56
GAbrIELA DUARTE
Camila was discharged on the fourth day after the catheterization.
Before we left the hospital, the nurse went over the medicines, the schedule, and the signs that meant we needed to contact the team. Luca kept a copy of the instructions.
We stayed in S?o Paulo until her follow-up two days later. Only then did the team clear her to return to Paraty. Cris drove the boys. I went in the other car with Luca and Camila, who kept correcting the story her father was making up while I checked the route.
My mother welcomed us at the guesthouse with yellow balloons, a small cake, and the boys’ drawings all over the veranda. Sofia had sent Italian books and a letter for me, asking to meet her great-grandchildren. I opened the box with Camila sitting beside me.
Sofia acknowledged that she’d failed me by not trying to reach me again. She offered to come to Brazil when Camila was better. I put the letter aside to answer when I had time to think.
By nightfall, Camila was asleep in the children’s room. Noah and Heitor were at Cris’s house for the video game night he’d promised them. I stayed with my daughter until she settled. When I went downstairs, I found Luca in the kitchen washing the last cups.
“You can go.”
“I can.”
He didn’t move.
“But you don’t want to.”
“No.”
I leaned against the counter. For days, Luca had always been a few steps away. I now recognized the sound of the kettle when he made coffee, the discreet cough before he came into the room, the hands that had learned to tie back Camila’s hair without pulling.
I knew what his mouth tasted like just after coffee. The memory came back whole, making me lower my eyes to the cup I still held.
“Noah called you Dad.”
“He asked to sit on my lap. I could barely answer.”
“He pretended not to notice afterward.”
“I let him.”
Luca dried his hands. His dark T-shirt followed the shape of shoulders I remembered beneath my fingers. My body still responded to his presence, even when I didn’t know what to do with the wanting. He noticed my gaze.
“Gabriela.”
My name came out as a warning.
“Don’t say anything.”
I crossed the kitchen and kissed him. The first touch was brief. I pulled back, perhaps waiting for Luca to move toward me and spare me the responsibility of choosing. He stayed where he was.
“I can still leave.”
“I know.”
I kissed him again because knowing I could stop made it possible to go on.
For a second, he didn’t respond. Then he cupped my face in both hands and kissed me with a hunger held back for years.
There was nothing gentle about it. There was absence, anger, relief, and all the nights we’d imagined each other without admitting it.
I gripped his shirt. Luca lifted me against the counter, then stopped abruptly.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
He drew back a fraction.
“Then we stop.”
“I’m sure I want you now. I’m not sure what it means.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything beyond tonight.”
“Can it be just that for you?”
Luca took a moment.
“No. But I won’t ask for anything tomorrow.”
“This isn’t forgiveness.”
“I know.”
I kissed him again. We went upstairs in silence.
I stopped at the children’s room before taking him to mine.
Camila was asleep, her rabbit fallen beside the pillow.
In my room, Luca stopped in front of the bed.
I’d spent sleepless nights there with a feverish child in my arms and my phone close at hand.
It was strange to see him in that space.
I walked past him and turned on the bedside light.
I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. He helped me take it off, suddenly awkward, and a laugh escaped me that seemed to have been waiting for years.
“Stay.”
Luca brushed the hair from my face. I searched him for the small differences: a white strand by his ear, a tan line on his arm, the hesitation before he touched me. I closed my hand around the back of his neck and drew him close.
When his fingers found the scar, I tensed. Luca stopped. I covered his hand with mine and held it there until the self-consciousness passed.
“Don’t ask me to forgive you now,” I murmured.
“I won’t.”
He kissed me slowly. I closed my eyes and recognized, beneath the fear, the desire that had brought me across the kitchen.
“I missed you,” he confessed against my skin.
“Don’t make this harder.”
“I’m sorry.”
I pulled him back. Afterward, we lay together, neither knowing what to say. Luca ran his fingers through my hair. I rested my face against his chest, heard his heartbeat, and moved a little away. He noticed.
“Do you want me to go?”
“Not yet.”
Luca retrieved the sheet that had slipped off one side of the bed. I watched the strip of light beneath the door. I got up to check on Camila and came back a few minutes later. As I lay down, I found his hand in the space I’d left empty.
“What happened to my father’s office?” I asked suddenly. “Do you still own it?”
Luca went still.
“Yes. It’s closed.”
“Since I took everything out?”
He sat up.
“The building’s roof needed repairs. I kept the space as it was. Last week, I commissioned a restoration study.”
“What for?”
“I thought of honoring Augusto. An exhibition space, perhaps.”
I pulled the sheet over myself.
“Are there already plans?”
“A preliminary study. No work has been done.”
“And when were you going to tell me?”
“I wanted to show you when it was ready.”
I got out of bed.
“Luca, it’s my father’s office. One night you throw the purchase in my face, and then you decide to turn the place into a tribute without talking to me?”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know you own it. I sold it. But don’t use his history to surprise me.”
“I shouldn’t have commissioned the study before talking to you.”
“I thought you’d want to see his name there,” he added.
“So you decided on your own again.”
Luca put on his pants, his face tense.
“I did. I’ll put the study on hold.”
“This is what I do for a living. And you know that place’s history. Even so, you didn’t think to ask me.”
He opened his mouth, then picked his T-shirt up off the floor.
“I’ll send your lawyer what I commissioned. If you ever want to discuss what happens to the property, she’ll have the documents.”
“Go home, Luca.”
He put on his T-shirt. At the door, he stopped.
“I’ll come at the time we agreed on tomorrow to stay with Camila.”
Luca left.
The next morning, he sent my lawyer the property documents and confirmation that the study was on hold. I asked her to keep the papers and asked Luca to bring me a copy. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with the place.
That afternoon, Luca arrived to stay with Camila while I picked up the boys. We talked about her medicine and the follow-up appointment. Nothing about the night before.
After he left, I picked up the T-shirt I’d worn the previous evening from the chair.
It still held his scent. I gripped the fabric, angry that I missed his hands while I thought about the office.
I couldn’t accept a tribute to my father arranged that way.
Camila found me sitting on the bed and settled beside me.
“Are you sad?”
“A little.”
“Because of Daddy?”
I didn’t correct the word.
“Because of things I still need to understand.”
“Did he do something bad again?”
“We had an argument. It’s something we’ll work out between grown-ups.”
She frowned.
“Is he coming tomorrow?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
That night, Luca asked how Camila was. I told him she’d had a good afternoon but had woken up restless. I sat beside her and followed the discharge instructions. My daughter soon settled; it took me longer.
“She’s gone back to sleep,” I wrote. “You don’t need to come.”
The answer arrived immediately: “Understood. I’m awake.” I set the phone on the table and listened to her breathing. I thought of asking Luca to come. I didn’t. Even so, I looked at the message again before switching off the light.
At six, he asked how the night had gone. I told him Camila had slept well. Before I knew it, I was telling him I’d managed to rest too. Camila pressed her ear to my chest.
“Did you sleep too?”
I hugged her and lay back down. Camila pulled the sheet up to our shoulders. I left the phone within reach.