The house at the center Deadrick Circle was a simple two story building with white vinyl siding and a green roof. Planter boxes hung under the windows of the front porch. Purple and white coneflowers grew handsomely out of the left planter box while red, pink, and white petunias massed in the other. It gave the stark white siding a pop of color and matched the flowers running along the driveway. To anyone passing by, the yard looked well taken care of, that a lot of love was put into the yard.
The interior wasn't massive but it was big enough to house a family of eight. The main entryway had shoes stacked in mess racks and had labels for each member. Along the right side of the entryway was the coat rack. Like the shoe rack, it was labeled so no one would lose their belongings. With six children living in the house, this was a way of life.
Beside the coat rack was a door that led to the downstairs powder room. Grey tile floors offset the white walls. A floating vanity sat across from the porcelain toilet and was accented by a silver framed mirror. Twin sconces hung on either side of the mirror, giving off a romantic lighting.
Across the hall taking an immediate left through the first doorway, the main living room opened up. The space wasn't cluttered and tastefully decorated. A soft leather living room suit sat facing the big screen television over the fireplace. The darkness of the leather contrasted perfectly with the soft grey walls. A maroon rug covered the hardwood floor to keep whatever was knocked off the coffee table from staining the mahogany.
The living room flowed right into an office corner. Pictures of pastries, cakes and cupcakes adorned the wall around the desk. A business card was taped to the side of the computer, indicating the home business that was functioning at the address. Turning right, the magnificent kitchen was on display. Cabinets wrapped around in a horseshoe shape with a giant island in the center. Grey granite countertops matched black cabinets, giving the comfortable house a modern look. There was also plenty of prep space for the massive Italian meals that was sure to be cooked several nights a week by the Italian family.
There was a section of counter space cordoned off for what was a cake decorating business. This matched what was displayed in the office area. The lady of the house ran a business out of her house, and she was very well-respected despite being fairly new to the little cul-de-sac. She had a huge following Facebook and LinkedIn and was getting plenty of business due to word of mouth. If she liked, she could open her own business in town, but her family came first so she stayed in her home.
Going upstairs, the floor branched off in a horseshoe, almost mimicking the kitchen downstairs. On the right hand side immediately off the staircase were two bedrooms. The first one was decorated in ponies and princesses, marking it as a girl's room. Matching twin beds adorned the side walls as two dressers housed the clothing the girls could not fit in the closet.
The next door down was decorated in trucks and Transformers. Beyond the stickers was a room colored in blues and greys. A set of bunk beds showed that the boys that inhabited the room were messier than their sisters. The beds were unkempt with clothes hanging off the railings. There were clothes all over the floor. Games were strewn by the television and gaming console. It did not match the rest of the spotless house.
At the middle of the horseshoe was a full bath that the children shared. Five toothbrushes hung in specific spots on the wall, each one a different color for a different child. Four clothes hampers labeled towels, darks, delicates, and whites were lined up in two pairs on either side of the tub. The bathtub was pristine white and all the toiletries were lined up according to child.
The first room on the left hand side of the horseshoe belonged to an older girl. Covered in band posters and pictures of ballet, the room was tastefully decorated in neutral tones to adjust whenever the girl's taste adjusted. It was the smallest room on the floor and the cleanest.
The last door on the floor was master bedroom. It was a haven for the parents who had to deal with six kids under one roof. The king size bed was between the two windows with the sheer curtains pulled aside. A colorful quilt adorned the mattress, showing an old-fashioned type of feel to the room. Family photos hung all over the walls, giving the family vibe even in the oasis. The master bath was just as large as the bedroom. The tile matched the downstairs powder room, and the silver sconces matched their downstairs twins as well. The soaker tub was against the far window, giving the shower plenty of space to reside. A fuzzy rug in front of the toilet gave a comforting feel.
A staircase led to the attic of the house. That space had been renovated to fit a sixth child, a boy. It was decorated simply in blues and silvers with metal accents. Like the older girl's room, it was very clean and organized to the Nth degree. It was like a neat freak lived in that room. There was a small bathroom that allowed him to get ready of a morning but he needed to go downstairs to shower.
The house was cozy and warm, and it was a home. Though clean, it looked well lived in and ready to see what the future held for its loving family.
Warm scents drifted into the dining room off the kitchen. Footsteps scurried down the stairs as a thick Italian accent called for dinner. Two boys wrestled all the way down the stairs, tumbling the last couple of steps as they tried to one up each other on who was the fastest. A girl trailed peacefully behind them, her footsteps gentle on the hardwood.
