Burned

by Meg Watson

  What am I doing here? How is this real life?

  But then the people pass in front of me again and I snap back into my own head like a rubber band. I try to forget what I just saw and continue my duty. Extend a hand. Clasp, bounce, release.

  “So sorry for your loss.”

  I do not have to say anything back when they offer their condolences. But it’s okay. It isn’t expected of me. I can just nod. I can say thank you if I want. This is one of the only times in my life where every word isn’t completely scripted. People will give me a little slack because my father is dead.

  Which, unfortunately, is probably the least of my problems.

  “He was a great man,” someone says.

  One after another, my relatives drop their small phrases of sorrow into the heavy air between us, then move on. Some stop to push their hands against Gus’s short blonde hair, but he doesn’t look up from his small, electronic game. The game isn't on; that would just be disrespectful. But he sullenly presses at the buttons anyway, out of habit.

  “There will never be another like Nero,” somebody mutters.

  I absentmindedly lay my hand on the back of Gus's neck and turn my face away from the mirrors. A break in the line is coming and I don’t want to see any more.

  Spreading my fingers through the back of his close-shorn head, I relish the small, animal feeling of his presence. He feels so immediate, so real on this very strange day full of unreal things. He only dips his head slightly then turns to look up at me, blinking his big, hazel eyes.

  “Just a little while longer,” I reassure him.

  A wave of guilt floods me, and I wish I could just pick him up and leave. Why does a little boy have to sit through this? It won't change anything. It is just suffering for suffering’s sake, just to make a show of duty.

  Some traditions are just stupid. Let the adults stand around and think about death if they want to. Let them do it all day. Why does Gus need to be here?

  He nods and drops his head to gaze at the toy in his hands again. His thumbs resume their barely audible drumming. His patience and willingness to play along sends another wave of guilt tumbling through me.

  I know that by now I have probably taught him all of the things that are going to trap him in the Family life. I never meant to; it just happens that way. Kids pick up on what you say, what you do… even what you don’t say. He’s picked up the flavor of this family like pasta picks up the flavor in a soup.

  If nothing changes, he’ll eventually be just like all the other men in this huge, marble room who came to say goodbye to Nero, my father. Men in suits. Made men. Dangerous men.

  I want to pick him up like when he was a baby and fold him in my arms. But everyone here would cluck their tongues and say I was spoiling him, weakening him. It’s like 1960 in everyone’s minds, like nothing has changed in sixty years, and nothing ever will.

  “He will be so missed,” someone says. I barely notice.

  Clasp, bounce, release, repeat. I mutter my thanks to another half dozen mourners and pivot slightly so I won’t have to catch my reflection anymore. It keeps startling me, like it is somebody who I always knew was coming but wasn't prepared to meet. I am my own omen.

  My eyes count the next few people in line to the end, stopping at the extended arm of a midnight black suit. I push myself forward slightly to camouflage the automatic wince as I recognize him. I don't want anyone to see my reaction, but by now I am so well-trained in hiding my disgust that it is second nature.

  Aldo shifts his weight to his left so that he can meet my eyes. He has slicked his dark blonde hair back severely behind his ears. It is gelled and orderly, only curling back in spiky claws at the nape of his neck. He is dressed in a custom made, three-button black suit with a high vest. A single dove gray pocket square peeks from one slash to the side of his lapel.

  Once we make eye contact, I force myself not to look away. I keep my expression carefully neutral as his dark brown eyes burrow into me. A curling vein throbs over his left eyebrow, but other than that there is no sign of what he is really thinking.

  The remaining mourners pass me by, but when Aldo reaches me he stops. Instead of extending a hand, he drops into the empty chair next to mine. I find myself leaning away like he shoved me, but I force myself to sit back up.

  Shifting in his seat, Aldo folds his hands between his knees in what almost looks like a humble gesture. He still hasn't dropped my gaze, and my eyes begin to burn with the effort of not looking away. Finally, he does.

  “Good to see you there, champ,” Aldo says, clearing his throat.

