Chapter Forty #2
He has given her time to decide.
“He didn’t choose a time?” she asks.
“No.”
“Did he send anything?”
“No.”
The absence of gifts is deliberate.
One of Lucia’s terms prohibited him from sending anything she hadn’t accepted.
He is following the rule even when affection makes him want to break it.
“Will you speak to him?” Gio asks.
“I think so.”
“Do you want us there?” I ask.
“I don’t know yet.”
“All right.”
She looks at me.
No warning.
No argument.
No attempt to persuade her that she needs us.
The surprise in her face tells me how much work remains.
On Sunday, Lucia takes Moretti’s call in the conservatory.
Alone.
Gio and I wait in my office.
He sits across from me with his feet on the edge of my desk.
I look at them.
“What?”
“Remove your feet.”
“You let Lucy sit on the desk.”
“Lucia doesn’t put her shoes on my financial reports.”
“She does worse things on your financial reports.”
I look at him.
He smiles.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“No.”
“Liar.”
I return my attention to the file.
The numbers refuse to settle into anything meaningful.
Lucia has been in the conservatory for twenty-three minutes.
The fact that I know the exact amount of time supports Gio’s accusation.
“What do you think they’re discussing?” he asks.
“It isn’t our business.”
“That has never stopped you from speculating.”
“She asked for privacy.”
“I know that.”
His expression turns serious.
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
“You hide it better.”
“I hide everything better.”
“That isn’t the accomplishment you think it is.”
Lucia appears in the doorway.
We both stand.
She looks from me to Gio.
“You can sit down.”
Neither of us does.
“How did it go?” Gio asks.
“He apologized.”
“For Barrington?”
“For some of it.”
“Some?”
“He still believes he had reasons.”
“Of course he does,” I say.
Lucia looks at me.
“But he listened when I told him his reasons didn’t change what he did.”
“That’s something,” Gio says.
“Yes.”
She comes farther into the office.
“He asked if he could call again next week.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said I would decide next week.”
Gio smiles.
“Did he enjoy that answer?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Lucia tries not to smile.
She fails.
I hold out my hand.
She comes to me and settles onto my lap.
Gio lowers his feet from the desk and moves his chair closer.
“Did he mention your mother?” I ask.
“A little.”
She rests her head against my shoulder.
“I’m all right.”
Neither of us said she wasn’t.
She knows us too well.
Gio takes her hand.
The three of us remain that way until Angela calls us to dinner.
Several days later, Lucia finds me sitting alone in the conservatory.
A half-finished puzzle occupies the table near the windows. Books are stacked on the floor and across the arms of the sofa. One of Angela’s watering cans sits beside the doors to the rose garden.
The room belongs to Lucia now.
She hasn’t said so.
No one else needs to.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Waiting.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
She sits beside me.
“All right.”
“Are you happy?”
Lucia studies my face.
“You asked me that once before.”
“In the living room.”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“I remember.”
Her shoulder rests against mine.
“I’m not happy every minute.”
“That would be concerning.”
“I’m still angry sometimes.”
“I know.”
“I still wake up frightened.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes I look at you and remember the car.”
The words hurt.
They should.
“I know.”
She takes my hand.
“But I also remember the boat.”
I look at her.
“You brought the papers.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know what I would choose.”
“No.”
“And you came anyway.”
“I will always come for you.”
Her thumb moves across my knuckles.
“I think I’m happy,” she says.
The pressure beneath my ribs eases.
“Good.”
“That’s all?”
“What else should I say?”
“I don’t know. Something romantic.”
“I’m pleased that you’re pleased.”
“That is terrible.”
“I’m not Gio.”
“No one could mistake you for him.”
She climbs onto my lap and kisses me.
Her hands move into my hair.
I stop thinking about appropriate responses.
When she draws back, she touches my face.
“I’m not going anywhere today.”
“Today?”
“That’s all anyone gets.”
I consider the answer.
“Then I’ll take today.”
That Friday evening, the three of us eat on the kitchen terrace, catching the last warmth of the setting sun.
Angela has declared the approval of the first renovation permit a sufficient excuse for a celebration.
Dario, Bruno, and Armando remain for dinner. Angela has invited their families to the larger celebration planned when construction officially begins.
Tonight is smaller.
Family-style.
Temporary.
No one discusses business.
Gio tells a story about the time we were mistaken for each other at school and I took detention rather than admit which of us had started the fight.
“You let him take the punishment?” Lucia asks.
“He volunteered.”
“I did not.”
“You didn’t correct the teacher.”
“I was eleven.”
“You were calculating.”
“I knew our father would be less angry with me.”
Lucia looks at me.
“Why?”
“I had better grades.”
She stares.
“That is the most Marco answer imaginable.”
Everyone laughs.
Even me.
After dinner, Lucia helps Angela carry the plates inside.
Gio leans back in his chair.
“This feels normal.”
I look through the open doors toward the kitchen.
Lucia is drying a plate while Angela washes. Dario is stealing something from the refrigerator. Bruno has begun arguing with Armando about baseball.
“Is that a complaint?” I ask.
“No.”
Gio watches Lucia.
“She fits.”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t have to change to do it.”
No.
The house changed around her.
Angela sings again.
Gio comes home before midnight.
I close my files when Lucia enters the office instead of pretending not to want her there.
She hasn’t adapted herself to our lives.
She has made us build a life large enough to contain her.
Lucia returns to the terrace.
She stops between our chairs.
“Come upstairs.”
Gio looks at her.
“Both of us?”
She takes his hand.
Then mine.
“Obviously.”
We stand.
She leads us through the house.
No one asks what the arrangement means.
No one needs to.
For tonight, it means she reaches for us both.
And we follow because she asked.