Page 71 of The Mad Don
“I — I’m —”
“You thought we were rich kids,” I say, eating.
“No. I — I —”
She falls silent. Lucia breathes in. My eyes are on her. She wipes her eyes.
“It’s okay, Angel,” I tell her.
“I’m so sorry,” Yana says.
“You don’t have to be,” I say. “I killed him.”
The silence goes tense. Yana’s eyes meet mine, but there is no shock on her face. There is understanding, almost.
“He deserved it,” Lucia says. “I’d kill him myself if I could.”
“Killing is bad,” I say fast. “You can’t.”
Yana laughs.
It comes out of her suddenly, and her whole face changes with it. Lucia and I both turn to look at her.
“Sorry,” she says.
I wait.
“It’s just ironic,” she says. “You saying killing is bad.”
Lucia hides a smile, and I chuckle. It is darkly funny. Our line of work makes it so
“Let’s talk about something nicer,” Lucia says, still giggling. “Flowers. Which flowers do you like, Yana?”
“I don’t know much about flowers.”
“You have to have a favorite one.”
“The ones that don’t need much. That grow anyway.”
“That’s not a flower, that’s a personality.”
“Lavender, then.”
“Lavender.” Lucia nods, satisfied. “I like peonies. Giovanni hates flowers; he pretended to like them for me when I was little. He always got bitten by bugs trying to pick them…”
They go on like that; I sit back on the cloth, and I watch them.
And underneath the warmth of it, in the place where I keep the things I do not say, I let myself feel the truth I have been pushing down for days. I wish I had lived a different life.
A life where I could keep my sister safe and keep this woman beside me. I watch my sister eat porridge and laugh. For the first time in my life, I find myself regretting every decision that brought me here.
* * *
I tuck the blanket up around Lucia’s shoulders. She is asleep. She went down easy tonight, easier than she has in months, worn out in the good way from a full day in the sun. Her face is untroubled. There is still color in it, even now. We spent the whole day with Yana; the picnic ran long. Lucia talked until her voice gave out, then made Yana talk, then made me talk, and by the time the sun started to set, she was leaning against the side of the chair, half-dreaming, with a smile on her face.
I brush her hair back and kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
