“Think about that, Oren. Think about your wife. We don’t know why she wasn’t taken when her parents were killed. I thank God every day that she wasn’t. If she had been, she could have ended up like that girl.”
“You would have searched for her.”
“We would have, but like Silvia, they’re shipped away to other cities, to other families. It’s easier that way.”
My knees grew weak as I eased myself into one of the kitchen chairs. “What happened to her—the gift you were given?”
“Carmine and me...we were young and naive. We released her—gave her freedom.”
“And?” It felt like there was more to the story.
“And she was about this girl’s age.” Rose shook her head. “We were married at nineteen. We weren’t in the position you and Angel are in today. We couldn’t have adopted someone four years younger than us. And as a new bride, I didn’t want a younger woman around my husband day and night even if she was just a scared girl.”
I worked to keep my expression from mirroring my thoughts. The story was leaving a sour taste I couldn’t swallow away.
“She had no education,” Rose went on, “no knowledge other than domestic work. She couldn’t support herself after we released her. Her family didn’t want her back. She represented something they wanted to pretend didn’t exist. Instead of helping her, as we’d intended, we imprisoned her to the only life she was capable of understanding.
“No longer someone else’s property, she used the only commodity she’d ever known—herself.” Rose turned toward the counter and busied herself with the collection of nonexistent crumbs. “It doesn’t work like that in our world, in any world. A woman can’t decide that she’s in charge of her own body, especially not one who’s still a child.
“The world is full of vultures willing to take what isn’t theirs. She found her way to a club in another territory, one that capitalized on desperate women and children. Drugs and sex.” Rose spun back toward me. “When we heard what had happened, Carmine went to his father. He asked for her back. We knew what we’d done was a mistake. It was too late. When my father-in-law found her, she was dead.”
Rose came close and sat across the table from me. “That’s why I’m worried for Angel. This will take time. Silvia needs to understand she’s more than a body. Thank the dear Lord she hasn’t been used in that way. But if my Carmine hadn’t been determined to find her, it would have happened. It was only a matter of time.”
Chapter 32
Rose’s story ran through my head as I drove the three of us to Rye. As it replayed, it occurred to me that Angelina’s aunt had never used the girl’s name—her wedding gift—or the name of the girl’s family. Was it her way of coping? Did that help? If I never knew Russell Collins’s name or that of his daughter or wife, would his memory cease to haunt me?
I pushed the thought away, instead concentrating on our situation at hand, the one in our backseat. Occasionally, I’d look into the rearview mirror, my gaze catching the large brown eyes staring out at the dark road and surroundings. From my view, I could see the worn pink handle of her backpack being held tightly against her body. All of her worldly possessions, everything the girl owned, were contained in the threadbare Hello Kitty backpack.
With each passing mile, I grasped at understanding my newest lesson. Every time I came up with a new question, something I wanted clarified, Angelina’s shake of her head would keep the words from my lips. Before we’d left Brooklyn, my wife had asked to keep the ride to Rye as quiet as possible, allowing Silvia to process the transition slowly. As we approached our home, Silvia’s expression went from one of fear and curiosity to more wonder with only a side of terror.
Her eyes grew exponentially to the size of the homes beyond our car’s windows.
It seemed that each moment through her eyes was monumental. I said a silent prayer that Rose had been wrong, and this wasn’t more than Angelina could handle. At the same time, I found hope in Rose’s observation that if anyone could change this girl’s life, it was my wife.
Silvia’s eyes darted from side to side as she entered our house. Her shoes scuffed along the bleached wood floors as she entered, finally coming to a stop within the foyer.
“This is your new home,” Angelina said.
“It’s so big.”
Angelina laughed. “Don’t worry about it. It’s big, so we have plenty of room. I’ll show you your room, and then would you like something to eat?”
Her head moved from side to side. “No, ma’am. I don’t need much.”
Angelina’s gaze shot my way, reminding me to stay quiet. Biting my tongue, I simply exhaled and walked back to my office. When the door shut and I was alone, I realized for the first time since California that life was moving on. I walked to the window and stared out at the pool. The calm water glowed in the tepid darkness with the assistance of underwater illumination.
As the light changed the water from blue to golden, I saw the eyes of the Irishman. Taking his life would always be part of who I was—he would always be with me in present tense not past—but maybe helping others would make that reality easier to live with. Maybe Carmine had something. Rose said he believed in acts of kindness to offset ill will. Somehow I’d missed that side of him over the years, but now I knew it was there. The young girl in my house would always be that reminder.
After Angelina got Silvia settled and explained our new family member to Lennox, I found my wife in our bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of our bed. As I shut the door, she sighed and fell backward.
Going to her, I stroked her hair away from her eyes.
“Do you think this can work?” she asked.
I feigned a smile. “If it can, you’re the one who can do it.”
She propped herself up on her elbows. “She didn’t want to stay in the bedroom. I told her where we are and that if she needed anything she can come to us. Oh, Oren, she just kept shaking her head. I showed her the bathroom and towels. I found her a toothbrush. She didn’t even have one. And I told her that the attached bathroom is hers, that we all have our own.” Angelina’s tired eyes peered my way. “Do you know what she said?”
