by J. J. McAvoy
“You look nice by the way,” he said quickly, before walking out when the doors opened and I couldn’t help but think again, Show me a strong woman and I’ll show you the scars on her soul that made her so.
EIGHT
“The only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live,
mad to talk,
mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn
like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars
and in the middle you see the blue center-light pop and everybody”
~ Jack Kerouac
DONATELLA
Just like that, after everything I’d done, I’d been regulated to the sidelines. I’d been pushed to the corner; watching my brother and Ivy, a woman who had only been in this family for a few weeks and barely had a backbone, become the center of attention and appreciation. Watching as all the people who were so polite and uptight with me, relax around Ethan. Yes, relax, after all he was a man, don or not, they could relate to him.
I could feel the rage rising within me.
The anger.
The flames.
He did nothing! I did this! Only because he let you do it. The moment the thought entered my mind it was as if someone had dumped water on me extinguishing the flames, and I felt powerless, trapped in a cycle of rage as I watched the family gathered around Ethan and Ivy the more, and numbness at knowing Ethan put me in the position.
You should have killed him. The darkest voice in my mind whispered.
“You have three options,” a deep voice I didn’t recognize in an accent I couldn’t place spoke beside me, “option one, you make a huge scene and get all the attention back on you; option two, you continue to stand here in silent rage with that manufactured smile plastered on your face.”
“I thought you said three?” I replied, not even bothering to look back at him.
“I did, however it’s the most painful option for someone like you.”
Someone like me? I was not in the mood to be polite, nor was I in the mood to deal with another man who thought he knew me and deserved my attention. I was just going to tune him out when he said, “Your mother was an only child. So, from day one she had all the power coming to her. But you… You were never meant to be the Ceann na Conairte, as you people call it, because if you were, you’d be an only child too. You should know this. In fact, I’m sure you do know this, so why you keep running headfirst into the wall like a bloody idiot is beyond me…unless you enjoy the pain.”
I felt myself shaking, the blood in my veins boiling to the point where I burned from the inside out again. Swallowing the saliva in my mouth, I stood straighter, turning to him, but he didn’t turn to me. He was taller, around Ethan’s height, his hair a dirty brown-blonde, dressed in dark jeans and a white button-down shirt, the sleeves were rolled up at the wrist.
“You seem very interested in my family—”
“Only because you and your family make it a point to make people interested,” he cut me off before bending down to grab the ball that rolled to his feet. He smiled as he handed it to the little girl who took it from him, before rising back up. “The whole point of these little celebrations is to make sure people talk correct? Keep the Callahan family saga going. It’s a little irrational to get upset with people for doing what you ask them to do.”
“Irrational?” I gasped out. “Do I look like an irrational person to you?”
He snickered and, for the first time, glanced over to me, his gray eyes studying me before looking away. “If insanity could personify itself, it would choose to be you, Donatella Callahan; the woman who loved her mother but hated her mother so much she wanted to become just like her mother by killing her mother’s children. By God, you are the Greek tragedy Sophocles forgot to write…”
The glass in my hand shattered; the pain, the blood—my blood—which dripped off my hand didn’t faze me in the slightest. I couldn’t stop myself, before I knew it, my bloody hand was gripping on to his white shirt, pulling him closer to my face, and I was pressing my gun to his forehead. “Now that you’ve gotten my attention, would you like to repeat that AFTER I blow your fucking brains out of you head, that’s if you even have any!”
His gray eyes looked down at me, disappointed. “There you go, running head first into that wall again—”
I moved the gun to his eyes, not liking how they looked at me. “Are you asking to die today?”
“No, I’m asking if you are tired of option one.”
I didn’t understand what he meant for second before I remembered what he said earlier…making a scene.
“Calm down!” Wyatt yelled right into my ear, which was impossible since he was over by Ethan and Ivy. However, when I looked over my shoulder, he was right beside me, staring at me with wide eyes. Over his shoulder, I saw everyone… Everyone’s attention was on me. And not the attention I wanted, not the attention I’d planned; there wasn’t respect or fear, it was like…like I looked at wolf-dogs. When I finally saw Ethan, he…he was furious.
Letting go of the stranger’s shirt and stepping back, I tried to figure out a way to gracefully get out of this. But I couldn’t think. If I ran, it would look like I really was insane. As my arms slowly began to drop to my sides, a hand reached out and touched mine briefly, taking the gun from me. I looked up at Wyatt, thinking it was him, but he backed away as a fist collided with his nose. I didn’t have time to process how I ended up in another man’s arms… All I knew was that my gun was now pointed at my skull. Everyone’s expression had changed to concern. Ethan’s rage changed to panic as he stepped closer, the men beside him all reaching for their weapons.
“I wouldn’t if I was you,” the man holding me hostage said to one of the guards. I wasn’t sure who the idiot was that charged at him from behind, but even I could hear his lead feet as he tried to sneak up on madman who held a gun to my head.
He turned quickly, spinning me with him while tightening his grip on me. Just like that, he fired twice at the fucking guard’s feet. “I told you no, didn’t I?”
