by J. J. McAvoy
He folded his hands, glancing around at everyone else, now looking at me. “I said, she don’t want cake.”
“Ridiculous,” Calliope walked over to his table, pulling out a chair. “She was in line. Also, all little girls want cake. I knew a little girl in Sorrento who was allergic to cake and still wanted a small bite.”
“Oh, you’ve sat down. Does my lesson start now? You gonna teach me something, huh? Before you start, let me say this, we aren’t poor. We don’t need charity or y’all to come here to pass out cakes,” he snapped.
From the moment she had sat down, I had already removed my gloves and dropped the knife. I could see the dark circles around the man’s eyes as I came to stand behind her.
“Ah, the big man himself. Ladies and gents, if I end up in a ditch tomorrow, know this is why. Not liking how I’m talking to your new woman? Props to you, this one is cuter—”
“You—”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Calliope cut me off before I could butt in.
He stiffened, looking back at her. “What?”
“Your father passed, recently, correct?”
He swallowed hard. His jaw cracked to the side. “What, y’all keep tabs on us little folks now, too?”
Calliope smiled and looked up to me, her face wholly innocent and polite. “Mr. Marco Bianchi was the plumber and electrician that worked in my neighborhood when I was a kid. I remember we got hit with this nasty blizzard one winter when I was little. And early on Christmas morning, like around 3 a.m. or so, all the power was knocked out. No one could come because of the roads. It was horrible. But the lights came back on by the time people woke up. No one knew Mr. Bianchi had spent hours that night working on it by himself.”
“How…how did you know that?” the man stammered, shock clearly on his face.
“He never told anyone. Most people didn’t even know the power was gone that Christmas. But I saw him.” Calliope smiled at him. “Your father was a good man. He helped a lot of people and never asked for anything in return.”
“Yes, because only the worst people get the spotlight,” he snapped.
“My father worked like a dog, day and night, taking care of this whole damn community, and you know how many people came to his funeral?”
“Six,” she answered.
Again, he paused and looked at her strangely. “Were…”
“Sadly, no, I wasn’t there. But I wanted to be, which is why I sent the gift.”
His eyes widened, and then his eyebrows bunched together as he titled his head to the side. “That was you?”
She nodded. “I would have sent a check, but I was worried that if we ever met, you’d think it was a bribe.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you are my people…our people,” she said and glanced at me and made a face before focusing her attention on him. “As you can see, from how he’s just towering over us still, Ethan’s not a people person… Babe, sit down.”
Babe? I looked down at her.
She pushed the chair beside her, motioning for me. We stared at each other for a while before I took the seat.
“Mr. Morandi, Mr. Sagese! I hope you know I’ve noticed that flask being passed around your table. I hope you brought enough for the whole class.” The men three tables over jumped at her their names being called.
They turned and looked back at her. “What, do you have eyes of an eagle, woman?” one shouted at her.
“More like the nose of a bloodhound,” I sighed.
Apparently, this one comment was enough to gain a gasp of shock. The only person not surprised was Calliope, who turned back me.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” She cracked her hand over her ear.
I grabbed on to it. “When it comes to wine, you have the nose of a bloodhound.”
She smacked my hand away, angrily. Rolling her eyes and then returned her attention to the men in front of her. “Are y’all sharing or not?”
“It’s one flask!” the other man complained.
“Always drinking as if we aren’t in church!” the woman beside him complained, pushing him.
“Church is over,” both Calliope and the men said. When they looked at her, she gave them a thumbs up.
“See, look at that, a woman who doesn’t nag,” the man said back to his wife.
“Oh, she nags…ah.” I hissed as she kicked my leg. “That was my shin.”
“I know.” She smiled brightly. “Bring yourselves over.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be serving?” someone called out.
“This isn’t a charity; this is a community brunch. We do charity at the O.S. center,” she called back to them, going against what she said while in church. She said whatever lie she needed to get what she wanted with such ease, it could only be a gift. “I came for conversation and before this one over here makes me spend time with damn Irish goons—” She stopped herself and looked at me pretending to be nervous. “I mean the very sophisticated and gentlemanly Irish men.”
A few of them snickered. I glanced down at her arm, which was behind her back.
“Are you crossing your fingers?” I asked her.
She gasped. “What? No. That’s childish.”
More snickers.
I shook my head at her.
“Now ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know what you’ve heard about this man beside me, but he’s under new management—Italian management. So, I apologize for any of his shortcomings…”
“Shortcomings?”
She waved me off. “I hope you will all welcome him and our family to your church as ours sadly is being repaired.”
“And if we don’t?” someone called out.
“We leave, not that big of a deal. Though very unchristian. We can just hold service at our house, right?”
I looked at her.
“He looks ready to fall over.” They laughed. “Who knew the mighty Ethan Callahan could look so terrified?”
More laughter.
I was not a fan of it.
But saw the necessity of it.
I looked at the men now at our table. “I may need that flask.”
They roared with laughter.