In the kitchen, a regal woman stood mixing her pasta dish as if she were in a commercial. A sweet smile tilted her full, red lips and lit up her gentle face. The late evening sun tossed red and golds in her dark hair, nearly lighting the soft tresses with a slow fire in the braid as it fell down one shoulder. Two dark-headed girls stood by her side. One clung to her skirt as the other helped slather the garlic spread over freshly baked bread.
"Wynn, dinner!" she called once again. Immediately she turned and ushered her the two girls into the dining room, making sure they carried what they could to the table.
Wynn slipped as he hit the bottom step, grabbing the banister to steady himself. He looked down to see a sock lying precariously on the edge. Picking it up, he carried it into the dining room.
"Matteo, pick up your socks," he scolded. He walked through the dining room and through the kitchen to the laundry room. He returned and sat on the right hand side. "What's for dinner, Mom?"
"Linguini with clams," his mother answered. She hissed at him. "Don't make that face at me, boy. You can pick the clams out if you don't want them."
His sister scowled at him from across the table. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"
His tightly pressed lips dropped into a scowl as he stared at Helena. "Just because you eat anything and everything doesn't mean I'm so difficult."
"Enough, you two. I don't understand why you always fight when you come to the dinner table," their father scolded.
The Esposito household was a very normal family. They bickered, sometimes they resorted to fistacuffs, and they loved each other with big hearts. They were an Italian family and they didn't do anything small. Husband, wife, and seven children made up the family, but six lived with their parents. The oldest son lived in Italy as he went to school at university.
"Wynn, did you enjoy your first week of classes?" his mother asked.
Finally after getting the youngest child's plate ready, she was able to sit down. Francesca Esposito was the epitome of motherly. She took care of her four-year-old daughter on the days she did not have to attend pre-school and ran a successful cake decorating business. She also helped her husband at the vineyard and winery when it looked as if he was going to be late for their mandatory family dinners.
She wasn't just a successful business woman; she was a successful mother because her children respected her. She was not prone to anger, but when a child disrespected her, she made sure that child understood where he or she erred. She had successfully raised one son to be independent, and she was slowly working on the other six.
Wynn looked at his mother and wondered how he had gotten so lucky. His mother had inspired him to follow his passion with art, even going as far as to make sure he had the best art classes. When they had moved to the United States, he had lost the nerve to draw. His first day of class had been when his hands had worked by themselves without him having to beg them to do so.
He swiped his fork side to side over his plate. "It was fine I guess. They have everyone separated which I don't understand, but I guess it works."
"I heard you were called out by one of the most popular guys in school," Helena tossed out. She was the third child at age fifteen and a sophomore in school. She was the mirror image of their paternal grandmother who had passed several years before, but she didn't have her temperament. She had their maternal grandfather's sass, and she wasn't afraid to use it.
Giulio twirled his fork around his fingers. "What is she talking about, Wynn?" The second son looked at his father briefly before sighing and dropping his fork to the porcelain. "Is this about your sexuality? Did you put yourself out there? I told you not to do that! That 's embarrassing!"
Wynn rubbed his eyes as his mother sputtered. "Dear! We have discussed this. Wynn cannot help how he feels about girls. Just let him live his life the way he sees fit."
"It's embarrassing. When people ask what my oldest son does, I'm happy to say he is an architecture student in Tuscany. Then they ask about my second son, and I'm afraid to answer because I don't want them to find out. I don't want to be known as the father whose son likes boys."
Helena looked at her brother, saw the look on his face, and faced their father head on. Only she was allowed to pick on him because they knew how to bicker. No one else was allowed, not even their father.
"Would you leave him alone!" she erupted. "I'll tell you the same thing I told my classmates. It does no good to ostracize him because he's going to feel like this for the rest of his life. We need to support him. And I know for a fact that you're not terribly embarrassed by him because you have even allowed Mom to sell some of his artwork with her cakes. So make up your mind! Are you embarrassed by him, or embarrassed because you actually support him in your own way?"
Wynn looked across the table at his younger sister. There were days when he was happy she was exactly like their grandfather. She never backed down when she thought someone was being mistreated. Even though she was a pain in the neck most days, she would stand up for anyone who was hurting due to unkind words or bullying. She had a pure heart.
Giulio looked between his feisty daughter and his timid son. "Keep defending each other. When your mother and I are gone, you will only have each other to fall back on. Wynn, do you know why your grandmother gave you an Old English name instead of a traditional Italian one?" The boy in question shook his head. "She took one look at you and said, 'This boy will be the best child you will ever have. He will be a friend to those who need it most. He will also be fair to those who call family. Cherish him'."
