Chapter 8 #3
The family photos were almost familiar, the type her own family took—birthdays and Christmas, kids dressed up for Halloween, parents beaming.
Isabella and Sofia seemed close—lots of photos of the two of them, often with one of Sofia’s children.
Plenty of Dante looking wicked hot, pun intended, in Boston firefighting gear or in front of a firehouse.
There were fewer of Lorenzo—mostly at weddings and the christenings of William and Lucy, Sofia’s kids.
He was in maybe one in fifteen of the photos in the shared folder, and that gave her a pang.
She paused at a picture of Lorenzo holding his nephew, then a newborn.
He was staring intently at the baby’s face, and the baby was looking right back at him.
Both of them were in profile, and Winnie could almost feel their connection.
William could not have been more than two months old.
Another photo showed him kissing Lucy’s forehead, the baby swathed in pink.
On impulse, she clicked on a few photos and air-dropped them to her own phone. She’d get them printed and framed. Even Lorenzo’s chilly heart would love that.
* * *
A few days later, a chilly October rain blew against the windows of Lorenzo’s house, and the wind gusted in great slaps, sudden and unpredictable.
A classic wild and rainy Cape Cod day, Winnie thought, and good for indoor projects.
She was rearranging the massive bookshelves that took up one wall of his living room, trying to stick to subject material, though ninety percent were medical-related.
She had a spreadsheet going by title and author—there were at least two hundred books—so if Lorenzo couldn’t find something, he could just reference the list. In addition to medicine, Lorenzo seemed to be interested in underground infrastructure—he had books on subways, water systems, tunnels and cables.
In the entire collection, she found only four works of fiction—Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese; The Crucible by Arthur Miller; The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje; and The Plague by Albert Camus. Cheery stuff.
Every so often, she turned the books to lie flat to break up the imposing collection and added some visual interest—a big twist of driftwood Fluffina had brought her this morning, smooth as polished marble from its time in the sea.
A painting she’d made herself, mostly smears of color from the last time Mom had tried to give her an art lesson.
The colors were pretty, at any rate. At Wayne’s Antiques in Brewster, her favorite place to poke around, she’d found an abstract metal thingie—a semi-circle with a ball on one end—that she thought would fit in.
In the closet of one of the downstairs bedrooms, she’d found a cobalt-blue glass bowl.
And, one night on whimsy, she ordered him a gift—a brass reproduction of Houdon’s flayed man statue, which was both beautiful and horrific.
It looked great on the shelf, and Winnie wondered if he’d notice.
She had a Spotify jazz playlist going on…
stuff with melodies, not the stuff that sounded like Imogen on the recorder.
Between that and the storm outside, she didn’t hear anyone pull up the driveway, so when the door opened, she whirled around, Flayed Man in hand in case it was an intruder (thanks, Dateline).
It wasn’t a murderer. It was Lark and Dante. “Hey!” she said, her heart squeezing with love. She hadn’t seen her sister in at least two weeks.
“Did you think I was Lorenzo?” Dante asked, nodding at the raised statue. She smiled, put it down, and accepted a hug from her brother-in-law. “Are you happy it’s not?”
“I have no complaints about my employer,” she said.
“You sure? Do I need to punch him yet?” Dante asked.
“Winnie can punch for herself,” Lark said, smiling as she hugged her. “Gosh, you look so pretty today, Winnie. Really. Very healthy.”
“Those gorgeous Smith sisters. How did I get so lucky?” Dante asked.
“A blip in the matrix,” Winnie said. “Lorenzo isn’t here, I’m sorry to say. If you were coming to see him, that is.”
“We were coming to see you,” Lark said. “I texted you.”
“Oh. Sorry I missed it.”
“That’s okay. How do you like staying here? Isn’t it the prettiest house?”
“It really is.”
“I’m guessing those flowers and houseplants are your touch,” Lark said. “Very pretty. Where are you sleeping?”
“Downstairs. I have a little suite.”
Dante’s phone buzzed. “Hey, Robbie,” he said.
“I’m standing here with half of your sisters.
