“I bet she’s a real good fuckin’ whore for you.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, I guess… You are a DeLuca after all.”

“And everyone knows your mother was a whore.”

35

Bailey

Two thousand five hundred and sixty-eight. That was the number of tiles on the wall.

One day I counted that exact number three times in a row. If I could explain in words my rise and fall, my success and demise, it would be two thousand five hundred and sixty-eight.

“I’ll be back later tonight, okay?” Nate said, squatting down next to the bed, his worried eyes filled with pity.

I nodded as I lay in bed, refusing to look at him, and pulled the covers closer to my chest.

I’d woken up that morning, eaten breakfast, taken my meds and then pretended not to be surprised when Nate had told me what day it was. Valentine’s day.

He’d handed me a little velvet bag as hopefulness replaced the pity in his eyes, just for a moment, but then returned when I’d given him a half-hearted thank you and took the bag from him. I’d set it on the nightstand, gotten back into bed, and had looked up at the fall leaves hanging from the ceiling. And that was how I stayed, all day, falling in and out of sleep, crying my silent cries, suffering my silent pain.

Now, he was dressed in a suit, his tie bright red, matching the color of blood… just like the blood that led me here. “Do you want me to bring you back anything? I don’t know how long I’ll be so—”

“Have a good time,” I cut in, my voice husky from lack of use.

He nodded once, then looked over at my nightstand, at the unopened gift he’d given me this morning. “I’m sorry that I have to leave tonight. It’s one of the biggest nights of the year, and I need to be there, but I rearranged my schedule so I could stay home tomorrow and celebrate—”

“Sure,” I cut in, but what I really wanted to say was celebrate what? Celebrate being forced to love someone? I almost said it. Almost. But then he smiled, and I swear the entire room lit up, as well all the empty spaces of my cold, dead, heart. He ran his hand through my hair and wet his lips before kissing my forehead.

“Good,” he said, backing away so he could look at me again. “I know I’ve been working a lot, lately…”

My eyes drifted shut when he placed his hand on my cheek. “It’s okay. I understand.”

I didn’t understand.

I wanted to.

But I couldn’t.

He kissed me again. “Ti amo, mia bella regazza.”

*

It was a gold-plated fall leaf.

I thought the present would’ve been flashy jewelry of some kind, and that’s why I hadn’t opened it. I didn’t want jewelry. I had no need for it. To be honest, I didn’t even love the bracelet he got me anymore. One day he’d come home with a flower charm and all it had done was remind me of what was out there and all the things I’d been missing… all the things I missed.

I wore it for him because there was only so much sadness and misery I could invoke on one person before I began to hate the person who created the misery.

The leaf dug into my palms as I fisted it, holding it tight while I switched off all the lights, bar the fairy lights, and got back into bed. I closed my eyes, feeling the tears trickle down my temples, and then I let myself go back there, back to summers on a lake, bristles of a bright purple hairbrush combing through my hair, my mother’s fingers following after. I got lost in the sound of her voice as she sang to me, her words a declaration of her love for me. I was her sunshine. Her only sunshine. My heart tore in two as I sang the words aloud, and anger swept through my veins. How dare she tell me she loved me? How dare she sing that song? How dare she beg and plead with phrases meant for children, that nobody take me away from her, and then be the one to leave? The anger faded, replaced with sadness and longing, and I found myself crying, though it wasn’t really a surprise. I fell asleep that way, visions of my mother, of my freedom, of my life—all slipping away from me—and I awoke the same way, Nate’s light snoring bringing a soundtrack to my downfall.

For the next few days, I lived and breathed those same thoughts, same memories, same shattered hopes and dreams and so when Tuesday came around, and I watched Tiny unwrap his meal, I looked up from my own and asked him something that’d been on my mind since Nate slid a single fall leaf beneath the bathroom door; “Will you find my mother?”

36

Bailey

I barely saw Nate. He was constantly working, or at the gym, or out late. He’d make sure I had my medication in the morning and that I had dinner at night and was there for all my check-up appointments with Doctor Polizi, but besides that, he was absent to the point where I felt like I was living with Tiny more than I was in a relationship with him… if you could even call it that.

It’d been three Tuesday night dinners since I’d asked Tiny to find my mom, and I hadn’t heard anything back. Only that he was looking. I knew, deep down, that that’s why Nate was being distant. If he’d sat me down and asked me why… Why I wanted to know, and why I’d asked Tiny instead of him, I would’ve told him the truth.

Put simply, I was curious, and Tiny would be able to give me whatever information I wanted without the emotional attachment, without the need to protect my feelings.

The alarm at the front door sounded, and I paused mid laundry-fold, listening to the footsteps above me. I heard Tiny’s voice, followed by Nate’s, and I wondered if it was going to be another one of those nights where Nate would send Tiny down with my dinner and an excuse as to why he wasn’t there.

It wasn’t, though, because they both came down the stairs, bottle of whiskey in Nate’s hand and a large yellow envelope in Tiny’s. I looked from the envelope to Nate, and the look on his face was enough to tell me that it was time for the truth.

*

We sat at the table in the corner of the room like we’d done many nights before, only it wasn’t Tuesday, and there wasn’t a takeout box in sight. I held the gold leaf in my hand, ignoring the pain as the edges dug into my skin. “You found her?” I asked Tiny, even though I was looking at Nate. His eyes were hooded as he tried to focus on the bottle in his hand. He’d obviously been drinking, so I had to assume that the contents of the envelope were the cause of his current state.

Tiny cleared his throat, and I forced myself to look away from Nate and over at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s her.” He pulled out a photograph from the envelope and placed it on the table in front of me.

I didn’t have to look at it for long before I spoke around the lump in my throat, “That’s her.”

Years of separation hadn’t changed her. In the picture, she was smiling, one hand holding a door open, the other holding the hand of a little girl no older than five. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Do you know who the girl is?” I asked Tiny.

Nate sat up, the bottle clutched to his chest, but still, he remained silent.

Tiny exhaled loudly, before answering, “That’s her daughter, Bailey.”

Nate dropped his gaze to the table while my mind whirled with questions. Then, suddenly, I gasped, as if reality had kicked me in the gut, punched me in my face, and I tried to hold on to the memories; summers by the lake, purple brushes through my hair, fall leaves, and declarations of love… I was her sunshine, her only sunshine.