Page 8 of Thin Lives

He shouldn’t have bothered at all.

“Why?” Affonso pressed.

Calisto sighed, knowing damn well Affonso wouldn’t be pleased that he was seeking out answers to his lost memories again. “It’s been a while since I chatted with him.”

Affonso was quiet for a long while before finally saying, “You always were close to the priest. He’s been your confessor for …”

“Years,” Calisto finished for his uncle.

It was one of the reasons why Calisto wanted to go see Father Day. If things had been going on in his life, emotional upheavals or other things that made him question his own morals, Father Day would be the man Calisto went to.

He didn’t have the first clue if that’s what had been happening to him leading up to his accident, but without a doubt, his mother’s death would have been difficult on him. It was now—he couldn’t even remember her passing.

Father Day should have answers for at least some questions Calisto found himself wondering about on a daily basis.

Affonso cleared his throat, bringing Calisto out of his thoughts.

“I was hoping he could fill in a few blanks for me, especially about my mother,” Calisto said.

“You know how your mother died. Her heart gave out because of her disease. We visited the grave, Cal.”

Calisto rapped his fingers on the steering wheel, hearing the annoyance in Affonso’s tone as clear as day. Each time this subject was brought up between them, Affonso became irritated and cold. It was almost as if he wanted Calisto to simply forget about it all and move on with what he had left.

He just couldn’t do that.

“Not Ma, exactly,” Calisto said. “More me. I want to know about me during that time.”

Affonso grunted, and a glass clinked on the other end of the line. “You were … distraught.”

That sounded right.

But it still felt like a lot was left out.

“I think …” Calisto’s brow furrowed as he wondered if he should admit to the one memory he knew he had leading up to the accident.

“What, my boy?”

Affonso’s gentle question made Calisto think that his uncle was simply irritated with his questions because maybe he wanted him to be better. Happy, even. And Calisto was focusing on things that were no longer important because they had already happened.

So, he chose to tell him.

“I think I was at the church that night,” Calisto said.

“You were there earlier in the day. The Irish, remember?”

Calisto knew what his uncle was talking about, but remembering was a whole other matter. No, he didn’t remember having a meeting with the New Jersey Irish mob boss, but apparently he had and refused to allow anyone else to come as well.

Affonso blamed the accident that followed on the Irish boss.

A war was still raging between their families on the streets.

“Not then. Ray said that was in the daytime,” Calisto explained.

Affonso sucked in air through his teeth, and a chair squeaked. “Keep going.”

“I remember being there that night, zio. At the church. I was angry about something, and Father Day wanted to talk to me about it, but I pushed him off.”

“Cal …”