Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 117010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
The sister who met me was cordial and more than welcoming, her thick accent almost indiscernible as she tried to speak English. I soon put her at ease with my fluent Sicilian, and that, along with the check I’d brought along with me, seemed to reassure her that I had no ill will towards sister Margarite, who I insisted on seeing once our business was over.
“She should be leaving mass right about now. I’ll send her out to the back garden and keep the other sisters away to give you some privacy.” Her smile was reassuring.
“I appreciate it, thanks.” She showed me out to the back garden and pointed out a stone bench where I could sit and wait. I gave her my thanks once again but preferred to stand.
I’m nervous! It’s a new experience for me, this uneasy fluttering in the pit of my stomach that felt like dread. Not the sweet little anticipatory butterflies you get when about to face something good.
In all the years I’ve been putting my plan together, I never once felt anything other than determination, but now, now that I’m here, I almost don’t want to know what I came to learn. I’d stopped reliving that night in my head from the story Ma told me a long time ago.
But I was aware that I was about to open that wound again, with not only a stranger but someone who’d been there that night. Someone who I wouldn’t have any qualms about asking the tough questions as I did with Ma.
Though the building could do with some TLC, the grounds were another matter altogether. The garden was well-kept, with a myriad of colors and vines clinging to the outside walls and anything else they could find. I didn’t worry about the guys finding me here because this part of the grounds was sectioned off and only accessible through the building, which they couldn’t freely enter at will.
It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps behind me and took a deep breath before gearing up myself to turn around and face her. Her reaction was not what I expected to say the least and almost sidetracked me from my purpose for being here; it was so visceral.
“You! How can this be? Why haven’t you aged?” She looked petrified and flustered and actually took a few steps back as if to turn and run away.
“I’m not who you think I am.” I kept my voice low and even so as not to spook her any more than she already seemed to be.
“Of course you are. What are you then? Fantasima´?” A ghost! She looked like she almost believed it. “I’m the son of Sofia Antonelli.”
I could see the wheels turning, saw almost to the second when she put two and two together. I wasn’t surprised that she mistook me for him, Alonzo Ricci; I already knew I had his face. But from the reaction, I’m guessing I look even more like him in person.
My nervousness turned to anger for some reason. Maybe because she was the first one I’d met from my mother’s past. Due to her new position as a nun, I’d almost convinced myself that I’d go easy on her. Now that we were standing face to face, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Why didn’t you do anything that night?”
“What night do you refer to?” She looked away from me, giving away the fact that she knew exactly what I was talking about, not that there was ever any doubt.
“You know what night I’m talking about. Don’t play games.” I had to remind myself that she was not the main target.
“No, no, I don’t….”
“The night she was raped right in front of you.” This part I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of until now until the look of remembered horror and disgust flitted across her face. I breathed just that much easier now. There was no doubt that she was there and that she knew and could give me the answers I sought.
My words shook her to the core, and she ended up dropping down onto the bench when her legs gave out beneath her. Her eyes had that faraway look of someone who’s lost in thought and memory. “There was nothing I could do. I was little more than a child myself.” Something in me relaxed at her willingness to answer.
“And after?”
“After, there was no one I could tell. You don’t understand, your father, he….”
“He’s not my father.” Why did her saying that piss me off so much? Just being associated with him in any way was a sore point of contention. Bad enough, she’d looked at me like a monster. I didn’t want her lumping me together with him in any way, not even in her mind.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. What did your mother tell you about that night?”