Chapter 34
Vico
I hate this library. And I hate the way my father sits day after day, staring into nothingness in his worn-out leather chair. Only when Hanna visited the room, he wasn't here, and I can only guess why.
"Camilla and Alessia have gone to so much trouble," I say this sentence not for the first time in the past fifteen minutes.
As countless times before, he shakes his head. His thin hair rises and falls like feathers in the wind. "There's nothing to celebrate."
I stand directly in front of him and look at him intently. "It can't go on like this," I say seriously, lowering myself to a crouch. "Today is your birthday. Your daughters want to do something nice for you." And they specifically sent me to bring him to the celebration. They knew it would be a challenge.
"And you? What about you?" he asks stubbornly, like a child.
Even if I wanted to suppress my sigh, it would escape my lips now. I even postponed the deadline for a customer project to have time for him today. "Don't be so stubborn. Of course, we all want to celebrate with you. It's your fifty-fifth birthday after all. Camilla has invited half the village." Everyone who knows my father will come.
"Pfff," he responds weakly as if it doesn't matter to him at all that his daughter is making such an effort for him.
Another proof that he's already dead inside. "Your sweet little granddaughters will be there too." I force myself to smile at him. If his children can no longer reach his heart, maybe they can, at least the two of them.
Indeed, his eyes light up for a split second.
Finally. A first sign that I might still be able to fulfill my mission to Camilla's satisfaction.
"But they won't stay long. So we should hurry," I wink at him.
He drums his fingers on the armrest. "Is Aurora there too?"
He's asking the wrong question.
"She had to urgently return to France. An emergency at work," at least that's what she claimed when Camilla invited her to the celebration. But something about her was strange. The panic in her eyes, the nervous twitching of her bony fingers. As if she were afraid, yet I couldn't think of a single thing that could be the reason for it. "But Hanna will come. You should meet her anyway; today, you'll have the opportunity," I quickly add, trying to revive the little spark of life in my father's expression.
"Camilla and I spoke with her partner last week. I know enough. I don't need to know anything about her," he breathes out, devoid of strength.
My God, this can't be real.
I can bear his ignorance toward his own children, every heartbeat for him is sorrow, every breath is pain. But Hanna doesn't deserve such treatment. "You're missing the chance to get to know a wonderful person," I say.
"Wonderful people are dying." Doggedness spreads across his face, he clenches his fists.
Yes. That's exactly what I need right now. Thank you, dear Father, for reminding me as if my inner conflict wasn't already overwhelming enough.
Hanna's words suddenly echo in my mind. I wouldn't want to miss the beautiful memories for anything in the world , she said to me just before we looked through the family album. She sounded so certain, as if that were the only right way to deal with the death of a loved one.
For a moment, I thought it could actually be true. But now, seeing my father huddled, pale, and disheveled in his chair, staring into nothingness, I'm no longer sure. These beautiful memories are the ones robbing him of joy. For him, it would be better to forget what happened.
I grab his arm and pull him up. "Let's review the facts: I am not leaving this room without you. Your family and friends will never forgive you if you don't show up at your own celebration. You have two healthy arms and two healthy legs, so you are capable of dressing appropriately and coming with me." I feel a bit like a father, giving his son a stern lecture.
At least my words have an effect. Without resistance, he turns away and shuffles toward the old desk, where I've placed the freshly washed clothes that Camilla gave me for him. Once there, he lets out a heavy sigh, then looks at me. I nod, and he slowly unzips his shirt.
I should feel good about this, as I managed to break him out of his routine. However, I already sense that the celebration could turn into a disaster. Despite everyone's efforts to make him happy.
Patiently, I wait until he changes into the clothes and combs his thinning hair, interspersed with gray streaks. Then we set off toward the village in my VW bus, which I'll use to drive him to the celebration.
The guests are eagerly awaiting us. Even before I park the car, they wave at us through the windshield from outside the restaurant.
"See? Everyone has come to spend a lovely time with you," I say to my father, who has been staring out of the window motionlessly throughout the ride.
I get no response, so I sigh and steer the car toward the parking lot. As soon as we step out, applause erupts from the guests. Joyful cheers and congratulations fill the mild evening air. Suddenly, music starts playing as well. I spot a band on a small stage just outside the restaurant, playing a fanfare.
