“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“To get to the other side, of course.” She smiled at that one, and he threw up his hands. “Well, damn. You’ve never heard that before?”

“No.”

“You need more comedy in your life. Carmine drained you of a sense of humor.”

Before she could say anything, he disappeared under the water, and a splash flew in her direction. He resurfaced, and she groaned. “That wasn’t funny.”

Nicholas stepped out of the lake and grabbed his shirt. “Apparently nothing I say or do is.”

Haven hesitated but followed behind, not wanting to loiter in the water alone. They strolled over to the lounge chairs. She grabbed a towel while he plopped his wet body down.

“So, you guys really are in love? It’s not bullshit?”

“We are.”

Nicholas grabbed Tess’s purse. Haven watched in shock as he rooted around in it. He pulled out a pen and an old receipt, scribbling something on the back of it.

“Here’s my number,” he said, holding it out to her. “You call me if you ever need anything. I promise to say nothing bad about your boyfriend . . . not a lot, anyway.”

She took it and read the number. 555–0121. “Uh, okay.”

“It’s not a crime to have people to talk to,” he added, standing. “I’ll catch you later, Haven.”

Once again, at seven in the morning, Haven awoke to Dominic’s insistent pounding. She pulled herself out of bed and trudged over to the door, finding him in the hallway with a grin. “Hey, Twinkle Toes. I’m proud you remembered your pajamas this time.”

The week passed in a repetitious haze, mornings at the diner and afternoons with Dominic and Tess. Dia would occasionally stop by to play a game or watch television, and evenings were Haven’s to do as she pleased. She spent them in the library, reading under the moonlight. She studied relentlessly for the GED, doing practice tests Carmine had printed out for her.

Little cooking or cleaning got done, except for the occasional sandwich at dinner or a load of dishes. She felt bad slacking off on her duties, but whenever she attempted to clean, Dominic pulled her away. She was afraid of what Dr. DeMarco would think, but he didn’t seem to notice.

It was the afternoon of the sixth day when Haven sat in the family room with Dominic, staring at the clock on the wall. She counted the seconds as they ticked by, each one bringing her closer to Carmine’s return.

“Fuck!”

Pain shot through Carmine’s wrist as his fingers numbed. He shook his hand, trying to get rid of the tingling, as the coach bellowed, “Shake it off, DeMarco!”

Carmine groaned, flexing his fingers. What did it look like he was doing?

To say he had had a bad week would have been the understatement of the century. Carmine was out of shape, his wrist was sore, and half the team harbored resentment for him for one reason or another. All he wanted to do was play football and go back home, but karma had finally caught up with him.

And karma was a bigger bitch than Tess Harper.

The last day of camp had arrived, and Coach Woods had been railing on him since he stepped onto the field that morning. Carmine was close to giving them all the middle finger and strutting away, his irritation to the point of no return.

The whistle blew, and Carmine lined up to grab the ball. Taking a few steps back, he looked for the wide receiver and snapped the ball, grinning at the perfect spiral as it soared through the air.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, DeMarco,” Coach Woods said. “There’s no room for your ego on the field.”

Mistake after mistake was made in their scrimmage, balls fumbled and throws missed more times than Carmine could count. He got sacked more than once, pain radiating through his back as Coach Woods berated them for their incompetence. After the final whistle blew, signifying the end of camp, the coach called Carmine’s name and clapped him on the shoulder. “You played well today.”

Carmine just stood there. He hadn’t expected to hear those words.

“I’m hard on you because you have potential,” the coach said. “It might not be appropriate for me to say this, but the UNC coaches were watching and expressed some interest in you.”

His mouth dropped open. “No shit?”

Instead of chastising him for cursing, the coach laughed. “Yes, but they don’t like hotheads, DeMarco. No one does.”

It was late evening when Carmine reached Durante. He pulled up in front of the house and climbed out, stretching his sore back when the front door swung open. Haven came toward him, leaping off the porch. Their bodies collided, and Carmine stumbled as she buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as she looked at him adoringly, a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Your face,” she said, running her fingers gently across a bruise on his cheek. “What happened?”

He smirked. “I fell.”

Rolling her eyes, she reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, her hands passionately locking in his hair. When she pulled away for air, Carmine laughed. “If I’m gonna be greeted like that, maybe I should go away more often.”

“No way! You’re not allowed!”

“Okay, then.” He pulled her to him tightly. “I fucking missed you, hummingbird.”

“I missed you, too.”

Haven grabbed his arm and tugged, pulling him inside. Carmine bypassed his father’s office and his brother’s bedroom, foregoing greetings for the time being. “Did you do anything exciting while I was gone?” he asked as they settled into his room.

