She looked like she wanted to run from him again, so he reached out to stop her. “I already knew it was you. I’ve known for a few months.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t see the point in telling you.”

“Your mama died because of me, and you didn’t see the point? I destroyed your life, Carmine!”

“Christ, you were just a little girl. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I took your mama from you.”

“No, you didn’t. The person who pulled the trigger took her.”

“You’re wrong.” She wiped her tears away. “How can you look at me? How could you love me after that?”

“How can I not? I’d die for you, so how could I blame you for my mom feeling the same way?”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” she said. “I’m not worth it.”

“Don’t say shit like that. You can’t shut down and pull away from everything.”

“But you said—”

He cut her off before she could repeat the things he had said. “I was angry. We all do shit when we’re upset we don’t mean. I’ve lost too much as it is. I don’t want to lose you too.” She choked back a sob as he pulled her into a hug. “Fuck, tesoro. I don’t know how we’re gonna get over this, but we need to find a way. I’m miserable without you.”

He held her, comforted by having her in his arms again. She pulled from his embrace as her crying slowed and peered at him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you by talking to Nicholas. It’s just . . . no matter his reasons, he went out of his way to try to make me laugh.”

While Carmine questioned Nicholas’s motives, he realized, as he stood there, that everyone had been right. He needed to respect her decisions; he had to let her make mistakes. “You know he fucking hates me.”

“He’s angry, but he doesn’t hate you. I think he misses you.”

He laughed bitterly. “He says bad shit about me.”

“He does, but like you said—we say things we don’t mean when we’re hurt. The two of you used to be close, and now you have me, but who does Nicholas have? I understand why he doesn’t want to accept you’ve changed, because he hasn’t. He doesn’t want to believe you’re not the same, because that means he really is alone. He lost his only friend.”

* * *

Heaps of paperwork surrounded Vincent. He’d been sitting there for hours trying to get it knocked down, but he couldn’t focus. He was exhausted, and everything was falling apart.

The office door thrust open as Vincent read the same paragraph for the fifth time, his son strolling into the room. “You’re making my night hell, Carmine. You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested.”

“I have something that’ll make it all better . . . or it’s just gonna make your life worse.”

Carmine dropped a book on top of the paperwork, knocking the pen right out of his hand. Vincent sighed. “What’s this?”

“You don’t recognize my mom’s diary?” he asked. “Haven found it in the library.”

He slumped into his chair, staring at the book in a daze. “I suspected your mother kept one, but it never struck me it might’ve been with the other books when Celia packed everything up in Chicago for me. I must’ve stuck it on the shelf without realizing what it was.”

“Well, that’s where it was, so there you go.”

After Carmine walked out, Vincent ran his hand over the worn cover before opening the book, his curiosity fueling him as he flipped to the last page. The familiar handwriting made him feel like someone had plunged a hand into his chest and gripped his heart, squeezing it.

He scanned the passage, seeing the date. October 12, 1997. She’d written it the day she died.

The closet door in Carmine’s room was stuck this morning. I had to break the knob to open the door. Another thing to add to the list . . . the bottom step is loose, the kitchen window won’t budge most days, the tire swing fell down, and the front door is in desperate need of new paint. Such small things, one after another, all easily fixed but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like everything is falling apart around me, the world crumbling as I stand here, still. I think time has run out—not for her, but for me. I’ve hit a wall and it’s too late to turn back. Not that I would, even if I could. Vincent doesn’t understand right now, but someday he’ll see what I see. Someday he’ll realize why I couldn’t give up on her. Maybe when that happens, he’ll hang the tire swing again. Maybe the window will be replaced, the step nailed down, and maybe the door will be repainted. Blue this time, instead of red. I’m tired of seeing so much red. Maybe then it’ll be our time to have peace. And maybe then she’ll finally be free. I think when that happens the world will stop crumbling.

Vincent closed the book. His world was still crumbling.

* * *

Haven stood by the kitchen window and gazed out into the driveway, her eyes fixated on the Mazda, the passenger side windshield buckled from Carmine’s fist. Even from where she stood she could see the streak of blood from his knuckles.

“I woke up alone.”

The gritty voice rang out behind Haven, drawing her from her thoughts. She turned to see Carmine in the doorway. “You looked peaceful,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She glanced at his hand, the bruising on his knuckles dark this morning.

