away from me. So you'll have to take a few days off, you know, until it heals up a bit. Capice ?"
"I understand."
"Good." Vito started for the door, pausing to look back at him. "I'm proud of you, kid."
Proud?
Corrado stared at his father as he walked out. It was the first time he'd ever said that to him.
3
Early the next morning, Corrado awoke to cool air blowing in his room, rattling the metal vent. A warm glow swaddled the bed from his lamp, casting light upon his weary face.
He was so groggy it took a minute for it to click.
Electricity.
Climbing out of bed, he slowly made his way down the stairs, hearing the radio playing from the living room. Frank Sinatra. The place was in order, all signs of last night's fighting gone. The smell of breakfast wafted through the house, bacon sizzling as the toaster popped up.
Corrado stepped into the kitchen, finding his sister sitting on a stool at the bar, dressed for school with her pink bag already on her back. She sipped a glass of orange juice, the plate in front of her practically licked clean.
Erika stood in front of the stove scrambling eggs, her hair a messy bun on top of her head. She dumped some eggs onto an empty plate as her eyes caught Corrado's.
"Just in time," she said, setting the plate on the bar. "Come eat your breakfast."
He hesitated. "Me?"
"Of course," she said. "Who else?"
Corrado slid onto the empty stool, picking up a fork and stabbing at the eggs. He tentatively took a small bite. They were rubbery and bland, but he choked them down, grateful to have some at all.
The lights were back on. They had food to eat.
His father had handled everything.
Katrina finished her glass of juice as Vito strolled into the kitchen, dressed flawlessly in a dark suit, wearing his fedora, humming along to the tune on the radio. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll drop you off at school."
"Do I have to go?" Katrina asked.
"Yes," Erika and Vito answered at the same time.
"It's not fair!" she said. "Corrado gets to stay home!"
Vito shot her a disbelieving look. "You really wanna go there? Because I'm sure your brother would've been happy to trade places with you the other night, but you don't hear him whining about it, do you?"
"But—"
"Enough," Vito said. "Get in the car. You and I need to have a talk about ratting out people."
Sighing theatrically, Katrina jumped down from her stool and stomped out. Vito pulled out his keys and kissed his wife briefly before heading for the door.
Corrado sat still, staring down at his plate and poking at his remaining eggs as he listened to his father's Lincoln pull down the driveway. His mother stood right in front of him.
"You should go outside," she said. "It's a beautiful day."
She didn't wait for him to respond before walking out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.
Corrado took his mother's advice. He sat on the porch, still clad in his pajamas, when his sister got home later that day. The school bus dropped her off at the end of the long dirt driveway, and he watched as she made the trek toward him.
She hesitated as she reached the porch, kicking around in the dirt with her Mary Janes, before sitting down beside him. She frowned, her chin resting in the palms of her hands.
"You think he's coming back?" she asked.
Corrado stared down at the remnants of tire tracks. "Maybe."
They sat together for a while, watching, waiting, for something that didn't come. Katrina eventually gave up. "Well, I don't care if he does."
She was lying, but he didn't call her out on it.
Corrado continued to sit there by himself after she went inside, not getting up until sunset. He went inside and went right up to his room, going straight to bed.
Nobody called him down for dinner.
He's probably back in Chicago . Left without saying goodbye again.
He drifted off to sleep, waking early in the morning to a rustling in the doorway. Vito stood there, observing him.
Corrado sat up swiftly as he gaped at his father. "Dad?"
"You
"I understand."
"Good." Vito started for the door, pausing to look back at him. "I'm proud of you, kid."
Proud?
Corrado stared at his father as he walked out. It was the first time he'd ever said that to him.
3
Early the next morning, Corrado awoke to cool air blowing in his room, rattling the metal vent. A warm glow swaddled the bed from his lamp, casting light upon his weary face.
He was so groggy it took a minute for it to click.
Electricity.
Climbing out of bed, he slowly made his way down the stairs, hearing the radio playing from the living room. Frank Sinatra. The place was in order, all signs of last night's fighting gone. The smell of breakfast wafted through the house, bacon sizzling as the toaster popped up.
Corrado stepped into the kitchen, finding his sister sitting on a stool at the bar, dressed for school with her pink bag already on her back. She sipped a glass of orange juice, the plate in front of her practically licked clean.
Erika stood in front of the stove scrambling eggs, her hair a messy bun on top of her head. She dumped some eggs onto an empty plate as her eyes caught Corrado's.
"Just in time," she said, setting the plate on the bar. "Come eat your breakfast."
He hesitated. "Me?"
"Of course," she said. "Who else?"
Corrado slid onto the empty stool, picking up a fork and stabbing at the eggs. He tentatively took a small bite. They were rubbery and bland, but he choked them down, grateful to have some at all.
The lights were back on. They had food to eat.
His father had handled everything.
Katrina finished her glass of juice as Vito strolled into the kitchen, dressed flawlessly in a dark suit, wearing his fedora, humming along to the tune on the radio. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll drop you off at school."
"Do I have to go?" Katrina asked.
"Yes," Erika and Vito answered at the same time.
"It's not fair!" she said. "Corrado gets to stay home!"
Vito shot her a disbelieving look. "You really wanna go there? Because I'm sure your brother would've been happy to trade places with you the other night, but you don't hear him whining about it, do you?"
"But—"
"Enough," Vito said. "Get in the car. You and I need to have a talk about ratting out people."
Sighing theatrically, Katrina jumped down from her stool and stomped out. Vito pulled out his keys and kissed his wife briefly before heading for the door.
Corrado sat still, staring down at his plate and poking at his remaining eggs as he listened to his father's Lincoln pull down the driveway. His mother stood right in front of him.
"You should go outside," she said. "It's a beautiful day."
She didn't wait for him to respond before walking out of the kitchen and heading upstairs.
Corrado took his mother's advice. He sat on the porch, still clad in his pajamas, when his sister got home later that day. The school bus dropped her off at the end of the long dirt driveway, and he watched as she made the trek toward him.
She hesitated as she reached the porch, kicking around in the dirt with her Mary Janes, before sitting down beside him. She frowned, her chin resting in the palms of her hands.
"You think he's coming back?" she asked.
Corrado stared down at the remnants of tire tracks. "Maybe."
They sat together for a while, watching, waiting, for something that didn't come. Katrina eventually gave up. "Well, I don't care if he does."
She was lying, but he didn't call her out on it.
Corrado continued to sit there by himself after she went inside, not getting up until sunset. He went inside and went right up to his room, going straight to bed.
Nobody called him down for dinner.
He's probably back in Chicago . Left without saying goodbye again.
He drifted off to sleep, waking early in the morning to a rustling in the doorway. Vito stood there, observing him.
Corrado sat up swiftly as he gaped at his father. "Dad?"
"You
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