“Church at the Callahans’ next week!” someone randomly called out.
“Wait, wait!” Calliope held up her hands. “If you aren’t allowing us to come here, why would you come to our home?”
“Ain’t you asking for the community?” Bianchi Jr. grumbled. “If a few people feel uncomfortable having y’all come here, a few will show up at your house for service...”
“Yeah, so it ain’t overrun with only Irishmen,” Mr. Morandi or Mr. Sagese said; I still hadn’t taken the time to figure which was which. None of these people were families we normally associated with, nor did any have power or importance.
When she’d bothered to learn their names, I had no idea. But this was where she excelled beyond me, it seemed.
“Okay fine, raise your hands if you’re coming to our house so we can prepare.”
“What, are we in 3rd grade?” Bianchi Jr. snapped at her.
“So, is that a no for you?” she shot back.
He grumbled but lifted his hand. Slightly she stood up, and I held her as she almost fell over, trying to count.
“Wait, put your hands down. This is too many; I can’t count like this,” she called out, and it was interesting how they all just listened to her. “Raise your hands if you don’t feel comfortable with us coming and won’t come to our home.”
No one raised their hands.
She huffed, “If everyone is okay with it, why am I hosting at the house?”
Clever.
“No…no…some people might be nervous—”
“Oh bull,” she said in Italian, causing them to laugh. “You all just want an excuse to come over.”
“You are the one who is supposed to invite us anyway!” someone called out behind me.
“What? Why?” she asked.
“The ne
w Mrs. Callahan always hosts a party at the Callahan manor, not that any of us have gone.” Bianchi Jr. grumbled.
“Oh, stop sulking,” she said as if they were old friends, and she looked at me. “Is this true? I have to host a party?”
I nodded slowly.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped. This act of hers…world class.
“I’m under new management. Shouldn’t you tell me?” I replied.
“Oh…” The people around me laughed as she glared.
“You’re going to pay for that one later,” Bianchi Jr. grumbled.
“Oh…yes, he will.” She huffed, sitting back down. “All of you, please make time on Friday, as you will come to the very best Mrs. Callahan party yet. Mr. Callahan will personally write you thank you notes, too.”
I glared, and she smiled.
“Party at the Callahan house!”
“Who is this person?” I whipped back around, whoever it was that kept announcing as if they were deaf.
Only to see Spider Brows himself.
“Sorry about him. His hearing was a bit damaged in the church explosion. He can’t hear how loud he is,” Bianchi Jr. explained.
“It’s so sad…what they have been through,” Calliope whispered, looking back. “I can’t believe some people are so heartless. Who bombs a church?”
You. I answered in my mind. And like she had heard me, her eyes met mine briefly amusement slightly in them…also brokenness in them.
Whatever happened before this, with her mother, she was burying it behind this mask right now.
And like always…I let her.
WYATT
I watched the crowd around them grow and grow.
I wasn’t exactly sure how it happened because it happened so fast.
One minute they looked ready to march us off to the guillotine, and the next, they were laughing around Ethan as if they were all the best of friends. What was even more shocking was Ethan’s humor. It was dry and cold, but it still came across and made everyone comfortable.
“She’s terrifying,” Helen whispered beside me, her eyes dead focused on the woman who had caused this all, who Ethan allowed to tease him publicly. “Terrifying and amazing.”
I snapped my fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “Don’t get sucked in, too. She’s already gotten Ethan, the house, and now some Italians on her side.”
At this rate, by this so-called party, she might be crowned governor or something.
“You still don’t trust her?”
“You do?”
She gave a halfhearted smile. “I want to. Just like these people want to believe that our family is their family, too. They don’t trust her, but they want to.”
“I don’t want to.” I frowned.
She rolled her eyes, elbowing me. “You really don’t like new people, do you?”
I shrugged. “New people come with new problems…and new dangers. I don’t like the idea of someone just waltzing in. Maybe I’m just overthinking. Maybe one day I will see her as family. But for now, she still needs to be watched. With clear eyes.”
I looked at my brother, and once again shook my head. Who was this man? Ethan was surrounded by people, strangers, and was making them laugh? He was able to joke with them? The fuck?
“Just be careful. Don’t be around her alone for now.”
“And if she asks to see me?”
“Call me.”
She giggled, bumping back into my shoulder. “Are you going to rush in and fight her for me?”
“If I have to,” I snickered, bumping back into her shoulder.
“Hey, supporting character.”
“Huh?” I turned back to see my Uncle Declan holding up bright pink latex gloves for me. “What did you call me?”
“Supporting character,” he repeated, tossing the gloves at my head, but I caught them. “As in one whom this story is not mainly about. As in Ethan and his woman can sit out from this little charity project, but the rest of us still have to finish here. There are dishes in the back that need your attention more than my daughter’s shoulder.”
“Uncle, you can’t be serious—”
“Dead serious. Move it. And no, you cannot help him.” He pointed at Helen. “We are finished. Your mother wants to go on a family outing before your brother moves out tomorrow.”