What’s up? Yeah. No, we’re at my brother’s, actually.
Sure. Come on over, it’s a wicked cool house.
Texting you the address.” He looked at Winnie and Lark.
“Robbie and Rosie just finished cake-tasting. They’re coming over. ”
Winnie felt a pang of protectiveness. “Um…maybe let’s run this past Lorenzo,” she said.
“Nah,” Dante said. “His casa, mi casa, as the saying goes. He won’t mind.”
Winnie thought he might mind very much. But he was in Boston, and he’d never said she couldn’t have people over, especially when it was his brother doing the inviting. “Okay, then. Can I get you something to drink?”
Twenty minutes later, the five of them were sitting in the living room.
Winnie had set out a tray of cheese and crackers, grapes and sliced apples, a little thrilled at the chance to play hostess and use Lorenzo’s beautiful stuff.
Winnie’d made herself and Lark a gin and tonic, Robbie and Dante were drinking beer, and Rosie had a tonic and cranberry juice with a sprig of rosemary that Winnie had added for flair.
“So this doesn’t trigger you or anything?” Winnie asked, pointing to the alcohol.
“Oh, no,” Rosie said. “I didn’t drink because I liked the taste of wine. I drank to get shit-faced. Guzzle vodka from a bottle at ten a.m., that kind of thing. My recovery is solid, my therapist is great, and I’ve never been so happy.”
“So impressive,” Lark said. “We’re all really proud of you, Rosie.”
“Well. Robbie is my rock.”
“First time anyone’s ever said those words,” Winnie said. Robbie gave her the finger, then leaned over and kissed his fiancée.
“Please don’t,” Winnie said. “Happy couples are my trigger. Stop making heart eyes, you four.”
“You doing okay with all that?” Dante asked. “The married boyfriend situation?”
“Yes. Good talk.”
“Winipedia,” Robbie said, “my bachelor party is coming, and I want you to come. If Grandpop wasn’t my best man, it would totally be you. You’re basically a guy. I mean, I think of you as my brother.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Robbie.” She wouldn’t have minded being best woman, but she also loved that he asked Grandpop.
“Don’t get used to it. Grandpop can’t plan what to eat for lunch, let alone a bachelor party, so Austin’s taking the reins. The party bus will pick you up.”
“Are your other sisters invited?” Lark said.
“Absolutely not,” said Robbie. “Just Winster the Spinster.”
“And just like that, you’re an idiot again,” Winnie said. “But yes, I’m free, and I can’t wait. Tell Austin to call me if he needs help.”
At that moment, the front door open, and there stood Lorenzo, dressed in a raincoat and suit. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Did someone die?”
“Hey, Lorenzo!” Dante said, jumping up and going to hug his brother. “We just dropped in to see Winnie, and Robbie and Rosie were in the neighborhood, so we asked them to come over.”
“I see.”
Winnie could also see that Lorenzo was a little off-balance with the company. Chances were high he’d been working all weekend and had wanted the peace and quiet of home. After all, there was nothing as soul-soothing as a Cape Cod storm.
“Lorenzo, how you doing, man?” Robbie asked. “We were just talking about my bachelor party. November fifteenth, okay? You have to come.”
“Oh…I…I’m not sure I’m free.”
“Is he, Window? I mean, you’re his PA, right?”
“I am. I can check later,” she said.
“Check now. We’re practically related, Lorenzo. I’d love to have you hang with us,” Robbie said.
At Lorenzo’s nod, Winnie looked at her phone. “At the moment, you are free,” she said.
“Awesome!” Robbie said. “You can keep Dante company, because he won’t know most of the guys, either. That’s great. Thanks, man.”
“I…yes. You’re welcome,” Lorenzo said. “I’m sure it will be fun.”
Winnie guessed he’d schedule something important for that day to have a good excuse to cancel. Then again, maybe he did want to go. He sure didn’t seem to have an active social life, just dinners with colleagues.
“Hello, Lark. Hello, ah, Rosie.” Lorenzo gave a slight bow toward the women.
