Chapter 42
MOLLY
I am so proud of this man. Enzo and I are sitting in the black SUV leaving the night offices. He looks drained but also slightly as if a heavy load has been lifted from him.
I hold his hand and squeeze it, looking up at him with a great big smile on my face.
“What are you grinning about?” I ask.
There's a lightness in his voice that wasn't there earlier. He did a big thing today, confronting his father. That can't have been easy.
He shrugs. “I feel better. Lighter.”
I don't ask him any more about it because I know he'll tell me in his own sweet time. For now he wants to visit his mother. I suggested he go alone because I know how important she is to him and this first meeting after so long will mean a lot to him. He insists on taking me along with him.
The car meanders along.
“We should take something,” I say.
“Take something?” Enzo echoes, like this is an alien idea to him.
“I can't meet your mother for the first time and not take anything.”
“You don’t have to. Molly. It's not important,” Enzo counters.
Enzo doesn’t understand what this means to me.
I’m meeting his mother, a woman who means the world to him.
Not just that, but I’m also I intrigued to meet her, because the little bits I know of her have already given me an insight into the type of woman she is.
She’s gone through so much, and raised a wonderful son.
I’m sure they are all wonderful sons, but I can only speak for Enzo.
“It’s a really big deal!,” I protest.
He gives in quickly. “Of course it is. Sorry I wasn't thinking.”
I forgive him because I can see how his meeting with his Father took a lot out of him. I didn’t sit outside his father’s office. I was busy talking to his assistant, instead, but I can tell that the meeting with his father has shaken him, even if outwardly, he appears relaxed and nonchalant.
He immediately told me that he wanted to see his mother so here we are.
I insist on stopping off to buy a nice bunch of flowers.
It sounds clichéd but I don't know what else to get her.
What do you buy a woman like Isabella? I imagine her to be an elegant and stylish woman who probably knows more about good food, furnishings and fashion than I ever could hope to.
As well as the bouquet of flowers, I also get the most expensive box of chocolates I can find. I pray that I have enough money to pay for them, that my card doesn’t get declined, because I haven’t checked my bank account lately.
I’m too scared to.
I’ve been fretting about being on administrative leave and I’m not sure if I still get paid or not. It’s something I don’t want to think about, so I haven’t been, because if my income stops, I will have a huge problem making next month's rent.
I need to figure out my next plan but every time I start to think of it, I get so sad and overwhelmed. I don't want to leave Oakleigh, and the thought of leaving my children without saying goodbye cuts deep. The thought of not having Miss T in my life seems unbearable.
I will survive. I always have.
For now I quickly push these thoughts away. I’ll worry about my future later.
“This is near to your apartment,” I exclaim to Enzo as the SUV rolls along familiar streets.
“Rio wanted Mama to be mom close by.”
“That must be nice for you.”
“It's the best. We all want her to eventually move here, but she’s stubborn.”
We're soon standing outside Isabella's door.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach. I really, really want her to like me. More than I probably should. This is Enzo's mom. The woman he adores. The woman who means more to him than almost anyone in the world. Making a good impression feels ridiculously important.
I inhale a steadying breath, and hold a large bouquet of lilies. The box of chocolates is in my other hand.
The door opens and an elegant dark-haired woman stands before us. She's strikingly beautiful, with the same warmth in her eyes that I sometimes see in Enzo's.
She immediately goes to hug him.
“Mama!”
“Tesoro,” she cries.
There is so much love and affection between them that it makes my heart ache. This is what it looks like when a child has always known he is loved. I look away, but Enzo puts his arm around me. “Mama, this is Molly.”
Isabella turns to me and clasps her hands together.
“These are for you,” I say, holding the gifts forward.
“You are too kind, thank you so much, Molly. Lilies are my favorite.” She gazes at the floral bunch, then hands the gifts to Enzo, before giving me a warm, comforting hug.
“I am thrilled to meet you,” she says, her hands on my arms, as she beams at me. I feel instantly special, as if I have her sole attention. She looks over-the-moon happy to see me and I can only imagine the abundance of love she has for her boys.