  Gus stops tapping and he slowly turns his head. “It's nice to see you too, Mr. Lauro,” Gus says politely.

  “Uncle Aldo,” Aldo corrects him with a cocked eyebrow. “Told you a thousand times, champ. You should call me Uncle Aldo.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Aldo,” Gus says obediently. His eyes flicker up to me and I gave him an almost imperceptible nod. That's a good boy. Now go back to your imaginary game.

  As I turn back to Aldo, I catch the reflection of the three of us in the mirror. Gus with his blonde head down, his ankles locked and swinging slightly back and forth since his feet are nowhere near the ground. Aldo on my other side, his knee against my knee, his shoulders hunched forward. All he has to do is extend his arms slightly and I will be swallowed up.

  And her again, in the middle. That stranger in the black dress who showed up to take my place. I don’t even know myself anymore.

  “Charli,” Aldo begins, “I think it's time you and I had a serious conversation.”

  Somehow I force myself to drag my eyes away from the mirror and stare at my fingertips instead. They are painted in a modest peach color, shaped in small ovals. I still have a slight paleness around the ring finger.

  Up until today, I told myself I wasn't ready to remove the engagement ring. Derek has only been gone two months. But then again, he certainly isn't coming back.

  Sitting here all day wearing the engagement ring seemed too ghastly. What would people think I meant by that? How could I show up wearing the symbol of a promise that has already been dissolved? It just didn't seem right.

  This morning, as I picked out the outfit I was going to wear to the funeral, I had to consider everything to be beyond critique. Just the right sweep of hair. Just the right length of sleeve. Just the correct opacity of stocking. And whether or not to wear my dead fiance’s ring.

  Everyone here is judging me. They all have something to say, and sometimes I feel like I can almost see them whispering to each other. I am some kind of tragic figure. Being a single mother is outrageous enough. But with not one but two fiances who suddenly disappeared? It’s suspicious.

  When my father was alive I know he sheltered me. Now that protection is gone and I can feel a cold wind coming. They already have a nickname for me: Widow Capelli. No one will say it to my face yet but with Daddy gone? I don’t know.

  When I finally worked the ring off this morning, I was surprised to find the skin was so much lighter there. It seems like I am going to have to carry the ghost of that promise with me no matter what. I rub at it, covering it with my other thumb.

  “Perhaps later,” I say in a low voice, hoping Aldo will just let it go.

  “Later, later. Always later with you, Charli,” Aldo sniffs, sucking his teeth. “When is later going to be?”

  I shake my head tightly. Certainly he won’t press the issue in front of the family and everybody? “Not now.”

  Aldo leans slightly forward, and I feel his presence close over me like a shadow. I remain stiffly upright against it.

  “You're almost out of runway, you know,” he says in a low voice. “You just keep going, but there’s only so far left to go. Without your father around, you’re going to need someone to protect you. I'm offering you that. More than you ever dreamed, Charli. More than you really deserve, if you're asking me.”

  I shoot him a glare and clench my jaw. The balls on this guy. He really th
inks he can do whatever he wants. Say whatever he wants, no matter who is listening. But I don't want Gus hearing any of this.

  “You're probably right, Aldo,” I reply as calmly as I can. “You’re a catch and I don’t deserve you. You should stop asking me.”

  He jerks his chin, snorting arrogantly. “I will stop, one of these days. You can bet on it. But I didn’t want to let today slip past us. Death makes you think, you know what I’m saying?”

  I cut my eyes toward him. He’s right. Death certainly does make you think.

  “You need someone. I need someone,” he says reasonably. “So what are you gonna do?”

  “Whatever I do, it's not your concern, Aldo. I mean, uh…” Then I snap up straight, noticing the dangerous, sudden squint of his eyes. Thinking about Gus listening in is making me careless with my words. I need to be patient. I have to be pleasant for at least a little while longer, for both of our sakes.

  “I mean, I’m sorry,” I mumble apologetically. “I must be so tired.”

  “You must,” he agrees.

