Chapter 112
I LEFT FRANCESCA’S APARTMENT, and instead of taking the stairs down to the street like usual, I walked up two flights to the fourth floor, where I found the apartment directly above Francesca’s.
At the door, I stopped and listened. I could hear the clacking of a typewriter, and when I knocked—tentatively—the noise continued.
I tried again, this time a little louder, and the typing ceased.
“Sto arrivando,” said Teo from the other side of the door, but when he opened it and saw me standing in the hallway, he froze.
“Hi,” I said with a small wave.
“Salve,” he said, and ran his hand through his hair, a nervous sort of gesture.
He was wearing a pair of slacks and an undershirt, and I tried not to pay attention to his arms, which were beautiful and had so recently been wrapped around me.
“I was just downstairs with Francesca, and I heard about the baby.”
He nodded toward the apartment’s interior. “Come in.”
“Just for a minute,” I said, and followed him inside.
His parents’ apartment was a replica of Francesca and Bernardo’s except with less clutter.
No books and magazines, no framed photographs, no crystal suncatchers.
It was clear that the apartment was used primarily as a vacation home; Teo’s typewriter, which sat in the middle of the dining room table, and his suitcase, which lay open on the sofa, were the only real signs of life in the whole place.
“I haven’t shopped,” he said apologetically as he went to the kitchen and examined the contents of his refrigerator.
“I don’t need anything, really.”
“Water?”
“Sure.”
While he got a glass from the drainboard and filled it at a freestanding watercooler that sat in a corner of the kitchen, I walked out onto the balcony. “Francesca’s right,” I called to him. “Your view is better.”
Teo laughed, then followed me outside. When he handed me the water glass, our fingers touched, and I tried to ignore the jolt of pleasure this gave me.
We leaned against the railing, staring out at the red roofs that sloped toward the water. “Francesca says you went to the hospital this morning?”
He nodded.
“It must have been terrible.”
“It was.”
I waited for him to paint me a picture, to describe the parents’ anguish or the infant’s missing skull, but he didn’t. I wondered if he was sparing me.
“Do you really think this has to do with the subs?” I asked finally.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I talked to a researcher in Vienna this morning who thinks maybe yes.
There have been some studies in Munich that he pointed me toward.
Another in London, and once it’s morning in Texas, I’m going to try to speak with a researcher at Baylor University who’s been studying birth defects in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. ”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Is this really the same thing, though?”
“It might be closer than we think.”
“Did they see birth defects like this in Japan?” I asked.
“They saw an increase in miscarriages and stillbirths, but directly after the bombs dropped. It’s harder to study birth defects.”
“Why?”
“Not every issue is apparent at birth. A baby can look fine at the hospital—skull intact, all its fingers and toes—but start displaying symptoms of physical or cognitive abnormalities as he ages. Maybe he has problems with language or learning. Or develops a rare disease. Or has issues conceiving his own children when the time comes.”
“But it’s been thirty years,” I argued. “Surely someone has studied this?”
“That’s what I’m hoping the people in Texas will tell me.”
“You don’t sound very optimistic.”
He sighed, then gestured in the direction of the hospital.
“There are maybe one hundred and fifty babies born in La Maddalena every year. It’s almost impossible to draw any real conclusions when you’re looking at such small numbers.
To look for correlations, you need big data sets, tens of thousands of births.
Then you might start to see patterns emerge. ”
“So you don’t think this will go anywhere?”
He rolled his head on his neck. “I don’t see how it can. But I’ve known Antonio and Carmela for a long time, so if they want me to look into it, of course I will.”
“Right,” I said, and we stood there for a minute, looking at each other.
At last he spoke. “I’m catching the ferry in a couple of hours, and I don’t have plans to be back any time soon…”
I gave him a disappointed nod.
“… unless you tell me to come.”
“All I have to do is snap my fingers?” I said, trying to make light of the situation.
“Maybe just blink once.”
I blinked, and he gave me that gorgeous grin of his, then closed the distance between us.
I’d worn my hair down, and he gathered a handful, twisting it into a loose knot at the nape of my neck.
Then he leaned in and kissed that newly exposed skin.
I closed my eyes, so turned on I couldn’t breathe, let alone move.
When his lips found mine, I allowed myself one perfect kiss—slow and probing—before I pulled away.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Because of Paul?”
I nodded.
Teo was disappointed, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming.
“I can’t do it to him,” I said.
It was his turn to nod, but I could tell he wanted to say something.
“What?”
He looked miserable.
“Say it.”
“Paul’s an ass.”
I laughed, more out of surprise than anything else.
“I know I shouldn’t say that.”
I leaned into him and touched my forehead to his. “I won’t tell.”
He took a deep breath and relaxed into me.
“Things have been a little better between us lately,” I admitted.
“You deserve more than a little better.”
That got me, probably because—on some level—I recognized that what he’d said was true.