We're soon inside her apartment. The living room is warm and comfortable, filled with soft cushions, flowers and family photographs. It smells of rosemary and thyme and something hot and buttery.
“I made lunch. It should be ready soon,” Isabella declares. “Let’s sit in here while we wait.”
She ushers us into her living room, her hand briefly finding mine.
“I'm sorry for everything you’re going through,” she says. “I’m sorry that you have been judged publicly. I know what that feels like.” She rests her hand gently on my arm. “You will get through this, Molly. You will. Don't let them know they're getting you down. That's what they like.”
“Thank you, uh—”
“Call me Isabella.”
I nod.
“Thank you, Isabella. That means a lot to me.”
I compliment her on her apartment, telling her it feels warm and inviting. I can see why Enzo loves being with his mom. I get the feeling that Isabella could transform something bare and sparse into something homely. She has that aura about her.
“When did you put these up, Mama? You’re making this into a home.” Enzo gazes at the framed photographs. There are many of them as children.
“Is this you?” I point to a photograph of a very young Enzo.
“Yes.”
His brothers are on either side of him, and he's sitting on his mother's lap. Isabella was a strikingly beautiful woman, wearing a fashionable scarf around her neck. Enzo sits back against her, his arms lifted above him, as if he's trying to touch his mother's face.
“That's a lovely photo,” I murmur.
Isabella comes and stands by my side. “Enzo is four there.”
There's another photo, a recent one, of Enzo, sitting at a patio table, outside somewhere beautiful. The background is awash with a stunning variety of colorful flowers. It's Enzo in his typical pensive pose, and the photo catches his side profile.
“What are you thinking?” I murmur to him.
“That was last summer, in my garden, in Soave.” Isabella’s voice is soft. “I, too, would love to know what he was thinking.”
Enzo rolls his shoulders. “It was probably about work.”
I suppress a smile. Knowing him, it probably was.
This man’s life revolved around work before I came along.
I take my time looking through all the photos.
The table is dotted with photos of the four of them, through various ages.
I don't have any photos like this in my apartment, but in my future, I, too, will have a table like this, filled with photos of the people I love.
Isabella slips away as I continue to look carefully through the photos. Soon, I hear her and Enzo talking. He's telling her about the meeting with his father.
I pretend to linger longer here, taking my time to look at the photos again, letting mother and son have their time alone.
“I went to see Father, before coming here,” I hear Enzo say as I sit down beside him.
I picked the wrong moment to return, so I quickly start to get up again, but he takes my hand. “Stay.”
So I sit beside him again. He doesn't let go of my hand. I notice Isabella's eyes go there, see her looking at us both, a gentle smile on her face.
I hope she likes me.
“I told him, Mama.”
Her expression suddenly turns serious. “You told him?” She knows exactly what it was.
Enzo nods. “I couldn't keep it inside any longer.”
Isabella leans forward. “Good, tesoro.”
“It feels good, Mama. It was starting to feel heavy, carrying that for so long.”
She looks at him for the longest time, her eyes misting over, before she blinks quickly.
“What is it Mama?”
“I ... I didn't think of how difficult it would be for you, tesoro.” She swallows, her attention on table, as if she's working something out in her head.
“Mama, it's okay.”
“It's not okay.” She shakes her head, disagreeing. “I .. I didn't think about it at all.” She runs a hand over her hair. “I thought you'd forget about it, and now I see that you carried this burden for far too long. A burden I placed on you.”
“No, Ma. It's ... it's okay. He hurt you more.”
“I would rather the pain have been mine only. I'm sorry, tesoro.”
Enzo gets up and goes over to her, lifting her to standing as he wraps his arms around her.
She looks up at him. “You asked me once if what you did was bad.
I should have answered you, but I couldn't because I was so broken.
I'm sorry. What you did wasn't bad. You were a child, innocent and pure. You have a good heart, Enzo. A beautiful heart.” She hugs him, pressing her face against his chest.
“No more, Mama. No more thinking about the past. No more holding onto secrets. I told Father I showed you the photo. He wasn't pleased.”
“I am sure that's an understatement.” Isabella sighs. “But he knows. It was about time he did.”
