But there’s a lot Enzo has done in his life that I would not have believed. I couldn’t have imagined my husband breaking fingers for a mobster, but it turns out that’s part of his history too. He’s apparently very much the sort of man who could cut another man’s throat.
After all, he did it. He confessed.
A door slams upstairs. One of the kids must’ve come out of their room to witness their father being taken away by the police. Now I have to deal with that. I have to tell both of them what happened.
“I better get over to the police station,” Cecelia says. “Will you be all right, Millie?”
Absolutely not. But there’s nothing she can do for me right now. “Go to the station.”
She nods. “Remember—this is not over. I will help him.”
“Thank you,” I say, although what can she really do for us at this point? It wasn’t self-defense. It was either first-degree or second-degree murder. Either way, he’s lost his freedom for good.
Cecelia hugs me goodbye, and she promises to stay in touch with any updates. Once she’s gone though and the house is silent once again, I take in the reality of my situation.
Enzo is gone.
And now I have to tell the kids.
As I walk up the creaky stairs to the second floor of our house, it hits me that there is no way we will be able to afford the mortgage payments anymore. The first thing we are going to have to do is put this house back on the market. I don’t know where we will be able to afford to live on just my income.
I start for Nico’s room first, because he has been the more troubled of my two children, but then I hear the sobs coming from Ada’s room—that girl always takes everything so hard. Andin this situation, I can’t blame her. I knock on the door, and when she doesn’t answer, I come in anyway.
Ada is lying on her bed, sobbing into her pillow, her narrow shoulders shaking violently. Actually, her whole body is shaking. I saw somebody have a seizure at the hospital last year, and this looks not entirely dissimilar to that. Ada has always been a daddy’s girl, and it’s going to destroy her world to find out what he did. Just watching her cry makes the tears I’ve been holding back spring to my eyes.
Enzo, how could you do this to us? How could you?
“Ada.” I sit on the edge of her bed and stroke her soft black hair. “Ada, honey… I told you not to come down.”
She says something into her pillow that I can’t quite make out.
“It’s okay.” I stroke her hair again. “It’s going to be okay.”
I don’t know who I am trying to convince. If I’m trying to convince her, it’s not working. And I’m not convincing myself either. I should just shut up.
Ada shifts on the bed, turning to look at me with her puffy, bloodshot eyes. “They think Dad killed Mr. Lowell.”
My instinct is to lie, but what is the point? “Yes. They do.”
Tears stream down her cheeks. “But he didn’t!”
This next part is going to be hard for her, but she’s going to hear it sooner or later. Better she hears it from me than reads it online or hears it from a friend. “Ada, honey, he confessed,” I tell her. “He admitted to them that he killed Mr. Lowell.”
“He didn’t though!” she cries. “I know he didn’t!”
I try to put my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs me away. “How do you know?”
“Because,” my daughter says, “I was the one who killed him.”
PART III
SIXTY
ADA
My name is Ada Accardi, and I am eleven years old.
I have black hair and eyes that are actually brown except some people say they look black as well. I have one brother named Nicolas, and he is nine years old. I speak two languages fluently: English and Italian. My favorite food is macaroni and cheese, especially the way my mom makes it. My favorite book isDaughters of Eveby Lois Duncan. My favorite flavor of ice cream is cookie dough.
