“Mom.” She stands and I hug her, feel how much weight she’s lost. And I think I already know what the doctor’s going to tell us. I think she does too when she pulls back and gives me a weak smile. I wonder if all of this, if it isn’t for our sake. If she isn’t humoring us. Giving my father hope because she knows what will happen to him without it.

Another moment later, the door opens and my brothers, Salvatore and Dominic step inside. Salvatore spots me first, greets me, then our mother. Dominic goes directly to her and when everyone’s said hello, she pats the chair beside her for Dominic to take. She keeps one of his hands in both of hers.

Dominic is different than Salvatore. Salvatore, I get. He and I are close. But Dominic has anger inside him. Rage even. Jealousy rules him and in a way, I understand. He’s third born. If anything happened to me, Salvatore is next in line to rule. And to rule, to be king, is what my little brother wants most of all. I sometimes wonder at what cost.

Once we’re all gathered, the doctor puts his glasses on and opens a folder on his desk. And from there, he delivers his news.

10

Natalie

I haven’t seen or heard from Sergio in three days. I’m confused, not sure what I should be feeling. Not sure I should be feeling anything at all.

If he’s gone, it’s for the best. Drew’s right. I can’t get involved with someone like him. What the hell am I even thinking? But why did he go without a goodbye? I don’t understand.

It’s past eleven at night when there’s a knock on my door. I’m in the living room studying for a test. For a quick moment, I’m glad about the new locks on the doors, but shake myself out of it.

The knocking comes again, harder this time.

“Just a minute,” I call out, zipping up my hoody. A damp chill clings to the walls of the house on these wet winter days. I understand why the owners leave until spring.

I look through the window beside the door and if he didn’t have his face turned up to the streetlamp, I wouldn’t have opened the door, but it’s him.

I unlock and open the door. His hand is mid-air, ready to bang against the door, and I see right away he’s in bad shape.

“Sergio?”

He looks at me like he’s almost surprised to see me. He scratches his head. His coat is open and he’s not wearing gloves, hat or scarf. His face is red like it’s been whipped by the wind that hasn’t stopped howling for the last hour.

“I was walking,” he says. I can smell whiskey on him.