Chapter 1
1
J AMES
“May I come in?” Theresa asks.
“Sure.”
Stepping to the side, I motion her in.
Wearing a slim-fit black dress, high heels, and a small purse, she steps in and halts before looking at me hesitantly.
Delicate jewelry sparks around her neck and wrists and on her earlobes.
She’s fit and looks great. If I didn’t know her, I’d have a hard time guessing her age.
She doesn't look a day over thirty-five.
I show her to the living room and motion her to a seat.
Her eyes flick to the patio as she runs her hand down her skirt before lowering herself into her chair.
“Would you rather sit outside?” I ask, noticing the direction of her gaze.
“Yes, sure,” she says, rising.
We exit the room and walk onto the terrace.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I thought you’d call me first,” I say, sliding into a chair across from her and tossing my cigarette pack on the table.
“I landed an hour ago and came straight here. I was hoping to find you in your hotel suite,” she says in one breath as if wrestling with a pressing matter.
Leaning back into my seat with my arms folded on my chest, I let my eyes linger on her face.
She rests her elbows on the table, tips her gaze down, and stares blankly at her hands.
“I know you’ll find this odd...” she says before raising her eyes and pausing as if expecting me to comment.
I simply observe her.
“Looking for you after all these years...” she continues.
“Twenty years, to be exact,” I deadpan.
A sigh leaves her lips, and her eyes trail down again.
“What I find odd is that you didn’t care or have the courage to come looking for me when my father died,” I say.
Our eyes meet again.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to.”
I shoot her a cold, hard look.
“I think you know why I left,” she says in response.
“Yeah. I do. But there are things I still don’t know. And if you’re here to pin everything on him, you’re wasting your time.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” she says, slightly irritated. “But since I’m here, I’ll try to explain what happened.”
“I don’t think you can explain why you’ve been silent all these years. I’m sure you know my life–– a large part of it has been largely publicized. You must know where I live and what I do for a living. To be fair, I could’ve tracked you down, but there was no point in doing it. There was nothing I could’ve said to you. I was twelve when you left, not five. You could’ve talked to me.”
She tilts her eyes down again, her gaze dark.
“I didn’t have a problem talking to you. Leaving you was almost impossible,” she says, whipping her gaze up. “I didn’t have an issue with leaving your father. In fact, I should’ve done it earlier, but I had a hard time moving away from you.”
“And yet, it didn’t stop you.”
My bitter voice draws her eyes to my face.
“That wasn’t even the problem,” I say. “You could’ve contacted me later. After his death, or five years ago, or whenever. You could’ve shattered that dark memory in my head––you eloping with some young stud, moving out of the country, and living happily overseas, as if the memory of me, your own son, had been removed from your brain. I stopped judging you after a while. For one, that story belonged to the past, and I realized you had no choice, perhaps. I’m sure there was some truth to that. I knew how tragic your life was. I understood it even better when I grew up, faced life as an adult, and learned more about making tough choices. I had lived my father’s life for so long that it took me a while to understand it must’ve been a terrible choice to make. That kind of life didn’t make me happy, and it also hurt so many people close to me, including the woman that I loved. As an adult, I accepted the idea that with the good comes the bad, and I forgave you, but the boy in me had always cried over that stupid promise you had made that you would bake him a cake before vanishing without a trace and leaving no word for him behind. I couldn’t do much for him––not that I wanted to–– but at least you could’ve shown some remorse.”
She presses her lips into a tight line, her eyes sparkling with tears.
“It has nothing to do with having regrets. I’ve had them since I left. Those feelings have never abandoned me, but the circumstances were more complicated than you think. Yes, I know your life. And I know that you are married. I’m happy for you.”
She struggles with her words.
“But?”
“I don’t know. It felt like... After all these years, the idea of returning to you made me feel like a coward.”
My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.
“Oh, really? Staying away from me didn’t make you feel like a coward?”
“I can explain,” she mutters.
I toss her a look filled with skepticism.
“Go ahead.”
“I’m aware that I left when you needed me the most...” she says, expecting a reaction from me.
I stay silent.
“And not because you were young. But because I could’ve protected you from his influence and stopped him from having an impact on your life. I knew all these things and weighed them carefully, but I had to leave to survive. I had no choice. Things were bad all around. My relationship with him was doomed, virtually non-existent. The only reason I was still in that house was you. He wasn’t interested in being a husband, the same way he didn’t know how to be a father. He did what he did, ignoring the consequences. What made things worse was that he got defensive and abusive whenever I called him out on his wrongdoings. He got mad whenever I brought up his indiscretions. He loathed seeing me tormented and hurt because it reflected badly on him. Or so he thought. He hated it, yet he didn’t change his behavior. That’s what made my life impossible. As much as I had fought him, hoping to change him, I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t just pretend that everything was okay for the sake of my marriage. It’s not as if I didn’t try, but I couldn’t sustain that effort for long. I knew about his women and escapades, and that wasn’t even the worst. Toward the end, he shut me out completely. He didn’t know how to deal with the mess he had created and didn’t want to acknowledge that he was part of the problem. He reacted in the worst possible way when I tried to hold him accountable, yet I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. That was simply impossible.”
