10. Valentin
— ? —
Valentin
The house is dark when I pull into the drive.
That’s the first thing I notice, even before I’ve turned off the engine. No lights in the upstairs windows, no warm glow from the kitchen where Delfina usually leaves something on for me. Just the villa rising against the night sky, silent and still.
Mother said Summer’s fever broke this afternoon, that Solenne decided to stay home and rest with her. I left the fiesta as soon as I could reasonably escape, making excuses to the mayor, to the photographers who wanted one more shot, to Ginevra who seemed surprised I was leaving so early.
The front door is unlocked. I step inside and listen for any sound of movement, any indication that my wife and daughter are here somewhere, sleeping or reading or doing any of the ordinary things they might be doing on a night when I’ve been away.
Nothing.
“Solenne?”
My voice echoes in the empty foyer. I take the stairs two at a time, heading for the master bedroom, telling myself there’s an explanation. They’re asleep. They went to bed early because Summer was tired from being sick. Everything is fine.
The bedroom door is open. I turn on the light and stop.
The closet stands open, hangers pushed to one side, gaps where clothes should be. A suitcase that usually sits on the top shelf is gone. The dresser drawers are slightly ajar.
I cross to Summer’s room through the connecting door.
Her bed is made, the covers smooth, no small body curled beneath them.
Her dresser drawers are open too, the contents disturbed.
Some of her toys are missing from the shelf by the window.
Her favorite books are gone. Bunny is gone.
But other things remain, stuffed animals she likes less, puzzles she’s outgrown, the ordinary debris of a four-year-old’s life.
They packed. They packed and they left.
I pull out my phone and type a message, my fingers unsteady on the screen. Just got home. Where are you? Mother says Summer’s fever broke but I can’t find either of you. Call me.
I send it and stand there in the dark hallway, staring at my phone, waiting.
The reply comes faster than I expected.
Summer is healthy and safe with me. She was never sick. We’re going to LA, staying with Odette. I need time. Please don’t call tonight.
I read it three times. The words don’t change.
She was never sick.
I call anyway. The phone rings and rings and goes to voicemail. I call again. Same thing.
Downstairs, I hear movement. I take the stairs fast, hoping it’s Solenne, that there’s been some mistake, that she walked in through another door while I was upstairs.
It’s Delfina.
She’s standing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes red-rimmed, her hands twisted together in front of her apron. When she sees me, something in her face shifts.
“Don Valentin.” Her voice is rough. “You’re back.”
“Where are they? Solenne just texted me. She said they’re going to Los Angeles.”
“They left a few hours ago. For the airport.”
“The airport?” I’m still holding my phone, Solenne’s message glowing on the screen. “She said Summer was never sick. What happened?”
“Summer was healthy all day. I checked on her myself this morning.” Delfina’s chin lifts slightly. “She was playing in the garden while your mother made a phone call.”
“What phone call?”
“The one where she told you the Signora had decided to stay home. Where she said Summer had a fever.” Delfina’s voice is steady, but her hands are still twisting. “I was in the hallway. I heard her side of it. Summer was outside, perfectly well.”
I think about standing at the fiesta, checking my watch, scanning the crowd for something I couldn’t name. About accepting my mother’s explanation without question because questioning her felt disloyal.
“The Signora went to the fiesta tonight,” Delfina continues. “She and Summer. Marco drove them.”
“She was there?”
“She wanted to see for herself. After the phone call. After your mother told you she chose to stay home when she hadn’t.”
I try to remember the crowd, the faces. Whether I saw anything that should have told me my wife and daughter were watching.
I remember the photographer calling for us to gather closer.
Ginevra’s arm slipping through mine. Her head on my shoulder.
The cameras flashing while I stood there and let it happen.
“Marco brought them back here after,” Delfina says quietly. “The Signora packed what they needed and left for the airport. She asked me to tell you the truth when you came home.”
“What truth? That my mother lied about Summer being sick?”
“That’s part of it.” Delfina hesitates. “There’s more. Things that happened before tonight.”
“What things?”
The front door opens. I hear my mother’s voice in the foyer, Ginevra’s lighter tones beside her.
“Valentin?” Mother appears in the kitchen doorway, still elegant in her black dress, her expression shifting when she sees Delfina. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you at the reception?”