  I pluck at the hem of my skirt, pulling it down. I need to be polite and not antagonize him. I’m so close to being free. So close.

  “Thank you, Aldo. Thank you for your offers. I'm not really ready, you know... to move on just yet.”

  He sucks at his upper teeth and looks around, stretching his neck and shoulders to relieve the tension.

  “But you will be, doll. You will. So what are you gonna do, Charli? Find another Jew accountant? You really think that's the right choice for the boss's daughter?”

  Aldo won't even say his name. He doesn’t dare. I can tell that he is treading carefully, trying to provoke me without crossing the line. If I make a scene here, it will reflect as badly on him as it will on me.

  But I really have to struggle to choke back the accusation. I want to know what happened, what really happened. Derek’s disappearance was one of those sudden mysteries that left everybody exchanging knowing glances without saying a word. It was like they expected it. What he could possibly have done to offend anybody, to cross any line, I don’t know.

  Other than the obvious, of course. Other than not being a Family guy. Other than asking me to marry him.

  Aldo never even talked to Derek, let alone hinted at any kind of threat. But here he is now, absolutely gloating. Looming over me like I am some sort of chess piece that he claimed. Finders keepers. Like I don't have anything to say in the matter at all.

  “What if I did think Derek was the right choice? He was a good man,” I dare to whisper. I make myself lean closer to him and watch his nostrils flare as he inhales my perfume. At least he won’t need to raise his voice if I’m close, and I think I might be able to stomach his presence for at least a minute. Maybe even seventy seconds.

  “I don't think that was a good idea, Charli,” he answers after a beat. “Not at all.”

  “Why not? You just said I need protection. Maybe I shouldn’t be on my own?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You should be with a made man, Charli. Not some who-knows-what from who-knows-where.”

  “I think I can make up my own mind about who I’m with, Aldo.”

  Aldo leans even closer, placing his lips just an inch from my ear. His words crawl down my spine like a cavalry of centipedes. “That’s a very dangerous idea, Charli. I pity anybody stupid enough to hook up with you, with all the trouble you get yourself in. I think at this point, I’m the only one who’s even willing. You should be grateful.”

  Drawing back slowly, Aldo finally stops just a few inches from my face. I know anyone who is watching will assume this is some kind of romantic gesture. It wouldn’t be totally out of place, either, for a Captain in the family to announce his intentions for me here.

  With my father gone and no man to claim me, I really am more than a bit exposed. Any romantic offer would be seen as a paternal, loving thing. And I know he is betting on that.

  But I can see it in his eyes. Any remaining doubt evaporates like a drop of water on a hot griddle. I can see it there. He did something to Derek. He did something to Sammy before him. I know it in my heart as surely as if he had said the words.

  The day Sammy disappeared, I had been late back from lunch with some of the ladies. It was a Saturday afternoon. I’d called out for him in the dining room, which was sort of strange for me to do. But something was wrong with the air. It felt too empty, too open. There was a void I couldn’t quite understand.

  So I called out and heard nothing. Gus was still at the carnival with his grandparents, probably making himself sick on cotton candy. I called out again.

  When I walked into the kitchen, my skin went all tight and prickly. No one was there. Nothing was out of place. But by the back door, there was a single black scuff mark on the polished white floor. Just one arc in black rubber, trailing off at the end like a brush stroke.

  “Sammy was a made man,” I remind Aldo suddenly, anger boiling in my gut all over again like it just happened yesterday. “If Dante knew you'd done anything to him, you would be finished.”

  Aldo rolls his eyes and turns away, settling back in his chair and crossing his feet at the ankle. He runs his tongue over his front teeth under his lip. It looks like he has a mouthful of snakes.

  “I'll tell him, Aldo. I will.”

  “You're not going to tell him anything, doll. You're just gonna —”

  “Oh! Chaaaaarli,” Millie Lauro calls, her voice thick with tears as she shuffles over with her arms extended. I stand abruptly from my chair and let Millie crush me in a moist, weepy embrace.

  “Thank you, Millie,” I mumble against her beefy neck.

