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Her heart stopped. They couldn’t bring her back.
She’s gone.
While I was laughing. While I was letting myself be happy because for one afternoon, I forgot that happiness is something you earn through suffering, not something you’re allowed to have for free.
Darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. Not the dramatic, movie kind of darkness. No, this is slow, and… grayish. I think.
Domenico’s voice gets farther away. The cold stone beneath my knees… wait, when did I end up on my knees?
Mom’s dead.
The thought circles, precise and merciless.
Mom’s dead.
Mom’s dead.
Mom’s…
22
Kira
Icome back to myself in pieces.
The first thing I notice is Domenico’s chest against my face, his heartbeat racing under my cheek. His arms are locked around me, one hand spread across my lower back, the other cradling the base of my skull. His fingers are tangled in my hair, holding my head against him as if he’s afraid I might break if he lets go.
Right now, that feels like a very valid concern.
“Kira.” Domenico’s voice is rough against the top of my head. “I need you to breathe.”
I’m breathing. I think I’m breathing. But my lungs feel thin and useless, and each inhale catches halfway up my throat.
“She’s dead.” The words come out scraped. Raw. “She’s dead, Domenico.”
“I know.” His hand tightens in my hair. “I know, baby.”
Over his shoulder, I can see fragments of the world continuing. Vinny’s silhouette in the doorway, one hand raised to hold back anyone trying to come through. Donna’s worried face. Father Joseph stands a few feet away, his hands clasped, watching with the resigned stillness of a man who’s seen this happen too many times.
The festival music still plays through the open door.
Mom is dead, and the world keeps turning.
“I need to see her.” My hands fist in Domenico’s suit jacket, twisting the expensive fabric. “I need to go to Langford right now. Please.”
Domenico doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell me to wait, to breathe, to think about it. He just nods and starts moving.
“Vinny.” His voice carries over my head, controlled and sharp. “Get the car. Now.”
“On it, Boss.”
“Domenico, I can handle…” I start, trying to push myself upright. But instead of helping me, my legs kind of just flop. Like I’m a newborn who hasn’t yet gained the muscles and coordination needed.
His arm tightens, and the need to protest dissipates as I let him hold me until my legs are solid enough to stand, and then he stands with me, one arm locked around my waist.
Donna appears at my side with my bag and coat. Her eyes are red-rimmed. “I’ll take care of everything here,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You go. Call me if you need anything at all.”
I don’t have the words to thank her.
