Page 9 of Choosing Hope

“They gave me a bullshit excuse about safety and sent me to live with Spence when I was six.”

She bobbed her head, and we could see her mind whirling.

We glanced away, letting her think. Some swifts skimming the surface of the pool in their desperation for a drink drew my attention.

“My parents were killed that same year.”

In unison, our faces snapped back to her, matching expressions of horror carved into our features.

“How familiar are you with Sicily’s recent history?”

We both shook our heads, “Not much more than hearsay,” Carlo admitted.

Her head bobbed slowly, and after a beat of silence, she spoke again.

“Two mafia families have always run the island. The Gelentini’s and the Mariano’s, each co-existed relatively happily, running the island in their designated territories for years.”

I watched her sweep her hair over one shoulder, something she did from time to time, as if it gave her fingers something to do.

“Fifteen years ago, the late Don Gelentini seized control of the whole drug market on the island, squeezing out the Mariano’s. In a last-ditch effort to maintain their territory, the Mariano’s started a war eleven years ago. They lost catastrophically, and during the fighting, I lost my parents.”

We both sat forward, intrigued by our new friend’s story.

I flicked a glance at Carlo and noticed his focus was unwavering. Since the age of six, he’d longed to understand the reason for what he considered to be his rejection by his parents. I hoped that hearing all this history would help him understand that perhaps his parentsweren’t simply pushing him away. Maybe they had his best interests at heart after all.

“Subsequently, the island experienced peace for several years. Any of the surviving Mariano’s went away with their tails between their legs. We assumed that would be the end of them, but in fact they were regrouping. They allied with a South American family whose primary income came from human trafficking.”

“Fuck!” Carlo exclaimed.

Chess bobbed her eyebrows, but her chin didn’t rise. Instead, her attention seemed riveted to her toes, which were stretched before her on the sun-lounger.

“After our parents died, my sister Nina and I went to live with our aunt and uncle on their farm. For years, life there was blissful—quiet, sheltered, safe. Our aunt educated us at home, and our uncle guarded us with fierce protectiveness. We rarely left the farm but on the few days our aunt allowed it, Nina would take me to the beach.”

Her voice trailed off as her field of vision broadened. She appeared to be viewing the same birds I had earlier, drinking the pool water.

“I lived for those moments of freedom. We always prolonged our special day as long as we could; sitting shoulder to shoulder, to enjoy the sunset. Nina used to say the sunset made her feel closer to our parents.”

“Is that why you enjoy seeing the sun rise and set?” Carlo asked.

We’d noticed our new friend rose early every day; she came down onto the deck to experience the sunrise in solitude.

Chess swallowed, her head bobbed minutely. It wasn’t surprising that she was overwhelmed. A lump had formed in my throat just from listening to her.

“Because of these excursions, Don JulioMariano saw my sister.”

She paused for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was so soft it was barely audible.

“Julio zoned in on her the moment he saw her; she hated his arrogance. Unfamiliar with rejection, he became agitated with her.”

Chess cleared her throat. She reached behind her neck, using her fingers to massage away knots of tension. After a life like hers, I vaguely wondered if she ever rid herself of them.

“Nina and I had no idea who he was. We assumed he was one of the local boys.”

She glanced at us for the first time. Her stare was fixed in our direction but she didn’t seem to see us, as if she was looking straight through us.

“Mariano’s men forced their way onto the farm. They killed my aunt and uncle and took Nina. But I hid.”

Chess’ words stopped abruptly. I expected her to cry, but she didn’t.