Page 42 of I Would Beg For You

Pain zaps in her eyes. I’m sure mine are echoing the same thing. But strangely, a soft veil of something like peace also falls on us, like sharing our sorrow soothed instead of ripping the gash open again.

I think of Mamma, and as a soft smile graces my mouth when I hear the sound of her voice calling me, faint as it is now, something clicks in my mind. I’m sitting up so abruptly, Naomi almost gets thrown onto the cushion next to me.

“What is it?” she asks.

I stand up and grab her hand. “Come with me.”

She looks puzzled, but she follows me, nevertheless. I take the stairs to the top floor, then at the end of the hallway, unlock the final door and take another flight of steep stairs up. We emerge into a timbered space with slanted roofs and a big bull’s eye window lighting up the whole area with colorful rays thanks to its stained glass.

Naomi giggles. “Are you a wizard or something?”

I can see where she’s going with this. “I’d be no ordinary wizard but a powerful warlock.”

“That, you would.” She laughs again. “So, where’s the Book of Shadows?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but we’re not inCharmedhere.”

“Lends itself to it perfectly, though.”

I let her peruse the attic while I go to the boxes stacked under some eaves. Mamma loved this space and could spend hours lost in the family albums. My father always made sure it was clean and clutter-free, the big rug in the middle dusted every other week. Even after she was gone, he honored her memory here, keeping it pristine like when she was alive. Ina and Carlito have kept it up since his demise.

A pang hits my heart, but I don’t let it settle as I peruse box after box. When I finally land on the one, I was looking for, I take the album with me and drop onto the rug, tugging Naomi next to me. I flip the pages quickly until I come to the picture I was looking for.

Naomi gasps next to me. “Is that…?”

“Your mother? Yes.”

She runs a reverent finger over the clear plastic covering the image. In it, my red-haired mom has her arm around the shoulders of a young woman with long dark blonde hair, pale skin, and a soft smile.

“How do you have this?” she breathes.

“It was Luciano’s fourth birthday. Your parents had just gotten married and moved in next door. My mamma wouldn’t hear of not inviting Aoife over. She was a stranger in this neighborhood, in this entire community.”

Naomi’s still staring at the picture. “Your mom looks pregnant.”

I do the math in my head. “Must’ve been with Victor.”

She stays silent for a long moment, and I see her take a deep breath as she removes her fingers from the album.

“Do you want to keep it?” I ask.

My heart squeezes when she shakes her head.

“We don’t keep pictures of her…”

“You could snap it with your phone.”

“Forgot to bring it with me.” She looks up and gives me a watery smile. “No place in that dress you sent to tuck a phone.”

“And you weren’t wearing a bra.” I run with her statement, knowing instinctively she wants to change the topic.

“Can’t tuck that in panties.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Were those panties you were wearing? Scraps of lace sound more appropriate.”

She laughs and, without looking down, closes the album. “How is your family, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

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