Made (7 page)

"How is it my fault?" How could
he
be to blame?

"Because you suck," she said, matter-of-fact, as if that answer made even a bit of sense. "And because Mom doesn't like you."

"She doesn't like anyone."

"She likes me," Katrina said defensively.

Corrado didn't bother responding. If blaming him would make her feel even the slightest bit better, so be it. She could blame him all she wanted. He'd accept it, because that's what brothers did. But at the end of the day, it wouldn't change the truth.

They were there because no one else wanted them.

The sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling drew Corrado’s attention away from his sister. He glanced around, expecting to see squirrels run through the thick brush, but instead a girl stepped out from behind a tree. He watched her inquisitively. Katrina didn’t look, either not hearing or not caring, as the girl approached.

She was about their age, her long brown hair sloppily braided down her shoulder, like she’d done it herself in the dark. Wispy pieces stuck up everywhere. She wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, an oversized Chicago Cubs shirt tucked in the front of them. She smiled as she met Corrado’s eyes, revealing a set of clunky metal braces. "Hi! I'm Celia Marie."

"Celia Marie?" Katrina asked, still wading in the water. "What kind of name is that?"

Celia shrugged. "The kind my parents gave me."

"Well, it's a stupid name," Katrina said. "I'm glad my parents didn't name me that."

Celia seemed taken aback by the response, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Katrina never had a nice thing to say about anything.

"Well, what's
your
name?"

"Katrina Sophia," she replied. "Just like Sophia Loren. She's the best actress ever. I was named after her."

Lies
. She'd been named after their grandmother.

"I don't like her that much," Celia said, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "I like Faye Dunaway better."

"You would," Katrina snapped, eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze toward the girl. "Faye Dunaway's stupid and stupid people like her!"

"Takes one to know one," Celia retorted, not backing down. "Stupid."

Katrina gaped at the
girl,
stunned someone would talk back to her. It took everything in Corrado not to laugh at his sister’s expression.

"You… you… you… I hate you!" Katrina trudged up the bank of the creek and stormed past them, heading for the house, her shoes caked with thick mud. "I hope you get eaten by monsters and die!"

"Ditto!" Celia shouted after her.

Once Katrina was gone, Celia turned to Corrado cautiously. "Is she always like that?"

He nodded.

A boy approached them then, younger, less sure about Corrado's presence as he weaved through the brush. His expression was guarded, suspicious, when he appeared from behind a tree.

"This is my little brother, Vincent," Celia said, motioning toward him.

"I'm not that little," Vincent grumbled.

"You're littler than me! You're only eight, but I'm almost eleven."

Celia grabbed a hold of a tree and pulled herself up into it. She sat on a thick branch, swinging her stick-thin legs, not a trace of polish on her dirty toes.

She was unlike any girl Corrado had ever seen before. Girls wore dresses and painted their fingernails. Girls didn't climb trees and know about baseball… even if she did like a terrible team like the Cubs.

Vincent tried to climb the tree with his sister, too short to reach the branch. Celia jumped back down to help him, and Corrado took their distraction as a chance to slip away. He headed back toward the house and found Katrina alone on the back porch.

Corrado sat down beside her.

"I don't like that girl," Katrina declared.

Corrado said nothing, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Katrina may not like her, but Corrado had to admit he kind of did.

"Do you kids want some ice cream?"

Katrina and the DeMarco kids nodded excitedly. Mrs. DeMarco laughed at their eagerness and got up from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.

Corrado continued to pick at the food on his plate. Even though he hadn't eaten since leaving Las Vegas, he couldn't force anything down. It was too foreign to him in this old house. It was strange, being with these people who weren't yelling, who didn't throw anything. It was like those television families. They even prayed before they ate.

"You're quiet."

Celia's voice dropped low as she whispered across the table. Corrado knew it was directed at him, but he didn't bother saying anything.

It wasn't as if she'd asked a question, anyway.

"He's an idiot," Katrina said. "So it's better he doesn't talk. He'll just bore you to death."

Katrina closed her eyes and threw her head back, dramatically snoring, pretending to be asleep.

"That's not nice," Celia said. "He's your brother. You shouldn't talk about him like that."

"Would you rather me talk about your brother?"

Celia tensed. "You leave my brother alone."

"Or what?"

"Or… I'll smack you silly!"

Mrs. DeMarco stepped into the room, gaping at her daughter. "Celia Marie! How dare you speak to our company that way!
"

"But Mom, she—"

"No buts! It doesn't matter what she did. We don't threaten guests. No ice cream for you!"

"She started it!" Vincent blurted out in defense of his sister. "She was mean first!"

