Chapter 34 #2
Some of my worry is soothed away. Enzo was robbed, but by an idiot. Still, I have no idea where he is or whether he’s coming home, or anything.
Do you know where he is?????
Surprisingly, the response comes quickly:
Naw, man. But he’s not at his place. I went there to try to give him his things back. Really, I did. His car is in the parking deck, though.
Dude, I didn’t try to steal it, so don’t think that.
But I tried the key fob just to see, you know?
I rub my forehead. The Christmas music spouting over the speakers in the rec center is giving me a headache suddenly.
Home. I’ll go home and wait. If Enzo comes back, he’ll find me there. But where can he be if he’s not at his old apartment and he doesn’t have his car?
I glance at the dance floor—Charlie is slow-dancing with Lars, and I won’t interrupt them. I feel like I’ve already demanded enough from them. But I also don’t want my friends to worry. So I tell the DJ that I’m leaving and ask him to give the message to Charlie.
I walk home quickly, my coat wrapped tightly around me.
I planned on face-planting on my bed, hugging my stuffed cat, and disassociating for a while, but I find myself rummaging through my sock drawer until I find it: my mother’s letter about the kind of man she wanted me to marry someday. Mr. Perfect.
Tears pressing at my eyes, I stuff it into my coat pocket, and then I’m out the door again, heading to the Wishing Bridge.
Halfway there, Skippy falls in beside me, wagging his tail, and a few of those tears drop, because it feels like he was waiting for me. Wanting to escort me. I bury my hand in his fur, petting him, and call him the good boy he is.
Finally, I reach the bridge, and I practically collapse onto it, Skippy lying down at my feet. I pull out the letter, unfold it, and read…
Lucy—
I love you too much to let you make the same mistakes I did.
Make sure you find a kind man—a man who thinks of others before himself. A man who will give the shirt off his back to a neighbor in need.
And, for the love of God, don’t choose a man who’s arrogant or ambitious.
If he’s arrogant, he’ll think his needs are more important than yours, and they’re not. Mine weren’t either, even though I’ve let you give up so much to take care of me.
Ambition poisons men. Your father left us because my sickness didn’t fit into his plans, but a man should always leave room in his life for what’s unplanned. So find a man who puts love before ambition, my dear. Money is well and good, and we all need it, but live with money, not for it.
Find a man who values community, because you, my dear, were not built for isolation. You deserve to be surrounded by people who love you just as much as you deserve a house that’s truly a home.
I like imagining you with a big family, Lucy. A lovely big family.
I only wish I could see it, my dear girl.
And, finally, find a man who abhors games and speaks his emotions. You deserve plain speaking.
I love you so much.
Know that wherever I am, I miss you.
The most beautiful gift I had in this life was being your mother.
Enzo still doesn’t fit her description of the perfect man. He’s too ambitious. Too aware of his own talents and good looks. Too guarded. He’s also very capable of playing games…
And yet, so am I. Is it so wrong for us to enjoy these games together?
“I love him, Mom,” I whisper to the sky. “He may not be exactly the man you envisioned for me, but he is kind and bighearted and so loyal. He’s the one I want, and I want him to come home. Please let him come home to me.”
A sudden gust of wind captures the letter, and I watch, open-mouthed with horror as it rises up on the wind, stolen.
“That’s mine,” I say, rising to my feet, terrified it will fall into the burbling water and be gone forever. Skippy gets up beside me, panting, his gaze following the sheet of well-worn paper as another gust blows it out beyond the bridge, into the road.
I race after it, nearly face-planting in snow as I slip on a patch of ice. But I keep my feet and continue in pursuit of it.
I nearly smack right into Charlie—because she and Lars were hurrying up the path to the bridge.
I want to ask why they’re here, but I need that letter. It’s a piece of my mother I won’t give away.
“Get that paper,” I cry out.
Lars, who has much longer legs than I do, lunges for it. He almost catches it, but another breeze snatches it out of his hand at the last instant, whisking it down the road—past Eileen, who was following them.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, wheezing, as I rush after the paper.
“The DJ told us you were leaving, and someone saw you walking toward the bridge. We wanted to make sure you didn’t jump off,” Charlie splutters as I scuttle past her.
“We wanted you to know you have a family here in Hideaway Harbor,” Eileen proclaims, her breath coming quickly too as we all try to capture the paper. “And that we love you, Lucy. Everyone was worried about you tonight. Several people came by to ask about you.”
Oh God, I want to hug her. To hug all of them. But I need that paper.
“It’s my mom’s letter,” I gasp as Lars makes another grab for it—thwarted at the last moment, as if the paper’s teasing him. “The wind ripped it away from me while I was on the bridge.”
Something flashes in Eileen’s eyes, and she shouts, “Stop, Lars! We have to follow the letter, not try to capture it.”
“Eileen?” I blurt, whipping around to face her, hysteria bubbling inside me.
“It’s taking us somewhere,” she insists excitedly.
Enzo would think it’s complete bullshit.
He’d probably be right, but my heart is so bruised and aching that I want to believe. I need to believe.
Lars darts a questioning glance at me. I nod, and the four of us continue our pursuit as the paper flits along the street, almost hovering in the air.
It’s uncanny. A strange feeling comes over me, the same way it did on the bridge the night it snowed for me.
It’s as if my mother is speaking to me.
And then, when my legs are tired and sore, and my heart wants nothing more than to return home and sleep…that’s when it happens.
The letter gusts around a corner and slaps into someone, who reaches up to capture it with his hand.
It’s him.
It’s Enzo, wearing the Santa coat from that photo.
He came back to me.
And gathered behind him are the rest of the Cafieros.
I run to him, tears streaming down my face, and he captures me in his strong arms. And when he pulls me close, my face buried in his neck, I feel it.
I’m home.
“Oh, Lucia,” he says, his voice husky. He kisses the side of my face, then my lips when I turn them toward him.
“Thank God. Thank God you’re here. I’ve had the craziest twenty-four hours.
I’ve never needed anything like I needed to see you right now.
We’ve been on the road for…I don’t even know how long, but Giovanni and Nico broke every traffic law to get here as soon as possible. ”
“They still went too slow,” Nonna Francesca murmurs. “I thought I teach you to drive better than that.”
“Did you take the job?” I ask, needing him to tell me. To confirm what the flying letter has already seemed to say.
“No,” he says, then pauses. “Well…I guess I forgot to tell Martin I didn’t take it—I was too concerned about getting home to you—but I’m sure he got the message. This is my home, Lucia. Here with you.”
“You’re my home too,” I say, staring up into his eyes. Marveling at how far we’ve come.
“I love you,” he says as he stares into my eyes.
“I love you too,” I say, lifting up a hand to cradle his face, seeping in the goodness of this moment. He came home to me. He loves me. And my mom…
I’m convinced she would approve of him. Everything feels so good, so sweet.
I kiss him again, then draw away and say, “Now, who’s Barry, and why does he have your phone?”
“That little twerp’s the one who took it?” He shakes his head, laughing a little. “He’s Santa Claus.”