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Chapter Eighty-Eight

LUNA

When I sit Mom on one of the dining room chairs, the plastic covering squeaks.

“What’s crawling on my foot?” she asks.

I look under the table. “It’s Puzzo.” I pick him up just enough to move him away. “I bet Nunzio’s upstairs.”

I call his name up to the second floor. No response.

“I feel it again.” Her chair is surrounded by a circle of scales.

“Let me see if I can grab…” I get under the table. “Hold on, Mom…”

She holds up her ankles and ends up kicking me.

“Chill out. Ow!” I bonk my head. “Come on, Puzzo. Be a good boy.” I grab him and drag him from under the table, standing with him twisting around my arms. “I have no idea what to do now.”

“Jesus, Luna.” Nunzio bounds down the stairs and takes him off my hands.

“Carmine didn’t make you get a tank?”

“You’re both very mean.”

I stick my tongue out at him. He takes the snake upstairs.

Unburdened, I peek into the fridge. It’s mostly empty except for eggs, a few tomatoes, and soda. I put them on the counter and look for ways to cook it all.

Nunzio comes down.

“He was scaring my mother.” I open and close cabinets, but it’s all vintage dishes and heavy pans. “Is there any other food in here or are you DoorDashing everything?”

“Oh, she’s here.” He turns to the dining area and sees Mom for the first time that morning. “ Ciao. ”

“ Buonasera , Nunzio,” she says. “What are you staring at?”

Nunzio turns to me in shock.

“What happened?” he asks Mom and me.

“Let me help her.” Mom starts to get up.

“Make her sit,” I say as I pass the doorway, pointing at Nunzio. “She’s pretending nothing’s wrong.”

He guides her to sit back down. “My God, Mama Beneforte, who did this?”

“Think his name was Charles.” She gets out a stack of cards and fidgets with them.

“The vampire? Does Carmine know?”

“What’s he gonna do? He’s not Jesus.”

“The cards?” I stick my head out the kitchen doorway. “Didn’t they get wet?”

“My cards were upstairs last night, but these?” She shuffles. “Are Laro’s.”

“It’s too weird!” I go back to banging around the cabinets even though I forgot what I’m looking for.

“Can you go help my daughter?” Mom asks Nunzio. “All I hear is frustrated grunts in there.”

“I’m fine!” I call back, absolutely frustrated with this kitchen.

“Go. She’s giving me a panic attack.” She shoos Nunzio away, and he obeys.

“Is she all right?” Nunzio speaks softly, then opens a tin box on the counter and removes a loaf of bread. “Breadbox.”

“She’s in thrall to Laro. Maybe he told her not to be upset?”

He wipes the crumbs off the counter. “That’s too weird to not be upset.”

“I can hear you.” Mom shuffles the deck.

“I’ll load the toaster,” Nunzio says loudly, then softly. “It’s tricky and weird .”

“ Grazie. ”

“ Prego. Use this for eggs.” He bends to retrieve something from a low cabinet, but when he stands, I don’t see what it is right away. He’s been down here for five minutes, but this is the first time I’ve seen him without a snake draped over his shoulders.

“What the hot fuck are you wearing?” I take the green glass cup. It has some kind of hand mixer inside it.

“You like?” He snaps the toaster handle down and holds out his arms. His bellbottoms are brown. His sweater vest is Kelly green argyle, and the shirt under it is a polyester in the same green with collar points the size and shape of cake cutters. “Came with the house.”

“Carmine’s house? Oh. My God. Those are his clothes.”

“He’s taller, but if I wear these pants with the platform shoes…” He tips them out from under the bellbottoms. “You like it, baby?”

“It’s giving hot vampire in the disco. What was it called? Studio 54?”

“Are the pants supposed to be this tight?”

“If you want to get laid, yeah.” I crack an egg into the green cup.

“Can you believe he ever wore a color this loud? I can’t picture it.”

“He had to fit in.”

“To kill people.”

“Yes, Nunzio. To hunt.” I don’t know why I’m defending murder. “I’m sure you’d at least get laid every night.”

“Meh.” He wrinkles his nose—not in disgust, but doubt.

“You would,” I object. “You’re very handsome, you know.”

“Thanks. I own a mirror.” He leans on the counter, facing me while I crank the handle to scramble the eggs and says in a near-whisper, “It’s just sex… the act… doing it… I can. I have. But generally? Not really interested.”

He’s being quite clear, and I’m being a fool, but I ask it anyway.

“Like, you’re into guys?”

“No.” He doesn’t seem offended. “I’m attracted to women. Like, take you.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure I like where this is going, but he’s so matter-of-fact about it I can’t find a reason to stop him. “I didn’t see any butter in the fridge.”

He leans across the counter and pushes a glass butter dish to me.

“I’m very attracted to you. I like you. Even with all the, you know…

” He waves his arms, meaning, everything .

“But say there was no…” He waves his everything arms again.

“We’d date for a bit. I’d kiss you again, and yes, I’m very good at it.

But you’d realize I didn’t want anything else.

You’d think that was great for maybe a week.

I’d have these feelings, but they wouldn’t have anything to do with fucking.

” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t tell you this. ”

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t want you to think it’s weird.” He plucks out the popped toast and drops it on a plate.

“It’s not weird.”

“Even when I, you know, take care of myself, it’s a release. I’m not thinking about you or Sophia Loren or anyone.”

“Sophia Loren?” I smile at his choice of such a classic beauty while scraping butter on the toast.

“She’s not beautiful?”

“She is! But my brain only sees her in black and white.”

“Well, anyway. That’s me and it is what it is.” He’s acting tough, but he’s insecure about everything he just told me.

“Come here, you big dummy.” I hold my arms out for a hug.

He puts his arms around me and I squeeze him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says into my ear. He sounds distressed.

“About what?” I pull away so he can see I’m not afraid to confront the vampire who has us in thrall.

“Would you live forever, if you could?”

Shit. This is not a theoretical question over a vodka bong.

“If I had to kill a bunch of people to do it?”

“Yeah. Never mind.”

“Nunzio—”

“Forget it!” He backs out of the room. “I hear Puzzo calling.” He turns and leaves.