"Nonna was always wise," Francesca sighed. She swatted at Matteo as he threatened to launch pasta across the table at his brother. "Don't do it."
"Wynn, I want you to do what you want, but I want you to be able to take care of yourself. So that's why I've signed you up for this season's soccer tryouts," his father continued.
Wynn scratched his forehead. "I'm not Franco."
"I know, but if you don't exercise, you will sit in your room all day drawing. There's nothing wrong with that, but you will get fat if you continue eating your mother's cooking. Do you really want to look like Nonno Ricci?"
Their maternal grandfather was six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds. He blamed it on his late wife's cooking, but they all knew after he had quit working out in his vineyards, he had sat down and had refused to move. He had claimed that after fifty years of work he deserved a break. He had gained weight after that.
After that exchange, dinner had passed with the normal amount of bickering. Matteo and Leo barely stayed out of trouble because they had been kicking each other under the table. Elena, the baby, had started crying when Leo had stabbed her in the eye with the end of his fork by mistake. Francesca had to get up from her dinner to deal with the bruised eye and to swat her twelve-year-olds hard enough for them to understand. Then she had forced them to clear the table and load the dishwasher.
Wynn escaped to his room when he had put the leftovers in the fridge. Once in the confines of his sanctuary, he looked at the easel under the big window. A dragon's head stared at him, almost as if it were waiting on him to finish. He had the rough outline. All he needed to do was fill it in with color.
His mind raced with the colors he could choose, but he kept coming back to an opalescent color. It was the same color that he had pictured the dragon in his notebook to be. He couldn't shake this color, and he wasn't sure he wanted to shake it. He hadn't drawn in the last two weeks because he had been very upset with moving to the United States. Now all he could think about was drawing.
He sat down on the stool just to the right of the easel. Being left handed was always a curse because he tended to smear things if he went right to left. So he started on the right hand side, shading the black lines lightly with a white then adding heavier colors until it was the right color in his mind. The eyes were a deep sapphire. He could see that clearly as he reached for his blue colored pencils and started filling it in.
He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't hear the knock at his door and the wooden structure swinging wide. Only when Helena was two feet from him did he know anyone else was in his room. He looked back at her as she set a plate and a glass of milk on his desk. She tilted her head to the left as she tried to figure out what he was sketching now.
"What is your fascination with dragons?" she asked. It was almost as if her voice were too tired to even question it. "You have been obsessed with them since you saw Pete's Dragon."
He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the stuffed Elliott the Dragon that resided on his bookcase. To this day, it was still his favorite toy from his childhood.
"What did you bring?" he asked.
"Mom made snickerdoodles. She told me to bring them up since she didn't think anyone would see you for the rest of the night."
Helena stood and walked over to his easel. She took a very good look at the dragon as it almost roared off the page. "Are you going to enter this in a contest? It looks as if it's professional quality. You could probably get a good prize from it."
Wynn shook his head though her back was turned to him. "No. I just saw it in my mind and wanted to draw it. There's not another reason."
His sister nodded and turned back to him. "Have you put in your application to the University of Florence?"
He nodded. "Franco said he saw it the other day while he was sifting through all the admittance paperwork. It could take a few weeks for everything to be processed though."
He watched her face contort in an array of emotions. "What is it?"
Helena sat down on the edge of the desk. "I understood when Franco went to college. At the time we lived in Tuscany and it made sense for him to go there. But we live here now, and you're going back to go to school. Couldn't you go to some famous
art school here? Like California Institute of the Arts? Why do you have to go back to Italy?"
"I didn't want to move here in the first place, Helena. Dad forced me to because I was still in high school. I was content where I was. He uprooted the family for this job and didn't care what I thought."
"Maybe you can find where you belong." Wynn's eyebrow pulled together at her remark. "You have always been the black sheep of our family, Wynn. Maybe someone or something will catch your eye that will make you want to stay. Unless you've already found someone?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I have no plans of finding anyone."
She stood and dusted off her bottom. "Don't say that. Next thing you know someone will knock you off your feet and make you want to stay. Good night, Wynn."
The door closed softly behind her. Wynn bit thoughtfully into one of his mother's cookies as he looked at the easel. The dragon eyed him from the paper, watching his every move to see what he was going to do. He didn't even know what he was going to do. His life had changed drastically in the last month, and all he wanted to do was live peacefully until he could return to Italy.
But something deep down told him that was not going to be possible. That something huge was going to happen to him that he had no idea how to handle.