The Saint by Kristi Belcamino

Author:Kristi Belcamino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kristi Belcamino
Published: 2017-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

THE FUNERAL WAS A BLUR. It was hot and crowded and stuffy in the church. I concentrated on staring at Giacomo’s slumped shoulders. At one point, I fainted, my head slumping onto my mother’s shoulder.

At the wake, I sat stiffly by Giacomo’s side, holding his hand. He clung to me so tightly that I could feel his fingernails press into my palm. In the corner, some people were whispering. I could hear the name “Santangelo.” I asked what I’d been dying to ask for days.

“Have you heard from him?”

“No,” Giacomo said it flatly.

“Oh.” I’d also heard rumors that the police had asked the FBI for help in case he’d crossed state lines. I hoped he was far away and would stay far away. The thought of him in jail for my crime was more than I could bear.

Over the next few weeks, our dating life resumed a semblance of normal. Giacomo had discarded any plans of college and now not only worked at the gas station, but took on a second job on weekends on a fishing boat. It was back breaking labor. The boat would go out Thursdays and come back Mondays. The people onboard worked in four hour shifts: haul fish for four hours, sleep for four hours. Repeat. Giacomo told me the first two days out were during a small craft advisory warning for rough seas. He spent the entire time sick as a dog, but kept working, knee-deep in fish, scooping them up and into the frozen hold below, only pausing to lean over and vomit in a bucket he’d set nearby.

All of this was my fault. His carefree last summer before becoming an adult was gone. And so now, when he kissed me, I forced myself to respond. I imagined Vincenzo’s lips on mine and Vincenzo’s hands on my body. When I did, my skin responded to Giacomo’s touch and I was filled with longing. It was the least I could do. I’d killed his father. Giacomo’s attentions grew increasingly fervent. I knew that one day soon I’d have to make a decision.

His father had been dead six weeks. I had promised myself I would follow Vincenzo’s wishes and wait to break up with Giacomo until the shock of his father’s death had worn off. It was time.

I made plans. Giacomo had asked me to go away for the weekend. He had some money saved from fishing and the boat was at anchor for a week while the owner went back east to visit his ailing mother.

Giacomo and I were going to Napa for the weekend. My mother assumed we had separate rooms. And, in fact, we did. But I knew what would happen. And my mother probably did, as well, but it was important for us to keep up the charade of good Catholic girl.

Not only would he want to sleep with me tonight, but I knew he was going to propose.

A few weeks ago, he’d dragged me into a jewelry store and had me try on a giant Emerald that he said matched my eyes.

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