Page 273 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

FOURTEEN

The conversation filtered down the main hall of the large Amityville home as John strolled through the front door, and closed it behind him softly. He took quiet strides, following the conversation until muffled voices were much clearer.

“It’ll take time,” he heard his mother say.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Cella muttered heavily.

“It’s okay to not be okay, Cella.”

“Is it? I think it’s easier to pretend, Ma.”

“But you shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I know.”

John used two knuckles to knock on the wall as he stood in the entryway to his mother’s living room. He didn’t want to interrupt the conversation happening in the room between his sister, and his mother.

At the same time, he also didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping on a conversation he knew really wasn’t any of his business. Cella would not like to think that John was stepping in on her personal shit—mostly because it was John.

“Hey,” John said when the two women looked his way.

“Mio ragazzo.” Jordyn smiled. “Come in, John.

John took a step in the room as Cella cleared her throat, and dropped one of the items of clothing she had been folding back into the basket on the couch. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but he didn’t take it personally.

“Cella,” John greeted.

“John.”

Well, his name was better than nothing, he supposed. It was more than he had been getting where his sister was concerned.

Jordyn didn’t look all too surprised to see John standing there, but then again, she had known he was coming over. After all, he had sought out his mother’s help to try and make some kind of amends with Cella over what happened to her husband.

Jordyn had been all too willing to play the go-between in that regard. She always disliked how John’s sisters—mostly Liliana and Cella—were not willing to close some of the distance between them. John understood why, of course, given their history. It was not a good history shared between them. He was once known to burn bridges with harsh words.

Here he was trying to fix a bridge instead.

Funny how that worked.

Sure, William’s death was not done by John’s hand. It had not been him who pulled the trigger, and took the man away from his wife and child. Nonetheless, it had been—in a way—John’s involvement and subsequent dealings with the Calabrese that started this feud between the two families.

So, maybe, it was his fault.

Shit.

He felt far too much guilt.

“John,” his mother said, “I will go make you a coffee. Your father is upstairs having a nap, too. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Keeping a firm grip on the gift bag in his hand, John nodded to his mother and came closer to the couch. He didn’t set the bag down, step in his sister’s way, or even get in her personal space. John wasn’t here to upset Cella in anyway, just … try to apologize.

If he could.

If she would let him.

“Don’t bother Dad,” John told his mother. “Let him sleep. I bet his ribs are still sore.”

“A little,” Jordyn replied. “But he won’t admit it.”