“No, thanks.” Nikki gave them a weak smile. “But I appreciate it. Don’t worry about me – I’ll be fine as soon as I get back home to Louisville.”
“Well, you be careful and safe, ma’am. Again, our sympathy for your loss.” He closed the door, and Nikki heard low voices in the front of the house before the front door opened and closed as they left.
Nikki put on her clothes, gathered up her luggage, and made her way up the hall to the front door. She took one last look at the couple sitting in the living room in front of the TV, doing an exceptional job of ignoring her, and wished things could be different. I need you, your love, so much right now. Couldn’t the two of you just love me a little bit, just for a little while? But no; it was all about them, always had been, so Nikki already knew the answer.
The wheels on the luggage clunked down the sidewalk and she loaded the bags into her car, then pulled away from the curb. Instead of going to a motel, she just got on the road and started driving toward Louisville. There was no reason not to; if she didn’t make it, no one would care. The vet would find homes for the dogs, and she’d be free of the pain she knew she’d feel all day, every day, for years to come.
Christmas 2011
In a small house in the Middletown township of Louisville, she finished her leftovers and put the paper plate in the trash. The two little dogs, roused out of their sleep by her movements, followed her from spot to spot, hoping for something to fall from the counter.
The little Christmas tree – she still called it Christmas, even if she celebrated Yule instead of the Christian holiday – was lit and standing by the television. She couldn’t bring herself to turn on the TV because she didn’t want to see any of the Christmas specials or old movies. Instead, she picked up the few wrapped packages and called the dogs up onto the sofa with her.
“Look! This one is from Dr. Kincaid! What could it be?” she cried in mock excitement. She ripped the paper off as they watched, tails wagging. Gourmet dog cookies; Dr. Kincaid gave tins of those to his clients every year. They went wild until she gave each of them a cookie, then they jumped from the sofa and ran to opposite sides of the room, probably each thinking that would keep the other from stealing their treat.
She opened another small package, this one from her boss, Marla. Inside was a pair of pretty gold earrings and a gift card for the café next door to her work. At least she’d have lunch a couple of times a week for awhile. There was a card from her coworker, Carol, and it had a gift certificate to the nail salon she frequented – that meant she’d get a break on a few of her nail fills. That was the one thing she’d been able to keep up – having her nails done – since Randy had died, and knowing that she’d at least have that little luxury had kept her going when she would’ve quit her life otherwise. She hadn’t been able to get Marla or Carol anything but cards, couldn’t afford to. The only other package had no tag because she’d wrapped it for herself. It was the sweater she’d seen for months in the window at Accoutrements, the consignment store down the street from work. She’d finally talked herself into buying it, then decided to save it for Christmas. It was the nicest thing she owned, so she gifted it to herself.
And with that, Christmas was officially over. No more gifts to unwrap. No family to visit, or have visit her, or even send anything to or get anything from. Against her better judgment, she decided she’d make an attempt and pulled out her cell phone, then dialed the number from memory.
It rang three times, and her mother answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom? It’s me.”
She heard her dad’s voice in the background: “Who is it?”
Her mom answered him. “It’s no one.” The line went dead.
Well, she’d tried. Even though it was painful, she was pretty sure she’d try again on their birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and even next Christmas, and probably with the same result.
She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. Cuddling back into the sofa, she picked up her old electronic tablet, the one Randy had given her for her birthday years before, and tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. In the photo app she looked through the images, bright on the screen. A smiling, happy family looked back at her, and in some of the pictures, she saw her own face, slightly younger and with fewer lines, not to mention lots of extra pounds. It was hard to believe they’d been real; they seemed like a sweet dream instead of the living, breathing people they’d been. But they were gone and she was alone, and likely to stay that way.
A lone tear meandered down her cheek and dripped off her jaw. That was the trouble with grief; there was no instruction manual, no expiration date. She didn’t know how long it was supposed to take. When would it be over? Would that day ever come? Even if there was an end, she wasn’t certain that she’d live to see it.
She sipped her hot chocolate until it was cold and not very tasty anymore. After she unplugged the small tree, she let the dogs out one last time and changed into her pajamas. A driving snow had started, and the light from the porch reflected on the large, fluffy flakes. It would be pretty in the morning. After the dogs came inside, she turned off the light and locked the door.
Climbing into the empty bed, she pulled the flannel sheets up around her neck. One dog lay next to her, the other at her feet. They were her only family now, and she was glad they were there, but they couldn’t tell her that they loved her, or if she looked okay when she got ready to leave for work in the morning, or discuss their opinions on the latest movie they’d shared with her on the sofa. Even with them, she was still so terribly, horribly alone. Just someone to eat dinner with, or to talk to while she was shopping at the grocery, anything or anywhere, really – that was all she wanted, but that part of her life was over. She’d spent thirty years with the love of her life, so expecting to find someone else, especially without making any effort to do so, was asking a little too much. She had her work at the shop, and her books, and the gym. Working out made her feel good about herself, so she just poured any energy she managed to squeeze out into getting fit and feeling better. It would be nice to say the exercise made her feel less depressed, but nothing could do that.
