Amapola

My hands tremble as I reach the door of the house, my heart racing. Strangely, I don’t fear the situation I’ll find; I trust Salvatore's words that he’s okay. I take a deep breath as I slowly turn the doorknob, almost smiling when I see it open. I’ve always been the one responsible for keeping the doors locked; my papà never worried about that.
I slowly open the door and see him sitting on our small sofa, his eyes glued to a square piece of paper in his hands. I can bet, even from a distance, that it’s a photograph.
“Papà!” I call out, tears streaming down my face.
“Amah?” he asks, looking between the photo and the place where I stand frozen. “My Amah?”
“Yes, papà, it’s me!” He quickly gets up and comes toward me.
“Mia bambina.” Tears fall from his eyes as I embrace him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I’m here, papà; I’ll never leave you.” We cry together, and he leads me to the worn sofa.
I notice that the house is strangely organized. Everything is in place; there’s no mess or smell of alcohol. He also looks clean, freshly bathed, and I dare say he seems stronger than before.
“Daughter, you look… different.” He assesses me from head to toe, and following his gaze, I realize how well-groomed I am, very different from how he’s always been used to seeing me.
“It’s just the clothes, papà; I’m still your Amah.” I kiss his cheek. “Tell me, what happened during the time we were apart?”
He tells me that after we were separated, he was taken to another cell. Amadeu gave him clean, new clothes and assured him everything would be fine for both of us if he did the job he was given.
When I asked what the job was, he said it was just to make some deliveries in a neighboring town. He said when he returned home, everything was clean and organized, there were some new clothes for him, and the refrigerator was full.
Two days later, Salvatore himself met with him in his office and assured him that I was okay. He said I would be kept safe and that he shouldn’t worry, just do what he was told without question. However, after that day, nothing else was assigned for him to do.
He spent his days at home; only Amadeu showed up to check if he was okay, sober, and needed anything. One of Salvatore’s demands was that he not drink any alcohol in case he needed to be sober, but something inside me told me that this requirement had more to do with me than him.
“And you, bambina? What did he do to you?” he asks, concerned.
“I’ll make some coffee for us while I tell you.” I head to the kitchen with him following me.
I briefly explain everything that happened to me, omitting our trip and our involvement, of course. My father would likely give me a good beating if he knew I slept with Salvatore.
“Papà, I’m going to call Salvatore to have coffee with us; is that okay with you?”
“The demon is here?” he asks, startled.
“Don’t call him that, papà; he’s not a bad person. Look at what he did for me and for you.”
“Daughter, don’t be fooled, please,” he says as I get up.
“Don’t worry, papà; everything will be fine.” I run outside, feeling a strange urge to see them together.
“Salvatore,” I say as I approach the man with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the car while he waits for me.
“Let’s go, Amapola.”
“Come have coffee with us.”
“I’m tired, Amapola; say goodbye to your father, and let’s go.”
“If you don’t come have coffee with us, I’ll bring you in to share with us.”
“Amapola.” His voice carries a tone of reprimand.
“Salvatore, look, you’ve made it clear that I won’t go back to living with my papà; at least let him be reassured that I’ll be okay, please,” I plead.
“You’re impossible, Amapola,” he says irritably, glancing around but following me as I enter the house.
“Mr. Salvatore.” I see my father with wide eyes, hardly believing his presence in our home.
“Good evening.” I pull out a chair for him to sit while I serve coffee—not in a porcelain cup like he’s used to but in a simple glass.
“Sir, I wanted to thank you for not…” my father begins, but Salvatore interrupts him.
“You don’t need to thank me; just keep on the right path, and everything will be fine.”
“Thank you for bringing my Amah back.”
“I didn’t bring her,” he says, turning his gaze back to me. “Amapola, you didn’t tell your father that we…” Salvatore begins to speak, and I hastily explain.
“Yes, sir, I said we would work together.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Papà would like to thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me.”
“True, sir. Amapola has always wanted to study and work in a big company like yours. We will be forever grateful, but why won’t you return home, dear? You can work every day like everyone else does.”
“It’s just that Mr. Salvatore is very important, papà, and as his personal assistant, I have to be close to him,” I reply nervously.
“But Amapola, it’s not right for a young woman from a good family to be with a grown man all the time; people will talk about you.” I choke, and Salvatore speaks up.
“Don’t worry; I’ll kill anyone who dares to speak about Amapola. Now we have to go; I have a meeting later today,” he says, already standing up for us to leave.
“Daughter, take care,” my father says as we reach the door. “Take advantage of the opportunity he’s giving you to finish your studies, dear. I’m okay; I lack nothing, so return to studying, okay?”
“I’ll see what I can do about that, papà; I’ll come back to see you as soon as I can,” I promise. “If you need anything, talk to Amadeu, and I’ll arrange it.”
“I love you, bambina,” he says as he hugs me.
“I love you too, papà.”

“Thank you for taking care of her, sir.”
“Don’t worry; she’ll be fine by my side,” Salvatore says as he heads to the car. I hug my father once more before following him, feeling both satisfied and grateful.
Salvatore hadn't just helped me; he had also helped my papà, and I would be eternally grateful for that.