“Where is my wife, Mother?”
“I told you. She decided to stay home with Summer. The fever…”
“Summer didn’t have a fever.” I hold up my phone, showing her Solenne’s message. “She was never sick. They were at the fiesta tonight. Solenne saw everything.”
Something moves behind my mother’s eyes. A flicker of calculation, quickly hidden. “I don’t know what Delfina has been telling you, but…”
“Solenne sent me this text from the airport. She said Summer was healthy and safe, that she was never sick. She’s going to Los Angeles.”
“Valentin.” My mother’s voice takes on a soothing quality. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding. Solenne has always been… emotional. Perhaps she wasn’t feeling well herself and confused things.”
“She was at the fiesta. Watching. While I stood there with Ginevra for the photographs.”
“The photographs were for the family, for the town. You know how important appearances are at these events.”
“Appearances.” I look at her, trying to see past the mask she’s worn for so long I forgot it was there. “You told me my wife chose to stay home. You told me my daughter was sick. None of that was true.”
“I was trying to help. She’s been difficult lately, making scenes, and I thought it would be easier for everyone if the evening went smoothly.”
“What did you do to her?”
The question comes out harder than I intended. My mother goes very still.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What did you do? Not just tonight. All of it. The seating arrangements, the photographs, the way you’ve been treating her since we arrived.”
“I’ve been nothing but welcoming. If she’s chosen to interpret my guidance as hostility, that’s hardly my fault.” Mother smooths her hands over her skirt. “Some people aren’t built for this life, Valentin. Perhaps it’s better that she’s realized it now, before…”
“Before what?”
“Before any more damage is done,” she says it gently, reasonably, as though she’s explaining something obvious. “You can still salvage the situation. The families will understand. These things happen.”
I stare at her. This woman who raised me, who held my hand at my father’s funeral, who told me she would help me through the transition. Who has been dismantling my marriage piece by piece while I was too distracted to notice.
“Get out.”
“Valentin…”
“I need to think. And I need to hear the rest of what Delfina has to say.”
Something flashes across my mother’s face. For just a moment, the mask slips entirely, and I see something cold underneath. Then the grieving widow returns.
“Of course. We can talk in the morning, when everyone has calmed down.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “Try not to do anything rash, darling. These situations are more complicated than they appear.”
She leaves. Ginevra follows without a word, though she glances back at me with an expression I can’t read.
When they’re gone, I turn back to Delfina. She looks exhausted, her face pale.
“Tell me,” I say. “Everything you know.”
She takes a breath and begins.
She tells me about the bracelet accusation that was never resolved, about the young maid Teresa who’s been working under a cloud of suspicion for something Delfina is certain she didn’t do. She tells me Solenne was alone when she found her in the garden that afternoon.
She tells me about overhearing my mother’s phone call, the one where she told me Summer had a fever.
“The Signora came to the garden afterward,” Delfina says. “I told her what I heard. She asked Marco to drive her to the fiesta so she could show you herself that Summer was fine.”
“But she left. Before I could see her.”
“Marco said…” Delfina hesitates. “He said when they came back, Summer was crying. She wanted to dance with her daddy. The Signora was very quiet.”
I remember promising Summer a dance. She made me practice with her in the kitchen, standing on my shoes because she liked being taller. Tonight I stood for photograph after photograph without her.
“There’s more,” Delfina says. “About the incident with Signorina Solano. The one your mother called you about.”
“What about it?”
“The Signora was protecting me.” Delfina meets my eyes. “Signorina Solano shoved me into the doorframe. Hard. My hip was bruised for days. The Signora stepped between us and pushed her away when she came at me again.”
I remember coming home that night, exhausted from meetings, wanting nothing more than to sleep.
My mother had already told me there’d been an incident, that Solenne had pushed Ginevra.
I remember Solenne trying to tell me something, and I remember cutting her off.
Asking her to just avoid Ginevra until the fiesta was over.
“I tried to tell your mother the truth,” Delfina continues. “She threatened to dismiss me if I contradicted the story. Teresa too, and anyone else who spoke up.”
“She threatened your job?”
“She said I would go first. Then Teresa. Then the others.” Delfina’s hands are steady now, her voice clear. “I was afraid. I stayed quiet. That was wrong of me.”
“You’re telling me now.”