Chapter 20
It's time...or Is It?
Aria Amora
My husband, along with all the men in his family, were exceptionally quiet after Aunt Lola’s passing.
Uncle Tito refused to speak, and even though all the women were worried about him, the men seemed to understand why he was doing this.
All he wanted to do was keep his eyes closed.
His mouth moved constantly with silent prayers.
Juliette looked around to be sure Marciano, who was the second youngest of Scarlett and Brando’s sons, wasn’t close enough to hear whatever she was about to say.
He had been sitting in a dark corner, his head down, and a constant stream of tears dripped to the floor.
Matteo, their oldest son, had forced him to go home with him for a while.
“He’s asking for God to take him, isn’t he?” Juliette had asked Scarlett.
Scarlett was being quieter than usual. All she did was nod in answer. Carmen and Juliette gave me a look, as if to say, things are changing, and we’re all feeling it. To be honest, I was at a loss for words too. All I did was nod in acknowledgment.
Change was on the horizon. I could feel it in my bones, like an older person feels a storm or the oncoming cold.
Even in the short time I’d been around, it almost felt like I’d been with this family forever, and there were times I wondered if Avelina’s time was continuing through me somehow.
My place in Rocco’s life felt so natural.
As if I’d always been in the wings, waiting for my chance to show myself to him.
And that gave me an advantage. I fell into place right away, and even the slightest tremble in the waves of this family, I felt just as strongly as Scarlett, Carmen, and Juliette.
Of course, I didn’t know Aunt Lola as well as they did, but…I had shared a connection with her too. She was automatically my great-aunt. I accepted her, and she accepted me.
My heart was hurting, and finding her that way, without a pulse, brought back memories of my own grandmother when she had taken her last breath. I remembered thinking, repeatedly, one word:
Final.
Thandie went with me to the small religious ceremony we had at our local church, St. Jude, and the priest who had been our priest since I’d been baptized had taken me to the side and looked into my eyes.
“You look lost, Aria,” he had said to me.
My eyes had snapped to his. For the first time in days, it was like someone had gotten through to me. I heard his words, and not only…final. “I am,” I had barely gotten out. “I’m so lost.” Nonna’s last arrangements had been on me solely to take care of.
He had squeezed my hand. “Nothing is ever final. If we believe, if we love, that is the promise. The ones we love never die. You’ll never die. You have everlasting life if only you believe. You believe, don’t you?”
“I do,” I’d said, and even though the pain didn’t magically disappear, I found faith that day in a way I never had before.
Yeah, I was alone—but was I really? If I believed, had faith, I was never alone. One day, I’d see my grandmother again. Peace had settled over me like a blanket at the warming thought. Maybe my grandmother had covered me with it as a last act of love.
I knew my grandmother and Aunt Lola were two separate people, but I’d fallen in love with Aunt Lola, and again, I’d accepted her as a part of my life, my heart, and losing her hurt. It hurt so badly.
Scarlett, Carmen, and Juliette had had her for years. So many memories between them. I only had a few. What was harder then? Losing after so many memories had been made, knowing no more would be, or not having enough?
Then there was my husband—his feelings were the center of this nagging anxiety.
His eyes were void of life, like they’d been when I’d first found him, except for when he would look at me.
It was like his thoughts were running wild, away from him, and when he looked at me, they all came running home. To me.
One word came to mind when he looked away from me—lost.
One word came to mind when he looked at me—home.
He was desperate not to lose his home again, like Uncle Tito had lost his.
Aunt Lola’s passing had unnerved the men, because they all saw the way Uncle Tito was grieving, grieving like I had never seen a man grieve before, and all the women knew the men were looking at us, but seeing a void where their hearts should be.
It, quite frankly, unnerved me. I wasn’t sure if the sum of the women together could pull the sum of the men out of this.
Maybe out of all the men, Luca was the worst.
His stone eyes at my birthday party along the bayou had nothing on his eyes after he saw Uncle Tito, all alone in his chair, keeping his eyes closed, his mouth constantly moving—that was the only way we knew he was breathing.
It was a quiet anguish that made me hide to cry.
Rocco scented my tears, because he always found me and pulled me so hard to his chest, I would lose my breath.
Then I’d hear his heartbeat, and it would send mine into a natural state of relaxation.
We were together.
We were together.
Aunt Lola and Uncle Tito had been together too. For years. And her death had carved his heart out and sent it with her.
A glass shattering in the sink made all the women at the table—me, Scarlett, Carmen, and Juliette—jump.
Luca had gone in to try to speak to Uncle Tito, who was refusing to breathe a word.
The old doctor’s eyes were shut tight, lips moving, moving, moving.
Luca had flung a glass mug into the sink after he couldn’t get Uncle Tito to talk.
Luca braced himself against it, his head down, eyes closed, and when he looked up and out the window, he caught sight of Maggie Beautiful taking a walk in Aunt Lola’s garden.
Like a dangerous lion who sensed his mate was in danger, he tore out of the villa.
He picked her up in his arms and held onto her so tightly, I could tell she was struggling to breathe, but she stroked his back, speaking soft words to him that only they could hear.
Rocco looked up from the chair, and his eyes on mine stole my breath. I couldn’t look away, but an instinct inside of me told me I should. It was too intense, like he was inside of me when we made love. I couldn’t run from him then either.
His eyes spoke to me in a silent whisper.
Not you.
Not you.
Not you away from me.
It was like this chant was building, building, building into something I wasn’t sure I could control.
