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Severio’s gaze is intense. More intense than usual, and it’s making my heartbeat speed up. “Is there someone in particular you’re referring to?”
A pause, then, “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
26
HATE HIM EVEN MORE
CRISTINA
Alittle over a year ago, I was at the hotel working in the kitchen when my mother walked in. She wore a black button-up shirt over black pants, and she was sobbing. Immediately, I knew someone had died. She held out her arms to me, and I wiped my hands and removed my dirty apron to receive her hug.
She started sobbing even harder. I helped her in the middle of my kitchen at the height of Saturday night’s traffic. People tried to move around us, but I could see they needed space, and I remember thinking this had to be bad because she knew I couldn’t afford a single minute of time that wasn’t dedicated to the guests waiting for their meals.
I took my mother into the back, my office a clean and calm space that several of us use to decompress during our shifts. Working in the kitchen is a highly stressful job. We dump our frustrations in the office and then get back to work.
Mom sat on the couch and told me my father had passed away from a heart attack.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t dump those feelings into the room and return to work. The sorrow didn’t stay in the room after I left it. It followed me home into bed, where I stayed for a long time. Ican barely remember his funeral. It’s all a haze. The casket. The flowers. The people. I remember the rain.
Was Severio at the funeral? “Did you attend my dad’s funeral?”
Severio nods.
“Then you know my father died. We buried him. Together, the way we’ll bury Gio, it seems. He won’t make contact because he’s dead.” I make the sign of the cross over my heart.
When my mother delivered the news that my father had suffered a heart attack, I was standing at my desk, grabbing her a box of tissues. She spit out the news of his passing so quickly that I dropped the tissues along with my composure. My knees folded under me, and I crawled to the couch so we could hug and cry together.
Severio has the decency to talk about my father’s life and death while I’m sitting down. I can appreciate that.
“Cristina.” Severio covers my hands with his. “Your father’s grave holds no body.”
When I gasp and cover my mouth with a shaking hand, he grabs my wrist and tugs.
“Come sit on my lap,” he says.
I do as he asks. Strong arms hold me and rock.
“You dug up the grave,” I say.
“Drago did.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I had to be sure.”
“Wha… Does my mother know?” It’s absurd what he’s saying. I don’t believe it. A mistake. It must be the wrong gravesite.
“I don’t believe so. If she does, I’ll take care of her.”
I lean back. “Take care of her how?”
Severio blinks at my forceful tone.
“How?” I repeat.