She shrugged. “Mostly just normal stuff.”

Normal stuff. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d hear those words from her.

Sitting on the bed, Carmine rubbed his aching back as Haven eyed him suspiciously. She pushed his hand out of the way to massage him, and he moaned involuntarily at her touch. “You’re too good to me, tesoro.”

“You always say that, but it’s not like it’s agonizing to touch you,” she said. “So did you get sackled or something?”

He laughed. “Sackled?”

“Isn’t that what it’s called when you get knocked down?”

“When everyone else gets knocked down, it’s a tackle. When I do, it’s a sack. Two different things.” He let out a moan as she rubbed his sore muscles. “I had my ass kicked out there this week, but I impressed some of the coaches. They mentioned me playing after high school. I don’t know if I wanna go to school here, but it’s nice to know the option’s there.”

She continued working on his back. “Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you wanna go,” he said. “I’m gonna leave that up to you.”

38

Haven stood off to the side and fought back the tears welling in her eyes. Everyone gathered in the foyer and chatted animatedly, the excitement palpable as Dominic’s booming laughter rang out above it all, infiltrating Haven’s ears and causing her grip to falter.

It was a Sunday afternoon at the end of August. Summer was coming to an end when, to Haven, it felt like it had just begun. The past month and a half had been filled with activity: art galleries, museums, aquariums, and zoos. She drove and read, laughed and played, loved and learned, and in the bustle of life, everything else faded away.

Carmine occasionally had football practice and took her along. There were others there—family, friends, and girlfriends—gathered in groups, but Haven sat off to the side on the bleachers, watching Carmine by herself. He was confident and aggressive on the field, and she told him he made her proud, but he shrugged it off as if it weren’t a big deal. It was, though, because it was his future . . . their future.

A future that suddenly seemed a bit more real.

Dominic’s bags were packed and stuffed into the Mercedes out front. He and Tess were boarding a plane in a few hours, and Dr. DeMarco was flying out to help them settle in. They were excited about the changes their lives were undertaking, but Haven dreaded saying good-bye. She had looked up the University of Notre Dame on a map with Carmine’s help, and while only a few inches separated Indiana from Durante, she knew those inches might as well be a lifetime.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dr. DeMarco said. “We don’t want to miss our flight.”

Haven’s feet left the ground before Dr. DeMarco finished speaking. Dominic lifted her into the air and twirled her around. “I’ll miss you, girl.”

She laughed and hugged him. “Thank you for everything . . . especially that sandwich.”

He set her on her feet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and carefully took one off. He slipped it into her palm, squeezing her hand tightly around it. “Keep my car safe for me.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I can’t take it, so you may as well drive it.”

Final good-byes were exchanged, and Haven felt the tears slipping down her cheeks as they disappeared out the door. Only a few seconds passed before the door flew back open, Dominic peeking his head in again. “Oh yeah, Twinkle Toes? Good luck on your test tomorrow.”

The trip to the city the next morning took an hour. Carmine talked nonstop the entire drive, but Haven heard nothing except her heartbeat thrashing in her ears. They made it to the local community college with time to spare, and Haven headed inside alone, black spots infiltrating her vision as she fought to keep herself together.

The bright fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling irritated her eyes. Haven stood in the doorway, taking in the small wooden desks and hard blue plastic chairs. She’d never been inside of a classroom before. People pushed past her, not bothering to apologize, as she hesitantly walked to the big desk at the front. She smiled politely at the instructor, although she felt like she’d be sick. “I’m Haven Antonelli.”

He checked her name off a list and collected her paperwork before pointing her to a seat. The testing started at eight o’clock on the dot. Haven breezed through the fifty questions on grammar and punctuation, but the second part of the writing test stalled her. She’d practiced a lot by filling her notebooks, but she had never written anything for someone else to read before.

The instructor announced they had forty-five minutes as Haven read her essay prompt:

What does it take to be a good parent?

In your essay, describe the characteristics of a good parent. Use your personal observations, experience, and knowledge.

Students huffed and pencils scratched against paper as Haven stared at her topic. What did it take? Her father, abusive and malicious, refused to acknowledge he had created her. She suffered years of torture under his care before he had sold her with no regard. If Dr. DeMarco hadn’t come along, she would have ended up at an auction, sold as a sex slave for money to buy whiskey and Cuban cigars.

Haven’s anger grew as she bit down on her lip. Her mama had the best intentions, even though she was helpless. She hid her for protection and never failed to keep the one thing even Haven had lost over the years—hope.