Page 80 of Absolution

Twenty

Kerry

I flinch when the door slams closed so hard it seems the whole foundation shakes. I inhale and exhale ragged breaths, my heart slamming in my chest. My rage is mixed with a profound sorrow that I already know is going to eat me until there’s nothing left.

Christian can’t be anything to me, and yet he is my whole world. He’s the only one who makes me soar with a dark passion I never knew existed. He’s the father of my child, and despite what he is, there’s an obvious deep devotion to Cecilia there.

When the first raw sob tears through my throat, there’s nothing stopping the wave of cries that brings me to my knees. I curl up into a little ball on the thick rug and wail until there are no more tears.

The guilt suffocates me. It all my fault. Completely and fully my fault, from start to… end? No. There’s no end.

If I hadn’t talked to Salvatore that morning? If I hadn’t had such a vivid imagination when little David talked about the red he’d seen. If I hadn’t involved Chloe. If I hadn’t run.

If, if, if.

It’s a little past eight in the morning. Mom and Cecilia must be up. I want my mom. I want to be little again. I want all of this to just go away. It hurts too much.

My hands shake when I splash some water on my swollen face, then I grab my keys and phone and flee my empty house, echoing with memories of our night together. I’m not sure if enough hours have passed since I had my last drink, but I can’t wait. I have to be with people who are good, with people who love me with simple words and actions.

There’s not a lot of traffic early Sunday morning in San Francisco. Cabs. Garbage trucks. People who work odd hours. The occasional early bird tourist with out of state plates, driving too slowly, switching lanes erratically. And me, driving too fast, my vision blurred with tears, fleeing the devil. Stabs shoot through me when I think of my friend. Again and again. I need Cece’s warm little arms around me, her devotion and unconditional love. She’s my rock and the center of my world.

Gravel crunches under my tires as I park on Mom’s driveway. A curious head peeks out from behind the curtain in the kitchen window and I exhale with relief that they are awake. The door swings open and my mom’s confused face meets me, confusion turning into a worried frown as she takes in my disheveled appearance.

“Kerry! What happened?”

“I’ll explain,” I choke out. “Where is Cecilia?” I take a step into the hallway and walk toward the sound of the children’s show, coming from a room to the right. Dad’s old office, still with his large oak desk by the window, but otherwise turned into a guest room.

Cecilia looks up, a surprised look on her adorable little face, her dark eyes widening. Then she slithers off the bed and rushes toward me, throwing her arms around my legs. “Mommy!”

“Pumpkin!” I fall to my knees and hug her back, holding her tight, reveling in the feeling of her body tight against mine, her chest heaving, her powdery scent.

I’m surprised by the nickname. I’ve never called her that before. It’s almost as if Dad just channeled through me.

“Bears, Mommy!” She points to the TV. “Come!” She grabs my hand and I follow her, cozying up next to her on the sofa bed.

Mom stands with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the doorframe. She’s already dressed in an impeccable, wrinkle free blue dress, complete with flawless makeup and her hair perfectly in order. Very much my mom. Appearance.

I look a mess, and I know it.

“I’m making coffee,” she says and spins around.

“I’ll come in a few,” I half-shout at her disappearing back, then I hug my daughter tighter and try to let our love, or closeness, seep into my soul and chase away the worst of the thorns.

Finally I carefully free myself from her arms. She barely notices, engulfed in the show. Filled with trepidation, I make my way to Mom, who sits on the couch, two cups in front of her. I sit down next to her and lean my head on her shoulder.

“Mom, I’m not well. It’s not good.”

“I can tell, hon. What’s happened to you? Are you in trouble?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you want to tell me? Can I do something?”

“Yes, and no.”

I don’t give her names, but I tell her almost everything. I don’t mention mafia, I don’t mention the existence of Salvatore, only Christian. I don’t tell her he almost killed me, only that we met, made Cecilia, that I thought we had something, how he stalked me and finally found me. I tell her about his sacrifice, his devotion, and now his obsession. I tell her how much it hurts.

“You have to go to the police, Kerry!”

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