MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 22

 

Bad News Never Stops

 

During the next three months, Angie didn’t make it to see me, but she wrote often. Her letters were more than treasures. 

When I got a visitor one Saturday, I got excited, thinking it might be her. It turned out to be Mamma Rosa, and she had Sister Thomas with her. I never expected to see her again. 

“What a surprise.” 

Rosa held my hands, rubbing across my fingers as if they were rosary beads. Her face looked sallow, her eyes full of worry. “Dominic is getting worse. I don’t know if I can get here for a while, Nicky.”

I reversed the position of our hands, patting hers while I spoke. “Don’t worry about me. Stay home and take care of him.” For the first time she looked old. “How about Tony? Is he okay?”

Rosa nodded. “He wanted to come help with Dominic, but his new job is keeping him busy. He said to say hi, though, and that he’d come see you soon.”

I nodded, knowing it was a lie but not wanting to upset her. “You know how sorry I am, Mamma Rosa.” 

“I know.” 

Sadness had overtaken this woman I loved. I asked about Bugs and Paulie. She cheered up at that. Then I worked up the nerve and asked about Angie. I hadn’t seen her in so long.

Mamma Rosa was silent. 

My stomach twisted. “What about Angie?”

She reached into her purse and handed me a letter. I knew what it was. Wouldn’t touch it. Couldn’t. 

“Take it with you,” I said, and walked away. 

Sister Thomas called me back. “Niccolo Fusco.” 

I went back. Commands from nuns die hard. 

She stood with her hands on her hips. “Rosa came all this way to see you.”

Rosa stood, shaking her head. “No, Sister, don’t—” 

“Sister Thomas is right. That was rude.”

Rosa reached for me. “I have to go anyway, Nicky. You take care, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Mamma, have you seen Angie? Is she okay?”

She looked as if she would cry. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I haven’t seen her for weeks. She had a friend drop this letter off at the house.”

Mamma put the letter on the table. I held back tears. “Thanks for bringing it, Mamma. I appreciate it.” 

I hugged Rosa, then she walked away. Sister Thomas stayed behind. “I’ll bring her by when I can.”

“Thanks, Sister.” I turned my head. I still had a hard time looking her in the eyes.

There was a long, awkward silence then, “Would you like me to bring Father Tom?”

“No.”  

“You might feel better if—”

“No.”

“Fine, Niccolo.” She pressed the letter into my hand. “Only cowards walk away from things.”

I took the letter, but I didn’t read it. Not that night. 

Not ever, I thought.  Not ever. 

But by the end of that first week, my courage disappeared. Late one night I opened it, using contraband candles to read.

 

Dear Nicky:

By now you’re probably upset because I didn’t come see you, especially after my promise to visit you often. I’m sorry I upset you. Now, though, you’re going to be really upset, because what I have to tell you isn’t good. 

I won’t be coming to see you anymore. Not this week. Not ever again. There are a lot of reasons why. My father forbids it; I have no ride; people will talk. None of those matter, though. If it were only my father, I’d fight him. I would run away. I’d change my name. I’d do anything to be with you. But we both know I can’t be with you. Not now. Not for years.  

And if it were just you telling me to forget you, I could deal with that. But the problem, Nicky, is I know you. And I know me. If I waited for you, it would break your heart. Maybe make you more bitter. And if you grew bitter, it definitely would break my heart to see you that way. I don’t mind sacrificing. I’d sacrifice anything for you, but I won’t be a martyr and let myself be destroyed. We’d both lose. 

Now for the tough part. I know you already thought this was tough. It wasn’t. I’m going to have to go on with my life. I don’t know what each day will bring, let alone each month, or the seven long years you’ll be gone. I’ll be thinking of you every day. When I cook, I’ll pretend it’s for you. When I do the dishes, I’ll turn suddenly and splash suds at an imaginary person standing behind me. And when I go to sleep at night, I’ll dream of you lying with me, feeling your touch, and hearing your heartbeat. I’ll do this every day until you get out and come rescue me from whatever boring life I’m living, for it will surely be empty without you.

You might never forgive me for this. I hope you do. And I hope that no matter what happens, you are happy in your life. Truly happy, the way Mamma Rosa is. But you have to promise me one thing. 

When you get out, and when your life is straightened out. When things are good in your life and you feel good about yourself, find me. Please? No matter where I am, Nicky, find me.

Do you remember the first night you touched me? We both shivered with excitement. Can you ever forget the feeling of lying in each other’s arms afterwards? Can you ever forget the feeling? I want to feel that way again. And not just one day, or one time, but for the rest of my life. So, you find me, Niccolo Fusco. Damnit, you better.

Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,

Angie

 

Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore. I love you with all of my heart. 

The saying Mamma Rosa had taught us. Nothing pleased me more. It made her words more special. 

I went through periods of being pissed at her for her stance, and then proud of her. That was the Angie I knew and loved. What would I have done in her shoes? I tried telling myself that it didn’t matter, that I couldn’t put myself there, but I ran the options through my head anyway. On days when I felt good, I applauded her decision and used her words for inspiration; other days…were not so inspiring.

#

Two more weeks passed with no visitors. The only letters were from Rosa. Dominic had passed away. He had been sick so long that his death must have been a blessing and a curse for her. As all things were, it seemed. I hadn’t heard anything from Angie, but I hadn’t expected to.

Another month passed. It was Friday, and they told me I had a visitor. My heart jumped. I damn near raced to the room. I hoped to see Angie, prayed I would, but I expected to see Mamma Rosa. As I turned the corner to the room, the familiar habit of the Benedictine nuns waited for me. 

Sister Thomas. What’s she doing here? I felt for sure I had pissed her off the last time. It didn’t matter; I was glad to see her. “Sister, what brings God’s best representative on earth to the prison today?”

I expected the wonderful smile that only Sister Thomas could manage, the one that somehow lit up her entire face, even though it was mostly covered. Instead, I saw a grim expression that was foreign to me, at least from her—but it was too familiar on so many others. My gut wrenched. I started shaking my head before she said it.

“Rosa Sannullo is dead, Nicky.” She grabbed me before I fell. Helped me to a chair. 

The guards had to rush over, because I was screaming. And crying. And crying.