Chapter 78 Cord
Cord
Cord was halfway through his morning routine when the doorbell rang.
He put down his mother’s M.A. Hadley ceramic mug (the one with the little pig).
The New York Times was open to the Arts section on the counter.
Cord assumed that his mother would cancel the Times at some point, if she really were moving permanently into the Deluxe Cabin aboard The Flying Star tall sailing ship.
Then again, Cord was the one who was paying for her Deluxe Cabin indefinitely, including an unlimited tab at the Tropical Bar… maybe she’d let him keep the newspaper.
Cord had also (happily) paid off Regan’s debts, bought her apartment outright, and set up a monthly fund for her and the girls with two caveats: no renting rooms to random strangers and no Bitcoin (or otherwise suspicious) trading.
He kept a close eye on her financial transactions and she, in turn, checked in to see that he was going to AA meetings…
even calling Handy and giving him Cord’s new phone number.
Flora had offered to spy on Regan and Cord told her no way in hell—if Flora was going to go to Harvard, she had better things to be doing with her time than snooping on her mom.
So far, so good. Lee had even written Cord a long, sort of maudlin e-mail about how much she loved him and believed in him. He wrote back that he loved her, too.
Charlotte’s bell sounded again. Cord was honestly not in the mood for chitchat with one of his mom’s friends—they popped by periodically, wondering why they hadn’t seen her on the golf course or at Wine Down Wednesday.
All of them were thrilled to encounter Cord—he’d racked up weeks of happy-hour invites.
The current caller was tenacious. The bell rang another few times, and finally Cord called, “Com-ing!”
He tightened his mother’s bathrobe and opened the door.
It was Giovanni on the porch.
Gio carried his ratty old backpack—the one he’d hitchhiked with across Italy—and had dark circles under his eyes. His curls were shorter, and he wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans. “Hi,” he said.
Cord was speechless and terrified.
Giovanni shifted his weight. “Can I come in?”
Cord stepped aside, watching as Giovanni took in the living room with its floral sofa, family photos, and large wicker alligator grimacing next to an end table. Giovanni paused at a framed photo of young Cord: skinny, wielding a baseball bat.
“This is where you come from,” Giovanni said quietly.
“It’s where I ran from,” Cord clarified. “Coffee?”
Giovanni nodded, following him into the bright yellow kitchen. Cord poured a mug and slid it across the counter.
“How’s Regan?” Giovanni asked, taking a sip.
“Better. She’s home with the girls.” Cord sat at the kitchen island. “Still struggling, but OK. We have a little text support network going, me and Reeg.”
Giovanni took the seat across from him. “How are you?”
“Twenty-three days sober. Again.”
“That’s good, Cord.”
“One of the many, many cheesy mottos of the program is ‘Do the next right thing,’ ” Cord said. “I’m trying. To do the next right thing.”
The silence between them felt delicate. Cord found himself noticing details—the small scar above Giovanni’s eyebrow, the dimple in his chin—all the familiar landmarks of a face he’d memorized. “Why are you here, Gio? I thought you needed a break from all this. From me.”
Giovanni wrapped his hands around the mug. “You couldn’t even say goodbye to my face.”
“I’m sorry. You deserve better. We both know you deserve better.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
“I’m trying, love. I’m trying again.” A silence fell between them, broken only by the ticking of Charlotte’s wall clock.
Giovanni was quiet for so long that Cord thought he might get up and leave. “I didn’t fly to Savannah for closure,” Giovanni said finally. “I could have had that in a phone call.”
“Then why?”
“My therapist says when you love an addict, you don’t get to plan ahead. You can take what you get for one day, day after day…or you can walk away.”
“That’s fucking bleak,” said Cord. “But it’s maybe true. I hate that. I hate that for us. I hate that for you.”
“Yeah, but it’s real, Cord. Who knows how long we have, any of us.”
“Not exactly the fairy tale we talked about,” said Cord. “White picket fence, joint Hamptons house, his-and-his monogrammed towels.”
“Seize the day,” said Giovanni. “That’s what I want now. I want all the joy. I want all the joy, today, with you.”
The happiness that rushed through Cord was so strong he stopped breathing. “Giovanni…” he managed.
Giovanni held up his hand. “I’ve got two weeks before rehearsals start and the theater kids take over my life,” he said. “I thought I might spend them here. If that’s OK.”
Cord nodded, overcome.
“I want to go to the Pirates’ House, and I want to see some real-life alligators, and I want to drive Charlotte’s golf cart around the links.”
“I can make all that happen for you,” said Cord. “For us.”
“Good,” said Giovanni. “I packed all preppy outfits, Cord—Sperry Top-Siders, pants with whales, pink shorts…”
Cord moved close to his love.
“…a pale blue Izod I thrifted, a Vineyard Vines tie, and a T-shirt that says Pickleball for All.”
Cord took Giovanni’s face in his hands, but paused.
“You can kiss me,” said Giovanni.
Cord held Giovanni’s face, closed his eyes, kissed him tenderly. He inhaled the smell of coming home.