6

Ruggerio

Walking through the building site of the skyscraper our client is planning in this million-strong metropolis, I barely follow the conversation he is having with us about the upcoming steps to take. I’m glad that Frank is managing it perfectly as I stand next to the little group as if it’s how it was supposed to be.

Thanks God for my poker face.

As I check my watch for the umpteenth time, Frank finds a moment of distraction to nudge me. He lifts his helmet, passing his hand through his sand-blond hair before putting it back on.

“Just go, I can close it up.”

I frown but he insists,

“Just strip it off like a band-aid. Go pick up the asshole and get back. Let’s watch the game tonight and all will be fine again.”

“Thank you, Bro!”

I take my leave, bid my goodbyes to the client and his entourage, and rush out of the building. Tearing the helmet off my head, I throw it to the guard at the exit of the site.

“Thanks, Paul.”

***

Steering into the traffic, I have the boxes blearing at me. It should distract me from forming any kind of stupid thought. After having parked my car, I walk into the air-conditioned hall filled with hundreds of people scurrying around either catching a flight or a taxi. I arrive at the arrival-terminal where the flight my brother took will be landing. My discomfort at the thought of seeing him grows as the flight information display system shows his flight as “landed”. A good half an hour later, I see him coming through the sliding doors. He wears a tired smile, but he doesn’t look as bad as I saw him before, boarding the flight. Dressed up in a shabby hoodie and jeans far too wide for his frame, he repositions his cap on his head by his shade as he walks to me.

“Hey, Ruggerio.”

“Salvo, hi. Is this everything you have with you?”

Gesturing to his hand luggage, he chuckles lightly.

“Yes, yes. There’s just so much you can bring and keep in prison.”

I click my tongue as I start walking to the car.

“Yeah, sure.” What I really want to say is, that he should be thankful to God for having been born into a rich family. Otherwise, they would have sent him to a real prison instead of a comfortable rehab-center where you get clean side to side with spoiled rich brats, lonely housewives and washed-up stars.

But I bite my tongue.

***

The moment we get home, my mother is already crying for the return of her son. As she hugs him in tears, my father and grandfather line up to welcome him home. My grandmother stays put with my sister sitting next to her. They are both reading a magazine, ignoring the return of the long-lost son.

At least someone with some principles.

My brother waves to our little sister, trying to get her to say hello properly. But she just lowers her gaze and avoids any interaction. As my mother starts nudging her, forcing her to get up, I intervene, steering my mother away from her gently.

“Come on, leave her if she doesn’t want to.”

My mother’s light blue eyes are full of rage as she points a finger at me, hissing.

“This is all your fault.”

“Yeah, ma. I know.”

She sobs as we move to the living room, leaving her mother-in-law and daughter behind. I know that my sister struggles with what my brother has done and who could even blame her. Well, I might have told her more than my parents and grandparents had deemed best, but I was having my own problems, and I don’t regret it.

Not. One. Bit.

I also got punished for it already.

“Calm down, ma. Everything will be fine.”

I get her to sit down into a lounge seat as my grandmother’s personal assistant already gets to her with a steaming cup of tea.

“Oh, thank you, my dear.”

Aramina nods and leaves the room again, “I’ll get dinner to be served.”

She really is an angel.

“I’m so happy that you are back. My son. Oh, my poor son.”

My brother sits down on a flowery footrest, taking our mother’s hands into his.

“Everything is alright now, mom. I’m here now. And everything will be alright.”

I watch them silently as they talk about the lost months. Pushing down the urge to gag at them talking as if he went out to fight in a war for years, I finally take my seat on the couch next to them.

***

Dinner passes by excruciatingly slowly. I took my place next to my sister and my grandmother took the other chair next to her. Elisabetta has her eyes low all the time and isn’t eating properly. Even if I try to talk to her beside the running table-talk my family is entertaining with my brother, she doesn’t talk much and stays with her eyes glued on the plate the entire time. My brother tries to talk to her directly a few times but fails more badly than I do.

“Just leave her alone.”

As I take a good look at my brother, I can see how worn-out he looks even after months of rehab. He is the complete opposite of me. His face is round, and his black locks fall deep into his dark brown eyes. The little stubble on his chin is the last edge missing having him look like a creep. I know, I’m overreacting, but I guess it’s just the rage talking. I have never been happier that my sister and I got our eyes from our mother, as he got my father’s dark eyes.

“I’m here as a new man. I have changed and I will show you.”

Yeah. I already heard that.

“Sure, we can’t wait to see.”

My sarcastic comment gets me another reprimand from my mother.

“Ruggerio!”

She turns to my brother to lay her hand on his as she transforms her hiss into a lovely-toned voice.

“We are so proud of you.”

Yeah.