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ᴏɴᴇ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦
❦
The boat creaked as it settled against the dock, the long ladders being hoisted from the top as the passengers hustled toward the exits, piles of bags in tow. It bobbed up and down slightly as they hurried from end to end, skipping down the steps like dancers, greeting friends and family at the end of the long stretch of wood. Behind, the waves were crashing gently against the chipped, blue paint, pulling streaks into its murky water as it was pulled back and forth.
The delicate lull of the otherwise unforgiving water calmed Maria as she watched it drag back, disappearing steadily into the dark horizon. If she looked hard enough, with squinted eyes against the low sun, she could almost imagine the outline of America, from which her brother was coming from, or the beautiful coast of Italy, that she often dreamed of. The thoughts and sounds and memories hid her in a fantasy as she closed her eyes, inventing a reality where her family weren't at war with the world.
She could see it: a small apartment by the coast, fresh bread at the bakery she would meet her mother at, a hand on her stretched stomach and the sense of sublime peace that she had always felt alien to. In this world her brothers would be happy, both of them would be alive and her mother would have a husband once again.
"Maria?"
The sound of a deep voice startled her against her swaying thoughts, making her eyes blink open, revealing the water only inches in front of her, steps down by the dock that she was edged next to. Her heart ached. The way her name sounded gruff and strident reminded her of her father, and she turned, almost expecting to see the old man, a soft smile on his withered face.
Vincent Changretta didn't stand in front of her, but his son did. Luca looked at her with his eyebrows raised and lips pulled into a firm, thin line. She could tell that he was worried about her; he always had been, no matter what conflict any of them had gotten into.
Maria smiled, meeting him with arms around his torso. Her brother felt cold, his dark coat rough against the bare skin of her arms. Her head was tucked against his shoulder, as he held her tightly. After not seeing each other since their cousin's wedding five years ago, he must have thought that she would fall apart in grief as soon as she saw him.
Luca had always looked like their father, as their mother had told them. They both aged early with hooded eyes and thick brows meeting with deep seated wrinkles, thanks to the stress of everyday life. Maria could understand why the sight of Luca had brought her mother pain after the death of Vincent. But time had passed, and she had never been one for openly showing her feelings.
"How are you?" He asked, letting her pull away and step back.