Using that moment, I stepped on his foot, elbowed his rib, and butted my head back into his nose. When his gripped loosened, but not as much as I’d hoped, I twisted out of his hands and jumped up, locking my legs around his neck. I brought him down to the grass hard. I tried to hold him there, but he broke out of my headlock and twisted my arm back to pin me under him, bringing the gun to my head.
“And just like that, the student has become the master,” he said loudly. But I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. He just kept talking, saying “To think you, the Queen of Beata Veronica Negroni da Binasco School for Girls, of all people would let your guard down. You’ve lost your edge, Donny.”
Donny? I wanted to cringe, instead I kicked him right in the balls and punched him in the throat, forcing him to roll over before punching him again. He dodged, locking my arms.
“I should have shot you back when I had a chance…” He squeezed a little tighter.
What the hell is he talking about?
I didn’t get a chance to think much longer, due to his headbutt.
“You were a shitty fighter back then, and you’re still one now,” he added, smiling, as I glared at him.
BANG!
We both stopped at the gunfire, and he even had the nerve to check the gun in his hand. Realizing it wasn’t him, we both looked up to the voice above us.
“Are you two finished or would you like to keep acting like high-school children?” Ethan asked, staring down at us angrily.
Inhaling through his nose and rolling his eyes, he pretended to be in pain… “Seems we’re going to have to call it a draw, Donny.”
“Or…”
“Donatella,” Ethan’s voice hissed above me.
Letting each other go, we both rose to our fee
t.
“Sister dearest?” Ethan said, rage dripping out of his unnaturally calm tone. “Who is this?”
That’s what I wanted to know! But I couldn’t say it, not with so much attention on us. We’d look like fools if they found out I just fought—and didn’t a kill—some random madman who somehow got past our security and gained entrance into our home. It was then that I remembered what he’d said.
The Queen of Beata Veronica Negroni da Binasco School for Girls.
“Dona,” Ethan repeated slowly.
“An old annoyance,” I answered, staring at the strange man with grey eyes.
He frowned, rubbing his wrist. “Donny, just because I rejected you back then doesn’t me—”
“You rejected me?” I gasped in disbelief. He really was out of his fucking mind, and I wanted to die.
“That’s how I remember it—”
“Obviously you need to get your head checked, then!”
“Really, is that why you pulled a gun on me a decade later? If you rejected me, shouldn’t I be the one angry?”
I stared at him in utter confusion. The only word I could think of saying was “Huh?”
I didn’t know him! What the fuck was he talking about?
“Luckily our brother is a doctor, he can check if you are both alright,” Ethan said with that fake politeness in his voice again.
“If they are, I’m going to make sure they aren’t,” Wyatt muttered, now off the ground. He wiped the blood from his nose, his hair a disheveled mess as he glared at the man beside me. I wondered how badly I must look now.
To make it worse, Mr. Crazy leaned forward and pet his shoulder saying, “Sorry mon amie, I didn’t see you there. You alright?”
Both Ethan and Wyatt glanced down at his hand, then back at him at the same time, their expressions the same. I wanted to laugh; I wanted to laugh hard because sometimes it’s like they were the twins between us.
When they both glanced to me again, at the same time, I shook my head and walked around them, knowing full well everyone else was unsure of whether to continue having a good time or be concerned.
“I’m so sorry about that, childhood friends just know how to get under your skin. Please enjoy the rest of brunch.” I smiled at them and they relaxed, allowing me to calmly walk back into the house.
I knew I couldn’t escape. Ethan would follow and most likely Wyatt, but I wanted to understand who that other man was. I went to Beata Veronica Negroni da Binasco School for Girls, but my father told people I went to another school to make sure no one knew where I was. The only people who knew were my father and my grandmother.
I stared down at the gun still in my hand… I’d lost it. My temper had gotten the best of me many times, but never like that, never publicly.
Walking straight into the Ethan’s study, I picked the phone off the receiver but then the wooden doors opened and my brother walked in, along with the man in question, my bloody hand print still on his white shirt.
“Who are you?” I snapped.
Wyatt closed the door behind them and leaned against it, a knife his hand. He spun it carefully, the tip of the blade pressing in his finger as he waited. Ethan came forward, sitting on the edge of his desk, and took a gun out from his jacket. “You should answer her question quickly because I don’t have any. I know you aren’t Irish or Italian and so you were not invited to my house—”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the man before us said casually as he took a seat on the couch before resting his feet on the coffee table.
“I’m never wrong,” Ethan shot back.
He grinned from ear to ear. “I’m sure your grandmother would beg to differ, wouldn’t you Evelyn?”
I wasn’t sure who he was speaking to until he took his phone out of his pocket before placing it on the coffee table.
“I would,” a familiar voice said over the speaker and, just like that, Ethan, Wyatt, and I stood a little straighter. “Last time I checked, Ethan, the house belonged to me, unless you’ve written me off for dead.”
“I—”
“Welcome back home Wyatt, I wish I could have been there to see you.”
Wyatt came closer. “Nana, I—”
“But then again you shouldn’t have ever left home to begin with. You have a lot to make up for. I hope you don’t think you can just come back and get everything handed to you?”