“I am family,” I argued.
“Immediate family.”
“Future son-in-law is—watch the face!” I flinched away as he raised his hand to smack me, unable to stop smiling. I backed up, holding my gloves. “Thank you. Your daughter loves this face.”
“Do you wish to die?”
“For your daughter's hand?” I asked, still backing away. “It would be an honor.”
Helen just laughed, shaking her head at me. I winked back.
“You little—”
“Okay, let’s not draw Ethan’s attention and ruin their work.” Aunt Coraline stepped between us. “Wyatt.”
“Going.” I smiled toward the kitchen.
When I glanced back over at Helen, I smirked until I saw that same smirk on Ethan’s face as he glanced at Calliope. It was brief, but by luck, I’d caught it. When I looked again, it was gone. But I was sure I’d seen it.
Ethan…Ethan was really in love…with her?
Had he always been? Was it new?
No, not possible?
My gaze shifted to the woman beside him, only to see her staring back at me. Her gray eyes like ice. All of a sudden, she looked away, and that fake smile was plastered to her lips.
Ethan…I pray to God, you know what you are doing.
Something wasn’t right about her.
CALLIOPE
I froze, staring into at the empty aisle of the church.
She’d left.
It wasn’t even a day.
It wasn’t even two hours.
She couldn’t manage to even do that.
How long did she make me kneel for her?
CALLIOPE—AGE 6
“No, Mommy! No! I’m sorry!” I screamed, trying to hold onto the wall, but she pulled me.
“Get out! Get out, you miserable thing! Get out!”
“No, Mommy!” I tried to keep holding the wall, but my fingers slipped. I reached out for anything but found nothing. I felt the cold air. “Mommy!”
“Shut up!”
“Ah!” I gasped, hitting the snow and the ground. I couldn’t breathe, the wind smacking my face with ice and snow. Wrapping my hands around my stomach, I hugged myself.
“How many times did I tell you!” she yelled from the door. “You wet the bed one more time and I would put you out like a dog! Only dogs don’t know how to control themselves!”
“I…I’m sorry, Mommy.” I shivered.
“Kneel here and until you learn!” She pointed to a spot in front of the door. “Kneel!”
Nodding, I kneeled, trying to stop from shaking. But she saw me.
Smack!
“Kneel right.”
It was hard.
The wind was so heavy that my nightgown came up. I hugged myself tighter. Trying to kneel.
“You can’t even do that. Useless.”
“I’m…sorry…”
Slam!
The door closed right in my face.
“Mommy…it’s cold…” I whispered. My voice hurt. I couldn’t feel my hands. “M…om…my.” I glanced up, but the lights went out. I bite my lip, hanging my head.
I wanted to move.
No, Mommy will come back.
Mommy will be back.
I have to kneel… Mommy will see and let me come in.
“Is it working?”
Looking up, trembling, I saw the man on the house.
“Santa?” I coughed, watching. Brushing the snow from my face, I saw sparks.
“Ah, damn!” he yelled. “This is gonna take longer than I thought.”
“Santa?” I whispered.
But he couldn’t hear me. Closing my eyes, I t
ried again, but my voice didn’t reach him.
“Santa, you can give all my stuff away…help.”
“God, please I’ll be good…I’ll be more good...help.”
“Some...one…help.”
CALLIOPE—Present
“Calliope?”
I turned to see Ethan looking at me.
He frowned, his green eyes shifting to the spot I was just staring at. “Is there something else.”
“Yes, sorry, one more thing, give me a moment,” I muttered, walking down the aisle until I reached the altar. I stared at the figure of Christ.
Walking on to the altar, I grabbed the gold cross before stepping into the back, into the ambry. There, both of my sisters were hogtied like pigs for the slaughter.
“Which one?” Italo got up, putting down the book he was reading as he babysat.
I didn’t answer; instead, I walked over to Bellarosa. I looked over her tear and makeup-stained face, at her shaking body. Italo got up as she tried to back away, crying. Shaking her head at me…begging me. Lifting the cross like a bat.
“Mugh! Mgah! Mmm!” she screamed against her gag as I brought it down.
However, before it connected with the side of her face, I stopped. Inhaling deeply, flexing my fingers, relaxing, and taking a step back.
“Had she lasted a day, I would have really hurt you…both of you,” I whispered as I pushed back my rage. “But in the end, it just means she doesn’t love you that much, either. Which makes hurting you a waste of time, and this dress… I really like this dress.”
Kneeling down in front of her, I pulled the gag from her mouth. Still, she shook as she waited. Hunching over, she sobbed tirelessly.
“Shh…” I petted the side of her face, but she flinched. “Don’t worry, it’s over. So long as you both listen to everything I say from now on, we will all get along.”
Setting the cross in front of her, I stood up straighter, nodding for Italo to take them before leaving. When I came out, Ethan was waiting at the foot of the altar.
“Finished?” he questioned.
“Aren’t you going to ask me with what?”
“Would you tell me?”