Snuggling down under the comforter and sheets, she tried to think of other things, but kept coming back to those faces. Just when she thought she’d cried so much that she had no tears left, her pillow wound up soaked. She cried until she couldn’t cry anymore, and then cried for ten more minutes.
Turning on the light, she grabbed a handful of tissues and blew her nose, then turned the light back off and switched to the dry pillow on the other side of the bed. A weariness spread over her, born of the simple act of continuing on. She thought about lighting her Candle of Intention, but it seemed like too much work, so she shuddered and closed her eyes. As she did every night before she finally drifted off, she asked the God, the Goddess, the Universe, whoever was listening, to please let her just stop breathing in the night. It was simple; just let her heart stop beating. Why not? Her life was pretty well destroyed anyway. Continuing on was too hard. After she’d pleaded for fifteen minutes, she sighed deeply and fell into a restless sleep. She’d sleep all night that way and wake up in the morning as tired as the night before. There was no real rest for her, because there was no escape from the thoughts that drained her, and no one to hold her when she cried.
VIC
September 1974
“Nipote, would you like to tell me what happened?” Zio Marco was standing over Vic, and he was furious.
“They called me a dago, so I kicked their asses.”
Marco shook his head. “Vittorio, you cannot just go about beating other boys when they call you names. I fear I will not be able to keep you out of the hands of the law if this continues. School has just started for the year, and already you are in trouble? This cannot continue.”
Vic hated to see Zio Marco disappointed in him. Zio Marco and Zia Raffaella had been more than kind to him and to his mother, Raffaella’s sister Serafin
a, since they’d run from Italy to his aunt and uncle’s home in Kentucky to get away from Vic’s father, leaving behind everything they had. The things that man had done were horrible, and Vic had sworn to himself that he’d never be beaten, abused, or mistreated by anyone again.
“But they came at me with a baseball bat, Zio Marco! What was I supposed to do, just let them knock me senseless?” Vic asked.
Marco sat on the side of the bed and put his face in his hands. “I do not know, nipote. I just know that this must stop. You have to finish high school so you can go to college.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go to college,” Vic announced, and Marco stared at him, horrified. “I want to join the service.”
“Well, nipote, the service will not take you if you have a juvenile record. So think about that, young man.” Marco got up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
What the hell am I supposed to do?, Vic wondered. All of the kids at school hate me. I have no friends, no dad, no girlfriend. In his mind, Vic had no one. He and Bennie were the same age, but Bennie wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Bennie was a Walters, and even though Vic had lived in the lap of luxury growing up in Italy, to the Walters boys, Vic was a poor relation. Freddie was only a little older, but he didn’t really have anything to do with Vic either. Tony had always been nice to him, but Tony wasn’t around; he was in college in Lexington and besides, he was older too.
On top of that, none of the Walters kids had gone to American public high schools; they’d spent their high school years in Italy, living with relatives and learning about their heritage. Vic had never gone to a public school – his years in Italy had been spent in expensive private schools, so an American public high school was like a whole different universe to him. And as if it wasn’t bad enough already, Vic had graduated from secondary school at the age of twelve. The last thing he wanted to do was go to school and sit, bored, all day long for no good reason. The only class he even remotely liked was civics; he enjoyed learning more about the United States.
Zio Marco didn’t understand what it was like, being dropped into a strange, new world. He’d worked hard to get rid of his accent, but it still crept out from time to time, so he just tried to be quiet and not really talk to anyone. And being so tall made it impossible to blend into the crowd. He was sure he was a pretty good guy and he’d had lots of friends in Italy, but none of the kids would even give him a chance. I’ve tried staying to myself, ignoring those people, but they just won’t leave me alone. I hate that school. Maybe I should just run away. It didn’t help that he was easily the best-looking young man in the whole school. That only made the other guys hate him even more.
At school the next day, Vic was trying his best to lay low and stay below the radar when Mr. Barnes, the physics teacher who coached the wrestling team, walked up to him and asked, “Vic, can I talk to you for a minute?” He headed to his classroom and Vic followed, wondering what he’d done this time.
Mr. Barnes sat down behind his desk and motioned for Vic to sit. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said once they were both seated. “You’re a big guy.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.” He was only fifteen, sixteen in October, and already he was at least six feet and three inches tall.
“Have you ever thought of trying out for the wrestling and the weightlifting teams? I think you’d be pretty good.” He smiled at Vic.
“How do I do that?” He’d never tried out for anything in his life. Any kind of sports would have been out of the question for him in Italy – he was supposed to look good and be a politician’s son, not an athlete.
“They’re holding tryouts tomorrow. Would you like to sign up?”
Vic thought for a minute. Yeah, what the hell? Worst thing that can happen is that I don’t make it. “I guess so,” he told Mr. Barnes with a shrug.
“The signup sheets are in the office. Just go and ask Mrs. Connors to let you sign them. And good luck.” Mr. Barnes stood and when Vic stood, Mr. Barnes shook his hand. It was the nicest anyone at the school had ever been to him.
Vic went straight to the office and asked Mrs. Connors, the school secretary, for the signup sheets. He put his name on both the wrestling team sheet and the weightlifting team sheet. He took a minute to look at the football team signup sheet, then thought better of it. I don’t really understand American football that well. And I’d rather do something where I rely only on myself, not teammates. No one’s ever had my back.