“No.”
“She asked how many there were and how often they needed to be cleaned. I’m trying to make her feel at home, and she’s making a mental checklist of chores.”
“You’re the one who said it will take time,” I reminded her.
“I kept trying to get her to talk to me. It was like she was afraid to mess the covers on the bed. It’s a damn guest room. I want to make it more personal. Maybe then she’ll feel better about it. Finally, she told me that it was too nice, that in most houses where she’s lived, she didn’t have a real room.”
“What does that even mean?”
Angelina shook her head. “It sounds like she simply had a space...like a closet or unused pantry off a kitchen. A place for a mat or mattress.”
I reached for my wife’s hands and pulled her up so that she was sitting again on the edge of our bed. “I spoke a little with Rose. This concept is totally foreign to me. But I’m concerned about you and Lennox. Do you think that maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew? Since Silvia thinks she’s here as help, maybe that would be best.”
“No. She thinks that because it would be too much of a change in her life to tell her our plans upfront. She’s already frightened and alone. First, we need to make her feel more at ease. If being at ease means she helps me then that’s fine. I helped Aunt Rose with housework. Eventually, Silvia will be our daughter, not our maid.”
I liked the fact that my wife hadn’t used the other labels. I didn’t want to add owning another person to my growing list of sins. There were already more than I could count.
“What about school?” I asked.
Angelina’s chin fell forward. “Aunt Rose said she hasn’t attended school since she was ten, since her father died.”
“Ten, so basically Lennox’s grade?”
“It’s like she’s a ten-year-old in a fifteen-year-old body. Or maybe a fifty-year-old in a fifteen-year-old body. She’s seen too much and yet not enough.”
The next morning much earlier than I normally woke, my eyes opened to the reality of another member of our family. Between that, the Irishman—I decided to not use his name—and my work that had been neglected while I was in California, my mind was a spinning whirlwind of thoughts and mental checklists. With sleep no longer an option, I eased my way out of our bed, showered, and dressed for the office. Though on most days Angelina woke with me, it wasn’t usually this early, and well, yesterday had been taxing, to say the least. Therefore, trying to be quiet, I made my way out of our room and down the stairs.
The aroma of coffee and sizzle of bacon beckoned me toward the kitchen.
With her back toward me, Silvia was standing at the stove tending a frying pan of what my nose told me was bacon. “Silvia?”
She spun around, a kitchen utensil clutched against her chest, her brown eyes the size of dinner plates. “Mr. Demetri. I’m sorry breakfast isn’t ready.” Her words came fast. “I didn’t know what time you woke. Mrs. Demetri didn’t tell me.”
Dark circles hung below her large eyes, and although I wasn’t always an overly observant man, I was relatively certain she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on the night before. Now that I thought about it, it may have been the same thing she wore at the First Communion party: jeans and a wrinkled pink and yellow shirt.
This was early summer in New York. The child needed shorts and summer clothes.
I took a step closer, but stilled as she did the same, only moving away from me. “You don’t need to cook my breakfast.”
Her lip disappeared momentarily behind her teeth. “I-I do. I always do. I have to earn my keep.” From the light above the stove, I could tell that her eyes were filling with unshed tears.
Lifting my hand in surrender, I slowly walked the other direction toward the coffee pot. “Thank you for making coffee, but really, you should be asleep. I’m sure you’re tired.”
Her shoes shuffled across the tile—the sound grating on my nerves—as she inched a little nearer. “D-do you want me to get your coffee?”
I shook my head. “No, I promise I’m capable. I would have gotten some downtown, but this is nice.”
My compliment brought a small upturn of her lips. “Do you need cream or sugar?”
“No, just black.”
She nodded. “Your breakfast is almost ready, sir.”
“Silvia, will you please do something for me?”
“Yes.” Her enthusiasm saddened me more than made me happy.
“I appreciate your cooking. However, it’s too early. Mrs. Demetri and Lennox won’t be awake for at least an hour. Why don’t you eat my breakfast while I go into the city? Then once you’re finished, go back to bed or read a book. Mrs. Demetri has a whole library down the hall.”
Her head fell forward as her shoulders bowed. Sometimes my ability to read people was more of a curse than a blessing. Oftentimes, a simple action didn’t make for a pretty story.
“I-I can’t...it’s your food. If you’re worried about my cooking, I’ve been told it’s okay.”
I took a deep breath and went to the kitchen table. I had a list a mile long of things I needed to do, and yet I sat. “I’m sure your cooking is delicious. It smells wonderful. Will you please make two eggs?”
She turned back to the stove. “Yes, right away.”
As Silvia watched over her eggs and rescued the bacon strips from the grease, I got up and opened the cupboard, retrieving two plates. Again, her doe eyes questioned.
“Silvia, I’ll be happy to eat your cooking as long as you eat it too.”
Her head shook with increasing ferocity. “I-I can’t. Not with you. It’s not right.”
I smiled. “It’s breakfast at the kitchen table. It’s not wrong.”