  Aldo flicks Gus's ear. “Your mom is standing, boy. A gentleman stands.”

  I cringe but keep my face buried in Millie's shoulder. Even though Aldo is correct about standing up when I did, I can’t believe he thinks he has the right to put his hands on my boy. Fury wells up in me like a crimson mist. I’m not sure I can keep going with this good girl act for much longer.

  But I think I finally have a way out of this room. Thank you, Aunt Millie!

  As soon as Aldo is also standing I pull away from Millie. She pivots so she can pat him sympathetically on his lapel, too. He narrows his eyes at me, trying to calculate the meaning of my sudden shift.

  “Thank you, Aldo. You're so kind,” I murmur sweetly as though he just said something wonderful. I can feel Millie pursing her lips with enthusiasm. She would love to see me with him. So would everyone else here. “Can we talk about this more later, Aldo? Maybe in the atrium?”

  “Oh, talk about it, talk about it!” Millie wheezes. She nods encouragingly at Aldo. “I'll just leave you two alone. I just wanted to say how sorry I was for your loss, Charli.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Millie,” Aldo says through clenched teeth.

  I tug subtly on Millie's elbow and then back away, leaving them facing each other. Aldo’s eyes flicker toward me once before Millie starts gushing about something, some memory of my father. I almost want to stay and hear what she has to say, but this is my opening and I’m taking it.

  I’m out of there in a hurry. Gus automatically clings to my flank as we quickly cross the marble hallway in the direction of the atrium, leaving Aldo and Millie behind me.

  When we get to the stone archway, I walk to the end and then start left. After scanning the small gatherings of mourners I finally catch Rita’s eyes and jerk my head to indicate that she should meet me in the corner.

  Gus’s thumbs drum quickly against the small keys. He buries his head in my hip and waits as Rita comes over, her heels rapping against the marble tiles.

  Rita’s eyes are cartoonishly wide and she drops her voice to a low murmur. “Now? Right now?”

  I nod tightly. My hand swirls nervously against the colic at the back of Gus's head.

  “You have everything all together, right?”

  “Yeah, everything. It's all in the Armada. Ready to go.”

  “Okay, great,” I breathe
. I raise my hand to my forehead and brush my long bangs to the side. My cheeks feel hot.

  Rita reaches out with one trembling hand and squeezes my elbow. “You sure? What if Dante says no?”

  “Then I'll do it myself,” I answer with more confidence than I feel. “I think Bruno will help as long as Dante doesn't tell him specifically that he can't. But if worse comes to worst, I guess I'm gonna carjack your Armada and just go for it.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Definitely... yeah. I sort of wanted a new car anyway,” Rita says, and I have the feeling that she means it. Rita takes a couple of deep breaths and forces a brave smile across her red-stained lips. “It's going to be okay, Charli. You do what you gotta do. I would do the same thing if I was in your place.”

  I wrap my arms around Rita, hugging her tight. I want to say something about the risk she is taking, but I don’t even have the words to convey it all. Besides, there is so much I can’t say that I am afraid to keep opening my lips in case something terrible falls out.

  I know what Rita is risking for me. If anyone finds out she is helping me make my escape, she will be in real danger of retaliation. Real danger, not just the “oh, that naughty lady” sort of danger. More the “how did Rita disappear?” sort. But I’ve lost two fiances to mysterious circumstances, and now my father is dead and Aldo is making advances combined with unsubtle threats. I have to do this. Right now.

  I drop to my knees and quickly press a kiss against Gus's forehead, tilting his face up so I can look directly into his eyes.

  “You're good to go with Rita now, okay?”

  He nods somberly.

  “I want you to do everything she tells you, okay? Lickety-split.”

  “Lickety-split,” he repeats dutifully.

  “That's a good man,” I smile. “That's my very good boy. And I will see you in just a little bit. I have to go talk to Don Dante.”

  “But you said you were going to talk to Uncle Aldo,” he reminds me.

  I shake my head. “Not Aldo. Not anymore. And you do not have to call him uncle.”

  ***