say, and drag him along toward the living room.

Logan’s holding a coffee cup when we walk in. Sitting on the end of the couch, wearing beige slacks and a black polo shirt, reading the newspaper, he looks nothing like the mafia head that he is. He’s too sophisticated. I’d say he reminds me of a doctor, getting ready to go to work.

Upon seeing us, he nods at the box I left on the coffee table. “What’s with that?”

Orion takes a cup of coffee and sits in the chair facing Logan. He takes a long sip. “Good coffee,” he mumbles.

I make myself comfortable on the couch and set the box in my lap. “Something I found at home.” I pick up my cup from the table, take a sip, and put it back. “I wanna go through it.”

“Why here?” Logan asks, sounding uninterested.

Orion seems a little less so. “What’s inside?”

We’re relaxed, just like any family that meets on a Sunday morning, congregating in the shared living space, discussing the issues of the day.

“I remembered the other day, my father kept my school stuff and most of my drawings. But he also kept photos of me with my nannies.”

Orion and Logan freeze at the same time. They put down their cups and turn to me with a clear renewed interest in what I’m about to say.

“…And I found a picture,” I say after a pause.

“And you waited all this time to tell us?” There’s a threat in Orion’s dark voice.

“I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t wanna talk about her without being certain. I’m sorry.” I look at Logan. “I spent all this time going through my father’s old stuff, trying to find anything.”

Logan crooks his eyebrow at me.

“And I have,” I add, and pat the box in front of me. “I called every nanny ‘Mom,’ but her, I knew her name was Becca. She told me. She was different than the others. She was so loving. That’s why I remember her. I remember her helping me get dressed. We painted silly faces. She never made me eat what I didn’t like. And, she read to me. A lot.”

I look at the box in my lap, old and slightly worn. I lift the lid and brace myself for the flood of memories. Orion and Logan lean closer, obviously desperate to see a glimpse of our mother. I start going through a few photographs of birthdays, and holidays, not only of me, but of all the kids I grew up with. We were one big, happy family. Until we all grew up, and learned what being in the mob really means.

I locate the photograph I’ve already seen and hold it up. “Here I am, age four. I didn’t wanna wear my shoes that day, so she carried me in her arms all the way to kindergarten. Take a look. Our mother.”

I hand the photograph over to Orion. Logan moves beside him and perches on his armrest. Both of them stare at the picture.

“Are you sure that’s her?” Logan asks.

“It can’t be anyone else. You have her features, Logan.”

“I do?”

I nod, and resume sifting through the photographs.

“I found another one. Let me see... Clearly, it’s Thanksgiving, there’s the turkey on the table, and there she is. Holding a card. What does it say?” I squint, trying to read. “Does it… Does it say ‘I’m sorry’?”

Orion snatches it from my hand and checks it himself.

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