She pauses while I stare at her frozen.
“I didn’t cheat on him until the very end. And it wasn’t because I hadn’t had the chance but because it made no sense. Then one day, it crossed my mind that if I found someone else, my circumstances would become more bearable. Your father didn’t care about me anyway, so I thought… ‘Why not? We could be one of those couples that see other people and still have dinner together for their children's sake.’ My plan worked for a while, but soon, the man I hooked up with wanted more from me. He’d also offered me things I didn’t expect from him, like his undivided attention and generous affection––things I’d been deprived of for so long. The situation seemed to be under control––at least in the beginning––but before long, my life started to shift in a different direction. I fell for that man, and things became even more complicated. Having someone on the side turned out to be a cumbersome lie. I felt horrible and couldn’t understand how your father could do it without facing the guilt I was wrestling with. I tried to be a good mother to you. Be close and protect you, and overcompensate for what your father couldn’t give you, but life had had different plans for me.”
She takes a long breath before running a nervous hand through her hair.
“My point is... I hadn’t looked for you all these years, not because my life turned out to be fantastic, but because coming to you at a low point in my life felt treacherous. Asking for your forgiveness when my new life was a living hell felt like a sham. I couldn’t explain my absence then as much as I can’t explain it now. But now, I’m forced to come to you and face what I’ve been dreading for a long time. I’m ready to face your anger, judgment, and blame. I can’t fight your feelings toward me because you are well within your right to feel this way. And last but not least, I didn’t come to you because you were already a grown-up man and didn’t need me anymore.”
I unfold my arms and retrieve a cigarette from the pack before placing it between my lips and lighting it.
“You’re right,” I say, talking around the cigarette while flicking the lighter closed. “I didn’t need you. I learned how to take care of myself and trust other people.”
She opens her mouth.
I raise my hand.
“Let me finish.”
She sags in her seat.
I blow out the smoke and rest my elbows on the table.
“I wish you had the guts to own it, Theresa. Had you done that, I would’ve never considered you a coward. I don’t care how your life turned out to be. Although I never thought it would turn out bad. You knew better than that. But even if that were the case, I would’ve much appreciated it if you had the guts to talk to me. To fill in those blanks, tell me you were sorry, and explain what happened. This is not about me forgiving you. We are past that moment, and it doesn’t matter, to be honest. After all this time, the issue is moot––you leaving me altered my life, but I came to terms with it. That pain belongs to the past, but I wish you learned something from it.”
I bring my cigarette to my lips and take another drag, my gaze hovering over her face and hands.
“So... Did you marry that man?” I ask, spotting no ring on her finger.
She brings her gaze to me but remains silent.
“Are you married now?” I ask.
“Divorced.”
“From him or someone else?”
“Him.”
“Who was he?”
She takes a long breath before speaking again.
“I met him at one of your father’s parties. A business owner like your father, he was half American and half Portuguese with Italian ancestors. Diego Rossi. He was younger, ambitious, and very driven. He told me he wanted to be with me right from the beginning, and I liked that about him. Although I tried to fight the idea. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, so I caved and left your father. Things were good for a while, but our story didn’t last.”
“Why?”
“The first few years were fine. We moved to Lisbon, bought a house, and relocated the business. Soon after, he started to expand his company and return to the US, so I found myself alone again. It didn’t take long before I realized he was seeing someone else. I filed for divorce the same day.”
She pauses.
I wait for her to continue.
“It wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be. He didn’t like that I wanted to break up with him, so he ended it with that woman and came back home, determined to work things out with me. We rekindled our relationship and made it work for a while, but it wasn’t meant to be. He soon started to travel for business and began spending his time gambling in the casinos and hiring prostitutes. That was the end of it for me. I filed for divorce for the second time and went through hell with him. He fought me on and off the court, and it took a while until we finalized the divorce and moved on.”
I ponder for a moment.
“Is that why you didn’t want to talk to me?” I ask.
She nods softly.
“Yes… It wasn’t pretty. A simple ‘I told you so’ from you at that time would’ve crushed me and put me in a downward spiral.”
She tips her gaze to her purse, taking out her phone.
“It wasn’t only that. And this is another reason why I stayed away from you. And also, why I’m here today.”
I look at her, intrigued.
“I wouldn’t have had the courage to come here and see you and ask for help had I not exhausted every possibility.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, puzzled.