“But I shouldn’t eat with you. I’ll take yours to the dining room. I can eat in here.”
“No.”
She simply looked at me.
“There are no windows in the dining room.” I tried to lighten the mood. “I like to watch the sunrise.” I nodded toward the stove. “I think our eggs are about done.”
She removed one from the frying pan and placed it on one plate. The second egg wavered on the spatula as she debated. Finally acquiescing, she placed the second egg on the second plate.
“There, that wasn’t so hard.” I went to the refrigerator. “Would you like some orange juice or milk?”
“I-I can...”
I didn’t have time for this. “Orange juice or milk?” I asked again. “Or are you a coffee drinker?”
“Water is fine...” She looked up, seeing me with the two containers. “Milk, please.”
Once we were finally seated, she sat with her hands on her lap, looking at the plate.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
When she looked up, her eyes were once again moist. “I’ve never...”
I shook my head, her actions taking away my appetite. “Please, just eat.” I took a bite of the bacon. “It’s very good. Now eat.”
Almost imperceptibly with only her chin moving, she nodded as she tentatively reached for the fork. For the rest of the meal, neither one of us said another word. Nevertheless, within record time, she consumed all of the food on her plate and finished the milk in the glass. Once we were both done, I reached for the plates.
“No.”
I opened my eyes wide. “What?”
Hurriedly she stood and reached for the plates. “Please, it’s my job.”
I didn’t let go. “Around here, we all pitch in, even Lennox. Don’t let him think otherwise. Now go back to bed or read a book. When Mrs. Demetri wakes, you can ask her what she wants you to do. Until that time, rest. You look tired.”
She simply looked at the floor.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked, unsure why I was perpetuating the conversation.
“I was afraid to fall asleep.”
Her words stopped me. “Why? This house is safe. I promise.”
“The bed.”
“Is there something wrong with the bed?”
“No. It’s too nice. The room is too nice.”
“The room is yours. Mrs. Demetri wants you here. She has plans to make it more personalized. You’ll have to help her.” I took a deep breath. “Silvia, we both want you here, but we want you to want that too. Just give us a try.”
“You want me to want to be here?”
“Yes, Silvia, you have a choice.”
Her dark eyes swirled with questions. Finally, she simply said, “Thank you.”
As she walked toward the stairs, I hoped she would get some more rest. Rinsing the dishes and pans, I placed them in the dishwasher. Granted, it was probably the second time I’d done this chore in all of the years we’d lived here, but I was an intelligent man. I figured it out.
Just as I was about to turn off the lights to leave, the tap of soft footsteps came my way. As I turned toward the sound, a dazzling smile filled my vision as arms encircled my neck. Angelina’s cinnamon-flavored kiss was the telltale sign that she’d recently brushed her teeth.
When we pulled apart, I asked, “What was that for?”
“I was watching you.”
“You were?”
Angelina nodded. “Silvia spoke to you. You even got her to eat.”
“She needs to eat. She’s too thin.”
“But you did it. I know you. I know the last thing you wanted to do or planned to do early this morning was eat breakfast. Yet you did.” She kissed me again. “It’s at times like this I remember why I love you.”
I kissed her forehead. “I always remember that I love you. If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t—”
“No, Oren Demetri. You would. Despite what you think about yourself, you’re a good man. And each sacrifice or sentence or bite to eat is another step closer to making her comfortable.”<
br />
“Don’t allow Lennox to take advantage of her willingness to help.”
Angelina laughed. “Do you think our son would do that?”
“And get out of cleaning his room? In a heartbeat.”
“Please come home for dinner. I want her to get used to all of us.”
“I’ll try.”
Angelina nodded, the delight from a moment ago fading from her gaze.
I was doing what she’d told me to do: not making promises I couldn’t keep.
Chapter 33
How does one become part of a family?
The daily rituals that become second nature? Attending church and dinners? The taking on of a last name? Perhaps even the occasional laughing and joking with a new younger brother?
I didn’t know the answer, but perhaps there wasn’t one. Instead, it was the complex combination that occurred over time, combined with an overabundance of patience and understanding. The legalities Carmine had promised progressed with only minor speed bumps along the way. My legal team, the one paid handsomely to keep on top of all things Demetri Enterprises, collaborated with a few very trusted souls who work in conjunction with Carmine’s well-compensated attorneys. Together they kept the road to adoption clear and free from unwanted detours.
It didn’t hurt that Silvia’s biological mother was more than willing to sign away her parental rights. I never asked about any outside motivation. I didn’t want to know. Limiting the information we shared with Silvia was for her own good. She already knew her mother ‘sold’ her as domestic help. There was no need to bog her down with the additional knowledge that an auction had been put into motion, or that now given the opportunity, the woman didn’t want her only daughter to return.
It was also important to share only enough with the courts. While it would be beneficial to many children to expose the sales of human beings to the highest bidder, doing so would turn Silvia Greco’s adoption into a criminal case and shed light on associates who were better at the time kept in debt with our silence. Another hurdle the attorneys faced was keeping Silvia under our roof and out of the foster-care system.
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