“I—”
“But most of all, I’m disappointed in you, Donatella,” she continued and I felt my hands sting like she hit me with a switch, something she often did when I was younger. “So much has happened since I left Chicago and you, my sweet granddaughter, never once thought to call me? You are that big of a woman now you can’t ask me for advice or help? You know everything? You can do it all by yourselves, right? Am I already dead to you?”
“Nana,” all three of us said at the same.
“I may not be in Chicago, but know this: long before any of you were even a twinkle in your father’s eyes, before your father was even the head of this family, there was me. Me. I buried my father, my husband, and my son! Don’t you ever make me hear that any of you were on the verge of dying, Ethan. Or betraying this family, Donatella. Or forgetting who you are, Wyatt. Or so help me God, I’ll show you how small you all are when compared to me. Am I understood?”
None of us said anything. If we even thought to, our father might rise from the grave just to smack the shit out of us all.
“I take it back Evelyn, you are bona fide gangster,” the stranger on our couch snickered, tossing Ethan’s cashews into his mouth, happily.
I cracked my jaw to the side and speak sweetly into the phone, “Nana, who is this strange person, why is he in our home, and can I kill him now?”
“You’re asking questions instead of apologizing?” she questioned back and I bit my lip. “You’re too big to apologize now? And at family gathering. How could you? Have you lost your mind?”
Strike one, I thought, handing the phone to Wyatt. He looked at me like I was mad as I pushed to the phone to him. He gritted his teeth at me before taking the phone.
“Nana,” Wyatt said with full charm, “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call; I’ve been so busy! I saved Ethan’s life and then there was—”
“And yet you still found time to play around with the maids? How many times have I told you the women in the house are not your toys?!”
Wyatt closed his mouth, shaking his head as he tossed the phone to Ethan who caught it gently. Strike two.
“Grandmother,” he said casually, “how are you?”
“You would know if you called,” she shot back.
Ethan nodded. “I would know, however I told you I wouldn’t be able to get in touch for a while.”
Foul.
“You told me you’d call before you left Boston because you needed some information. Where are you currently?”
Ethan made face. “Chicago, but I no longer needed the information. The plan changed so I thought I’d allow you to get some more rest.”
Foul two.
“Aren’t you the same one who tells me not to rest too much or I’ll end up dead? Honestly Ethan, I’m hurt; you’re usually on top of things like this. I was even more hurt after what happened to you and Ivy.”
He paused, watching as the stranger moved from the couch over to the globe, lifting it up and pulling out a Scotch for himself. He glanced around inside in search of something, until he finally looked over to us, displeased. “Where’s the ice?”
“Why would there be ice in a globe?” Wyatt asked, annoyed.
“Why would there be Scotch in a globe but no brandy?” he questioned back in the same annoyed voice. “Obviously, it’s not a globe, it’s a bar. A bar stocked by someone with poor taste or who likes to force other people to drink bad whiskey. Either way, I’m trying not to complain about that and accept what I’m given. However, it’s quite difficult to do when there isn’t any ice…in a bar.”
I felt my eyebrow
twitch and looked over to Ethan, praying he’d toss him out the window.
“Gabriel, how many times must I tell you, scotch does not need ice?” Our grandmother asked over the phone.
He frowned, pouring the glass for himself. “I’m not sure how many time you must tell me. But I’m sure you’ll tell me a million times more, seeing as you’re planning on living forever and I plan on drinking my scotch with ice for as long as people keep offering it to me.”
“No one has offered you anything.” Ethan still managed to say calmly and the man, Gabriel, I could only assume, looked back to him.
“I know, it was rude of you, which is why I helped myself and didn’t make a scene about it. But if you’d prefer I point out all the shortcomings in your hospitality, that can be done.”
What the hell? Where was I? When did I go to the Twilight Zone?
Ethan lifted the phone back up to his lips. “Grandmother, once again, who is this person and how important is he to you?”
“His name is Gabriel, and he’ll be staying at the mansion for a short while. I’ve already let the staff know to prepare his room.”
“Thank you, Evelyn,” Gabriel said, walking in front of Ethan and taking the phone from his hand. “You’re so sweet to me… If only you were fifty years younger.”
“Ugh,” Wyatt cringed, turning away.
“Not even then. Do your best not to get yourself killed by my grandchildren—”
“So we can kill him?” I asked her and he glanced up, glaring at me.
“Goodbye Evelyn. Rest easy; I’m sure your grandchildren know how to behave around a guest,” he said, not waiting for a response before hanging up on her. “That’s how you feel after I saved you?”
“You saved me? From what?”
“You seem to have selective memory disorder,” he snapped back at me. “You went mad, shattered a glass with your hand and then grabbed my shirt, only to pull a gun on me…and your doctor was no help. Shouldn’t you be worried about her hand, not your nose?” He directed that comment at Wyatt. “She is your sister, isn’t she?”
The moment he brought it up, it was like he kicked down the door to the pain I’d blocked out. I looked to my hand, which was still bleeding, small shards of glass embedded in it. Wyatt moved quickly, taking the glass of scotch from Gabriel and pouring it on my hand before taking a napkin to tie around the wound.