“Nice to see you again,” Rosie said. “And yes, we’ve met before.”
“Of course.”
“Can I get you a drink, boss?” Winnie asked. “Brennevin, maybe?”
“Ah, sure. Thank you.”
For the next ninety minutes, Winnie watched as Lorenzo politely asked questions of Rosie, checked in with Lark about work and generally stayed quiet about himself.
He sipped his drink, had once piece of cheese and four grapes.
When Rosie complimented him on the house, he offered her a tour.
In other words, he was quietly, politely gracious.
She wondered if he hated every minute, or if, as it seemed, he might have been enjoying himself.
When the other two couples had left, Winnie cleared the cheese board, put their glasses in the dishwasher and tidied up. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I didn’t think I should turn your brother away.”
“No. You shouldn’t. Why was your brother here, though?”
“He was in the area, and Dante asked him if he wanted to stop by. If you don’t want me to have people over, just say the word.”
“It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. A little warning would’ve been nice, though.”
“You told me you were staying in Boston.”
“I thought I shared my location with you so you could see if I had changed plans.”
Yes. He had done that, at her suggestion. “Sorry. Maybe a text next time?”
“That’s reasonable. However, if you’re here in my home, assume you’re on the clock,” he said. “You’re welcome to host parties at your own home in Wellfleet.”
“This was unplanned, and it was your brother who invited my brother here.”
“My private time is very important to me.”
“You just said it was fine.” She felt the irritation rising, coloring her cheeks.
“And it is.” His voice was tight now. “But you could’ve also texted me, Winnie, and alerted me to the fact that I had company.”
“And I would have, except you told me this morning you’d be staying in Boston.”
“Well, my plans changed, and as I just said, my down time is very important to me.”
“I get it, Lorenzo. Jesus-in-the-garden vibe. Sorry we ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin it. But your family is relentless with their bonding, aren’t they?”
“We are. Hashtag proud, hashtag family.”
He glanced at the bookcase. “You reorganized.”
She smiled. “I did.” She opened her laptop. “Check this out. Every book is cross-referenced by subject, title, and author for your convenience. Looks nice, doesn’t it?”
He looked at the screen, then back at the wall of books. Said nothing.
“I’ll interpret your silence as admiration,” she said.
“Where did this come from?” he asked. He walked over to the photo of him holding William and picked it up. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I printed some photos and framed them. There are a few more scattered around the house,” she said. “Feel free to rearrange them, of course.”
“Thank you. I should’ve…Where did you find them?”
“On your computer.” She waited for him to chide her for looking in files he had not told her to.
He didn’t. He set the photo back down and looked at the shelves again. “Is that The Flayed Man?” he asked.
She grinned. “It is. It’s a gift. Boss Appreciation Day.”
“Is that a real holiday?”
“I think I just made it up,” she said.
He almost smiled. “I love it.” He touched the blue glass bowl. “This was my grandmother’s,” he said. “Sometimes she’d let me eat ice cream from it. And where did you find this?” He indicated her painting.
“Oh. That’s the work of an up-and-coming artist from the Outer Cape.”
He glanced at her. “You?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“It’s extremely symmetrical. Don’t quit your day job.” He was smiling at her. She almost had to fact-check his face, but yes, that was a smile. “Thank you. It looks very…thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t say anything else, and for a second, they just looked at each other, the faint roar of the waves the only sound.
Invite me to stay.
The thought came as a surprise. She could stay, of course—she had a room downstairs—but suddenly, she thought she should leave, although why, she wasn’t sure.
“Okay,” she said. “I think I’ll head back to Wellfleet and watch the storm from my place.”
“Drive safely.”
Drat. If he had said she shouldn’t drive in the rain, she would’ve caved. “I always do.”
He glanced at her, and his mouth moved a fraction at the corners. “Text me when you get there so I know you made it.”
Go figure.
He picked up the photo of him and William again and studied it, and Winnie could tell he was no longer thinking about her. It was oddly disappointing.
“Have a good night, Lorenzo.”
He was still looking at the photo when she left the house.