Isabella wipes at edges of her eyes and looks at me. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend for your first visit here to be so ... full of emotion.”
“I feel like I'm in the way.”
“Never. Enzo hardly ever brings anyone home to meet me, so I know that you are very special to him.”
My heart gives a ridiculous little squeeze.
“I'm sorry that you had to leave your home, Mama. I'm angry that the media hounded you out.”
Isabella waves her hand dismissively. “I'm not too sorry. I love being with my boys.”
“Enough to want to live here?” he asks, trepidation in his voice.
“Enough to spend a month here, every now and then, perhaps.”
“Good, Mama. That makes me very happy.” Then, he pauses. “There’s something else Mama.”
I catch the hesitation in his mother’s expression.
“I'm going to do a press conference.”
Isabella’s eyes widen. “For what?”
He takes my hand again. “For Molly. What's happened to her isn't fair.”
A shiver darts through me. “Enzo, no. You don’t need to.”
He hates the media. The thought of him speaking out publicly on my behalf makes me feel ill. I can’t have him do that. He turns to his mother who hasn’t said a word.
“I couldn't speak out then. I was a child, but I’m not a child anymore. What's happening to Molly isn't fair and I can do something about that.”
She looks at him for a long moment. “Whatever you decide, tesoro, you have my support.”
I put a hand on his thigh. “It’s really not necessary.”
“I need to, Molly. Please let me.”
I hear the plea in his voice, and recognize that this is something important to him. My concern for him isn’t as important as his desire to face the press and put things straight.
I nod. “Okay.”
We sit and talk, about the future. Not about the past. About places Enzo wants to take his mom to, and he talks about us, as if we'll be taking her out.
She talks about having a family get together, with everyone. I wonder what that will be like. The entire family here.
We have lunch, and oh my days! I'm back in culinary heaven again. Isabella serves us far too much food, all of it delicious.
We sit around the dining table, talking more, and I understand at last what family means to Enzo. How full this table would be if the others were here. How easily Isabella asks after Jett, Dex and Zach, and little Brooke.
I see how relaxed Enzo is.
I envy him this world, and I yearn for something like this.
My phone rings, and I'm about to send it to voicemail when I see that it's Miss T. Calling me from her personal number. I excuse myself and step away, my heart thudding harder with every step. Have they made a decision? Suddenly, I'm terrified to find out.
“How are you, Molly?”
The sound of her familiar voice makes my heart ache. I didn't realize how much I missed her until now. “I'm good, Miss Turlington. I miss the children, and Oakleigh, and I miss you.”
“We miss you.”
A knot sticks in my throat. Given the time, I imagine she's at school. It must be afternoon and my children will probably be sitting on the rug for story time, squirming around and interrupting every other page with something they desperately need to tell the teacher.
The thought claws at something inside me. I can see their little faces. Hear their voices. I miss them so much that for a moment I have to close my eyes. I want my classroom back. I want the noise and the mess and the endless questions. I want my ordinary life back.
“The board is reviewing things, Molly. The press intrusion has lessened somewhat. And something else has happened.”
My stomach knots.
“The parents of the children you teach have been coming to the school. They aren’t happy.”
My stomach turns. “About me?”
“About the decision to place you on administrative leave.”
For a moment, I can’t speak.
“They want you back, Molly. The children are upset by the change. They're asking when you're coming back, and their parents are asking the board to reconsider.”
My hand flies to my mouth and my eyes fill so quickly I have to blink. “They did that for me?”
“They did.” …”
“But you said parents complained. That was part of the reason I was sent away.”
“Some did,” Miss T says gently. “But many more have spoken up in your support. Not just parents from your class. Parents from other years too. People who know how much you've done for this school.”
My eyes turn moist.
“They want you reinstated.”
“Really?”
“It looks promising. Nothing has been decided yet, but I wanted you to know. Don't lose hope, Molly.”
A sob catches somewhere in my throat. There's a chance I can return. A chance to go back to Oakleigh, where I belong. It's not about the income, or needing to make rent. Oakleigh has my heart.
“I won't.” My voice cracks and tears replace the ones I've brushed away.