Mrs. DeMarco glared at him. "Did you not hear me, young man? I said it didn't matter!
None for you, either.
You kids are a serious disappointment."

Vincent gasped at his mother's words, his face contorting as he began to cry. Mrs. DeMarco ignored him and dished out some ice cream for Katrina, who smiled to herself as she devoured it.

"Corrado, would you like some?"

He shook his head as Katrina interjected. "He doesn't like ice cream or anything good, really. He won't even eat chocolate."

"Is that right?" Mrs. DeMarco glanced between them. "Why?"

Katrina laughed. "I already said why. He's an idiot."

Mrs. DeMarco looked at her with surprise when she insulted him, but shrugged, not bothering to scold Katrina. She retook her seat, the table remaining silent except for the soft cries from young Vincent. It was like she didn't care her children were upset, or that they'd been wronged.

Corrado turned back to his plate of food.

Maybe it wasn't so foreign, after all.

For days, Corrado crept around the DeMarco house, staying out of the way and keeping to himself, as his sister tailored herself to the surroundings. Katrina followed Mrs. DeMarco around all day long, constantly offering to help, hanging on to the woman's every word. Nearly everything out of Katrina's mouth was laced with politeness as she batted her eyelashes, soaking up the attention.

Corrado watched, more and more sure as time passed: Katrina was plotting something.

He didn't know her end game, what she hoped to accomplish, but he knew his sister. He had been on the receiving end of her schemes more than once, and he still bore faint scars from some of them. Whatever brewed in that head of hers would be ugly, and Corrado suspected, this time, it wasn't
him
she conspired against.

It was the girl. Celia.

The DeMarco kids spent all day outside, from sun up to sun down. The only time Corrado encountered them was at meals, and he noticed it then, the looks his sister shot across the table at Celia.

She had meant it—she didn't like her.

Corrado lingered in the doorway to the kitchen one afternoon, watching as his sister stood on a stool, helping Mrs. DeMarco put away dishes. Katrina rattled on and on as they worked, telling the woman stories of things her and their mother used to do together, talking about Erika like she was the greatest woman to exist.

"You must miss her," Mrs. DeMarco commented.

"I do," Katrina said, her voice laced with genuine sadness.

"I'm sure she misses you, too."

"Of course she does."

Again, her words were sincere. She truly believed it.

Katrina grabbed the last glass and put it away before jumping down from the stool. "You know, my mom has people to do this kind of stuff for her."

"You mean a maid?"

"No."

Mrs. DeMarco leaned against the counter and crossed her arms as she gazed at Katrina peculiarly. "Huh."

"What?"

"I didn't think your father was like that."

"Like what?"

"The kind to have those kind of people in his house."

Katrina's eyes widened with alarm. "Is that wrong?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "It's nothing for a little girl to concern herself with."

"But—"

Mrs. DeMarco smiled tersely, cutting her off. "How about we bake a cake?"

Katrina stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I think I'll go outside and play instead."

"Great."

Corrado moved out of the way as Katrina strode past, heading straight for the back door. His eyes followed her, something about the expression on her face urging him to shadow her. Quietly, he stepped out back, squinting from the sunshine as he followed his sister toward the creek. The DeMarco kids were sitting beneath some trees, forming a makeshift track for Vincent's toy cars. Corrado loitered a few feet away, leaning against a tree trunk and watching as Celia dug in the dirt with her bare hands, pulling up grass and tossing twigs aside. Smudges of dirt covered her flushed cheeks, her hair falling out of a ponytail as sweat beaded along her forehead.

Katrina walked right past them without speaking and sat down on the bank of the creek. She grabbed some rocks from around her and tossed them in the water, the plop echoing out. Celia glanced behind her, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she studied Katrina, but she shrugged off her presence.

She dug a bit more, extending the track so it weaved around a small tree in the shape of a cloud.

"There," Celia said, climbing to her feet. She brushed the loose dirt from her knees. "All done."

Excited, Vincent dumped out his bucket of cars and lined them up on the track. Celia turned then, and Corrado felt her gaze. His eyes shifted from Vincent to Celia, seeing the smile on her lips.

"Hi," she said.

Hello
. The word was on the tip of his tongue when his sister shifted position in his peripheral. Before he could react, the loud whack sounded. Celia cringed, stumbling a few steps as she reached behind her to grab her back.

"
Ow
!" she hollered, spinning around. Corrado looked over at Katrina, seeing the rock in her hand. Without even hesitating, she launched it at the girl, smacking Celia in the chest with it. Celia cried out, hardly having time to defend herself before Katrina grabbed another.

"Hey!" Vincent shouted, jumping to his feet. "Stop that!"