Mafia's Final Play (Mafia's Obsession #3) - Summer Cooper Page 0,46
was. “I lived under a rock, remember? Well, a roof that I barely left. I’d have to travel to Baton Rouge or New Orleans sometimes, maybe down to Houma or over to Sorrento. But I’ve never been so far as I have since I met you. I never went to any of the festivals or fairs, even church fairs. Our church used to have a couple in the spring and summer, just to raise funds for activities with the younger congregation.”
“And then your mother was excommunicated. That must have been tough on you, to lose the church community.” He spoke gently, as if afraid to bring up a sore subject.
“She was, but I wasn’t. I stopped going though, it was too far to walk and she wouldn’t drive me. By the time I was able to drive, I’d lost interest.” Her voice wasn’t bitter, but he saw a tightness around her eyes that she quickly wiped away. “They didn’t help me. They knew what I was living with, but none of them helped.”
“There must have been a lot of people that looked the other way. I don’t know how social services didn’t become involved.” He didn’t want to upset her, but he’d wondered about it often. Why had the state left her there with that horrible woman that had been her mother?
“CPS was called quite often, so maybe some of them did try to help. I was on a first name basis with many of the social workers, but they couldn’t prove I was abused or neglected. I was too afraid of my mother’s wrath to tell them the truth when they came or demanded my mother bring me in. I’d make sure she was sober, fed, and had taken a bath, all the things she’d forget to do, on the days when the social workers came to inspect the house or when she had to take me to them. I was the one that cleaned up her messes, which kept everything tidy. I learned how to use the washer when I was five so I’d have clean clothes for school.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s weird. I’m angry at people for not helping, but I’d lie to the social services people when they came around.”
“What has your counselor said?” He knew she’d stopped talking to the counselor when they came out to Montana, but she’d kept up a dialogue while they were still in New York, at least online.
“That I was a child. I did what I had to to survive. That I’d probably go through a lot of emotions as time goes by. The five stages of grief and all that.”
“Five stages of grief?” he asked, not sure what that was.
“Yes. I’m not sure who invented it or whatever, but it’s a model of how people deal with grief, usually when they’ve lost a loved one or have been given a terminal diagnosis. Or they’ve had a life like mine.”
“Okay, so what are these stages?”
“Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.” She paused, her lips twisted to the left as she thought about it. “I think it’s more that I’m all over the place at the moment. A lot has happened, hasn’t it?”
“It has. And I’m sorry I’ve only added to the weight you carry, Marie.” He took her hand as they came to a stop sign at the bottom of the mountain. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have to be, you got me out of that, you know? It’s because of you I can start to deal with all of this; I can grieve, I can heal.” She paused, as if she wanted to say something more, then changed her mind. “You’ve given me the world, Matteo, and I’m glad I get to have all these ‘first times’ with you.”
“I hope you don’t come to regret it, at some point,” he started, but then let her go on when she started to speak. He pulled out onto the road into town and listened to her.
“I think I’m in the anger stage right now. I denied a lot of what I thought and felt, what I experienced. I told myself it was all normal, that I deserved it, even if I sometimes hated my mother. Now, I’m just angry at all of them: her for making me lie, them for not demanding answers from her. I’m angry that it all happened to a child, that a child had to go through that.”