Scarlett stood abruptly from the table. She took my hand. “We’ll speak to Uncle Tito.”
I nodded, smoothing down the Tyrian purple dress Aunt Lola had complimented me on. It felt right to wear it, since she told me she loved it. I glanced at Brando on the way to Uncle Tito’s room and noticed he was staring at his wife as hard as Rocco was staring at me.
A few steps away, they both stood and followed us. Scarlett gave me a side-eye glance, and I understood right away. These men were naturally protective, but not like this, where a few steps away and they were jumping up like we were going to disappear.
Uncle Tito’s door was cracked.
“I’m just going to speak to him for a moment, my love,” Scarlett whispered to Brando. “Uncle Tito needs this from us.”
I nodded at Rocco.
Both men were as hard as stone. No response.
Scarlett pushed open the door and then shut it quietly behind her. She gave me another look. This was going to be hard. Uncle Tito refused to speak on Aunt Lola’s final wishes.
None of us was imagining it. He was betting on a double funeral. If his Lola wasn’t next to him, he didn’t want to be here.
Sighing, I breathed in the scent of memories. The room hadn’t been changed in years. Maybe a little here and there after their wedding, but I doubted it changed all that much. It felt comfortable. It felt like their own private space.
The bedding was floral. The curtains matched. The walls were older than the couple, it seemed, but the old-time record player in the corner was newer, and the record being highlighted by the sun, dust motes dancing around it, was…Nicola Ariglisano… “Come Prima.”
Aunt Lola had crochet items in a basket next to a chair with a matching ottoman. A pair of purple house slippers still sat next to it. She hadn’t finished whatever she was working on. Seemed like a pink dress for a child.
I wasn’t sure what we were going to say to him.
I allowed Scarlett to take the lead. She spoke to him softly, touching him lightly on his hand.
When she did, I could tell by the pained look on her face she wanted to recoil, but she didn’t.
She touched him through the pain. The overwhelming sadness she was feeling swirled inside of her from his feelings.
Maybe for some that would be an odd thing to say, or a foolish thing to believe, but I believed it. I believed some of us were touched, and it was a mystery as to why.
Scarlett squeezed his hand, and finally, finally, he met her eyes.
Then he began to cry, cry like I had never heard a man cry before.
Scarlett took him in her arms and held him tightly.
She said nothing to him. There was nothing she could say.
When the sobs stopped racking him, she gave him some space.
He even refused the handkerchief she offered him.
“She is gone,” he said, his voice beyond anguish.
It was completely shattered. “She is gone, and I am not with her. I have healed many people over the years. I have believed that I was only a tool, not the direct healer. Yes, I have done wrong, but I have made my peace with this. Why isn’t God taking me?
I miss her. I miss her more than I would ever miss my life.
“Do not speak to me, piccola colomba, with empty comfort that will not bring her back. Words hurt me. Hurt me more than any sickness or disease I have witnessed ravage a person’s body.
Because the words I long to hear, that will heal me, cannot be spoken.
My wife is home with me. Those are the words I will not hear until I join her. ”
Scarlett’s glistening green eyes locked on my tearful hazel ones.
We were going to try to speak to him about Aunt Lola’s arrangements, but we both knew.
He would refuse to make them. I wasn’t sure if he had enough strength to.
And it seemed so callous without his consent to do what needed to be done.
Scarlett touched my shoulder on the way to the door. She stopped and waited for me. I held up a finger. She looked between Uncle Tito and I, nodded, and then shut the door quietly behind her.
It took me a moment to build up the courage to speak to him as openly as Scarlett had. Their history was different from ours. It wasn’t as long, but again, I had accepted him inside of my heart, and I felt the need to speak. To say something to him, but not any words of empty comfort.
I cleared my throat. “Uncle Tito,” I whispered, “I am so sorry about Aunt Lola. I, ah, I am so sorry her last moments were spent with me. I hope—I hope you can forgive me for that. I fell in love with you both, and you both mean a great deal to me.” I wanted to say…
I’ll always remember Aunt Lola. A piece of my heart is with her, and she will live on in the piece she took from me.
..but I decided to leave my speech where I had.
I went to turn around, and Uncle Tito called my name.
“Aria Amora Bella Fausti, Nipote Biscottina, my wife and I were at peace with each other,” he whispered.
“Long ago, before we were even married, she slapped her hands on her hips and told me, ‘Tito, if we are to be married, I will not accept nonsense between us. We speak the truth, then we get on with it. We love.’ She held her hand out to me then, and I knew in that moment my life would never be the same if I took it.
That touch changed the course of my life for the better.
“We said the hard things, worked through the rough times, and all that was left were…the wonderful words a man and his wife should say to each other. We lacked nothing between us. I know she loves me, and I love her—I have always loved her with every breath I took, and when it comes time for me to take my last, it will be her love waiting for me. I know this. You have nothing to ask forgiveness for. My wife’s last moments on this earth were beautiful, just as she would have dreamt they would be. ”
He took a trembling breath.
“I am a selfish man with her. She knew this. Her written last wishes are in my office, sealed and organized in my file cabinet under the title ‘heaven awaits us—a permanent vacation together.’ My last wishes are the same as hers. Except, in my wish, all I ask is to be next to her for eternity. This is my heaven.”
He closed his eyes and began to pray again—harder this time.
The door was cracked when I turned around, my husband standing close like a sentry, and when one of my feet was out the door, he pulled me to his body, his muscles and bones trembling, and refused to allow a breath between us.