With my arm linked with my father's, I scan the faces of the guests. There are, of course, my sisters and Pietro, Adriano with his family whom I've only seen in photos, and several of our former seasonal workers from long ago. I spot Maria, the owner of the specialty shop, and Michele, the owner of the restaurant where we're celebrating tonight. Behind him stand our neighbors and a dozen men around my father's age whom I don't know. They must be friends from the past, maybe from school. Their faces barely register in my vision. In truth, I barely see them, as I am only searching for one person: Hanna.
She had said she would call me so I could pick her up from the hospital, but my phone hasn't rung all afternoon. And I haven't dared to reach out to her; after all, I've already made enough mistakes.
Over there, next to a tall jasmine shrub, I find her. A few white blossoms have become entwined in her dark hair. She gazes into the distance, but today, I cannot discern the dreaminess that usually fills her expression.
She appears lost, as if she doesn't know why she's here.
Keeping her in my sights, I guide my father over to Camilla. "Here we are," I say, pretending to wipe sweat from my forehead, as if the effort of bringing him here has taken a toll on me.
Immediately, my sister embraces him. "It's so wonderful to have you here. We are all very happy," she says, looking at me over his shoulder. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
I nod at her and then turn away. Not only because of the fear brewing inside me, that this celebration could ultimately push my father deeper into his dark pit, but also because of Hanna.
And the way she's currently talking to Alessia. They're laughing together, and Hanna places her hand on Alessia's arm. They look like friends, and anyone would believe they're having a great time together.
But even from here, I can tell that's not the case. There's a heaviness in Hanna's eyes that her forced smile can't conceal. Alessia seems oblivious, chatting nonstop, laughing, and making funny faces.
Perhaps she's just sad about leaving us soon. More than once, I noticed how much she's fallen in love with the authenticity of the estate. Initially, she spoke about her renovation plans, but lately, she's been talking only about how to preserve our family traditions. The way she interacts so intimately with my sisters makes it seem as if she's already become part of this family in such a short time. Yes, that could be the reason for her sadness.
Or perhaps her smile is strained because she is deeply disappointed in me. We both know that her accident would never have happened if I hadn't encouraged her to step out of her safe shell. I need to talk to her about it, apologize again, and see if there's any way to make amends.
Swallowing hard, I march toward them. "Hello." My voice sounds hoarse.
Instantly, the two fall silent, and Alessia takes a sip of the red wine in her hand. "Oh, look, there's Laura over there. Haven't seen her in ages," she says, shooting me a meaningful look. "Be right back," she chirps and dashes off, her hair flowing behind her.
I briefly watch her go before turning my attention to Hanna. She immediately lowers her gaze.
I know it's my turn to say something, but I struggle to find the right words. Nervously, I shift from one foot to the other. "I'm so sorry."
She raises her hand with a tired smile. "We've already discussed that. There's nothing for you to apologize for. Riding the Vespa was solely my decision. And you were far away from me when I had the accident. You had nothing to do with either."
That's not true. And we both know it. But the way she defends her perspective so vehemently tells me I shouldn't press further.
She attempts another smile. Maybe she's just as unsure of what to say next as I am?
"Florian must have been completely shocked." I have no idea why I bring up the man who is fortunate enough to have Hanna by his side. Maybe to punish myself. Because I couldn't care less about what her boyfriend thinks.
She presses her lips together.
"What happens now?" I don't want to ask this question, but I must.
We had four whole days left before our time together in Italy would have ended. Four days during which I wanted to find out what's between us, something that clearly cannot be controlled. And who knows, maybe we would have discovered an entirely new future for ourselves. One where we wake up next to each other every day. One where we live here together and work on the estate.
Despite the fear that overwhelms me just thinking about it, I also feel the longing for this entirely new life we could lead. One of inner contentment and love.
Suddenly, she looks at me. There's pleading in her eyes. "I don't know."
The cheerful music starts playing beside us, and some guests joyfully dance. "Will you stay?" I ask, my voice strained.
"I don't know." Her forehead seems to consist of nothing but wrinkles.
I can't help it; I have to approach her. "What's wrong, Hanna? Something's not right, I can tell. And if you're not angry with me about the accident, as you've said, something else must be troubling you. Please, tell me."