“It’s fine,” he said, noticing the attention. He flexed his fingers to prove his point, his jaw rigid as he fought back a grimace. His hand was clearly not fine, but she didn’t argue with him.

They stared at each other in silence. There was so much that needed to be said, but Haven had no idea where to start. All of it was overwhelming. Her eyes filled with tears as she blurted out, “I’m sorry,” the same time Carmine spoke, echoing her words and distress.

He frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“I told you, Haven. My hand’s fine.”

“Not your hand,” she said. “You. I hurt you, and I didn’t mean to.”

“You did,” he said, “but I did the same thing. I’d be a hypocrite to blame you. I could’ve stopped this before it started, and that’s why I’m sorry.”

She turned around, his apology making her feel worse. He was trying to reassure her when he was the one who needed to be comforted. He deserved to have the burden lifted from his shoulders, but she selfishly stood in silence, unable to find the words to ease his pain.

His bare feet slapped against the cold, hard floor as he shuffled over to her, pausing at the window. “Christ, look at my car.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You have to stop apologizing,” he said, startling her as he grabbed her hips. “It happened, it was fucked up, but it’s over now. Dwelling on who hurt who isn’t gonna make the shit go away. You can’t hold grudges and expect anything to get better, because it won’t.”

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“I’ve been doing it for years, all the while wondering why my life was shitty. I’m tired of repeating the same mistakes over and over again. It’s time to accept what happened and forgive.”

She was amazed by his sudden burst of maturity when less than twelve hours before he had been volatile. It was as if he’d been completely crushed, defeated to the point that he had no will left to fight.

“Does that mean forgiving Nicholas too?”

He went rigid. “What does he have to do with this?”

“You said nothing would get better holding grudges so I figured—”

“You figured wrong. That’s different.”

“How?” she asked. “You said dwelling on stuff wouldn’t help anything. It happened, but it’s over, so it’s time to move on. Right?”

He stared at her. “He’s an asshole, Haven. He hurts everything he touches.”

“That’s the same thing he says about you. He’s wrong, and I’ve told him, but maybe you are, too.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay. I’m just saying maybe the two of you aren’t that different, and maybe if you can put everything aside, you guys can—”

“I know what you’re saying, and that’s a lot of fucking maybes. It’s not gonna happen, so there’s no point talking about it. In fact, I don’t wanna talk about him at all, ever.”

She stopped talking, his tone telling her the subject was closed. The tension in the room mounted again, and she fought the urge to apologize for irritating him.

“Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali,” Carmine said, rubbing his chest where those words were inked on his flesh. “When I first got the tattoo, I didn’t believe it, but I do now. You can get over anything with enough time. I’m not sure how much it’s gonna take to work through this shit we have going on, but I have all the time in the world for you.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she closed her eyes as she hugged him. “If you didn’t believe it, why’d you get the tattoo?”

“It’s something my mom used to say.” He let out a curious laugh. “Reminds me of you and your random trivia. I don’t know why it took me so long to see the similarities. It should’ve been obvious that my mom had grown up like you.”

Haven pulled away from him. “What did you say?”

He cut his eyes to her. “Which part?”

“Your mama was like me? You mean a slave?”

He cringed at the word but nodded. “I thought you knew. You saw the diary.”

She shook her head. “I only read the piece of paper that fell out of it, Carmine.”

His eyes widened. “I thought you read the whole thing. Hell, I would’ve read it. I gave it to my father so I wouldn’t be tempted.”

“Dr. DeMarco knows?”

“Of course,” he said. “He’s known for years. It’s no coincidence you ended up here.”

All of a sudden, as she stood there in the kitchen, the fog lifted and everything became clear. The reason he bought her, the reason he was freeing her. Masters were supposed to take life away, yet he had done everything in his power to give her one instead . . . and he had done it all for the woman he loved.

That knowledge made it feel like the ground was moving.

* * *

Haven was in her room that afternoon when Carmine came in, clutching a large white envelope. “You have mail, tesoro.”

She eyed him warily as he sat on the edge of the bed, handing the mail to her. The return address was from North Carolina Community Colleges. “Is this . . . ?”

“Your test results.”

She stared at the envelope as she ran her finger along the seal.

“Are you gonna open it or what?”

The enthusiasm in Carmine’s voice frazzled her. It was the first time she had put herself out there, and the thought of failing scared her. “Can you do it for me?”