Vic had never wrestled before, so he watched a couple of the other guys at the tryouts the next day. I can do this, he thought. It doesn’t look so hard. When it was his turn, they paired him with the biggest guy on the team. They’re trying to get rid of me, he thought as he faced the other young man. Something clicked inside him, and when the whistle blew, it took Vic a whole three seconds to solidly pin the guy to the mat. There were gasps and murmurs from the bench. They paired him with another big guy, with the same results. He went through almost every guy on the team, and quickly and efficiently laid them to waste, one by one.
After the tryouts, Mr. Barnes came up to him and said, “Well done, Vic! Did you by any chance sign up for the weightlifting tryouts too?”
“Yes, actually, I did.”
“Good. Coach Murdock will love getting hold of you.”
By the end of the day, Vittorio Vincenzo Cabrizzi was a starter for both the wrestling and weightlifting teams. He finally belonged somewhere.
July 2009
“Vittorio Cabrizzi?” The police officer stood on Vic’s doorstep, another officer standing behind him. They had to look up at the huge Italian; he dwarfed them with his six feet and eight inch frame.
Vic felt sick to his stomach. “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you, officer?”
“Yes sir. We got a call from the hospital about some injuries sustained by a Carrie Johnson? They said you were with her. Could we come in and ask you a few questions?”
“Sure. Please come on in and have a seat.” Oh, great – I’m fucked, Vic thought as he led them into the living room.
“So, Mr. Cabrizzi, the hospital told us that the patient said she’d sustained the injuries during, um, relations, is that right?” the officer asked, trying to be matter-of-fact but still blushing a little.
“Yes sir, that’s right.”
“And so this was an accident? Because the physician didn’t think it looked like an accident. They said it looked like an assault.”
Uh-huh, Vic thought, one look at my height and these muscles and they just assume I beat up on women. This could be really, really bad. “It was an accident. We just got a little carried away, that’s all. Carrie talked to them about it and told them that we . . .”
“Speaking of whom, is Miss Johnson here? Could we talk with her?” the officer asked.
“Yeah. Let me get her.” Damn, this just keeps getting worse, Vic thought as he made his way to the bedroom.
Carrie was standing by the bed, slowly packing boxes, and the sight broke his heart. Her face was flooded with tears when she turned to look at him. “What?” she asked.
“The police are here. They want to talk to you.” Vic’s head dropped. “Carrie, you don’t have to say anything for my benefit. Tell them whatever you like.”
She walked past him and headed to the living room without saying a word. Vic followed her, but the officer looked at him and simply said, “Alone,” so he went back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. After about ten minutes, he heard a male voice say, “Well, thank you, miss, and if you need us, please call us.”
In a few seconds, Carrie came back into the bedroom. She started packing again, then looked over at Vic, who sat with his head down. “Don’t worry. I told them the truth, the same thing I told the people at the hospital. I don’t think they’ll bother you again. It’s not like I want to get you into trouble, Vic.”
Vic felt his eyes burning as the tears welled up. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” He reached over and put
his hand on her arm, but she pulled away. “Carrie, I’m so sorry. I just, I don’t know what to say because I really don’t know what happened. If I could’ve stopped, I would’ve, but I couldn’t. It was like something just clicked inside me and I lost control and I, I don’t know . . .” His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands.
Carrie sat down on the bed beside him, but she didn’t touch him. “Vic, I don’t know what to say either. You’re a great guy, really, you are. You’ve treated me like a queen. I’m not in love with you, but I care about you, and I was committed to staying with you, trying to see where this thing between us was going, you know? But now I’m afraid. This is the third time this has happened, and every time has been worse than the one before. And I can’t take a chance on it happening again. Next time you could do damage that couldn’t be repaired and the injuries could be permanent. That really scares me, because some day I want a family, so I can’t take that chance. That means I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” Still not touching him, she stood and started packing again.
Vic got up and walked out of the room, through the kitchen, out the back door, and sat down on the steps. The moon was bright, and there were so many stars that it looked like the sky would explode with them. This is it for me, he thought. I’m done. I’m going to hurt some poor woman. That can’t happen again. Next one might be more than just some stitches; it could be much worse. So that part of my life is over.
“I’m going,” he heard Carrie say from behind him. He turned and looked at her in the doorway. She looked so beautiful there, the lights from the kitchen illuminating her curly red hair, and a deep ache set up in his chest.
She walked up the hallway to the front door, and he followed her, wishing he could come up with something, some reassurance, that would get her to stay. But if he did he wouldn’t even believe it himself, because he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again, since he didn’t know why or how it happened in the first place. When she stopped at the door, she looked at him with such sadness that his heart broke all over again. He reached to hug her; for a moment, she pulled away, then she stood on her tiptoes, leaned toward him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms closed around her waist, and as she began to sob into his neck, hot, sour tears poured down Vic’s face and fell into her hair. They stood like that for several minutes until she finally pulled away and walked out the door without looking back. Vic watched her car roll down the street until the taillights disappeared.