Chapter 2
In the Stars – Benson Boone
Lorenzo – October previous year
IKNEW IT WAS COMING AND YET STILL, I WAS UNPREPARED.
SUCH IS LIFE - WE LIVE, we love, we die.
Most of the time death is unexpected. It comes on swift wings and sweeps its victim up without warning, carrying them to a place far off, away from the sins of the world, away from the chaos, pain, corruption and greed of this materialistic existence.
But there are times when death is expected, like now.
Times of illness, sickness and disease. DISEASE.
Funny word that. I roll the word around in my head DISEASE – DIS - EASE, as in dis-ease of the body?
I suppose that would be an appropriate origin for the godforsaken word.
It is fitting considering the circumstances.
Yes, even now, with the full knowledge and expectation that I would be standing where I am today, I am unprepared.
Unprepared for the hand that was dealt to me, unprepared for the role I must now play, unprepared to live a life of somewhat solitude.
I still have my family, my friends, my colleagues and my son, so why do I feel so alone?
A life of solitude would suggest a life alone, with no-one.
I am not alone, not by any means of the definition and yet, I am. It’s an oxymoron.
Looking up into the sky, the shades of grey, purple and blue match my mood perfectly.
It’s cold, evident from the way everyone is dressed, hats, gloves and thick woolen jackets.
I don’t feel the cold, I feel… nothing. I say a silent prayer to a God I’m not entirely sure I even believe in anymore.
Surely a God that loves us, His children, would never inflict such pain on us?
“Nel nome del Padre, Del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo.” I make the mark of the cross as the priest concludes his sermon with The Lord’s prayer.
I should be mourning; I should be sad. Of all the emotions I should be embracing, anger is the one that comes to the fore.
I’m fucking angry. We had so little time.
My vision starts to cloud with an unfamiliar sensation and my eyes burn as I blink away the tears threatening to spill.
What the fuck is this? I don’t cry. I exude authority and confidence; I hold my own and I am not one to be fucked around with.
My staff and competitors can attest to that.
I bow to no man. I don’t leap to anyone’s will and I certainly do not yield.
I hold the title of asshole fondly. My staff think that I am unaware of their assigned name for me but I know.
I know everything that goes on in my business.
I bleed strength and resilience, never once having faltered or shown weakness… until now… For her, Victoria.
“Amore mio, moglie mia.” (“My love, my wife.”) I whisper to myself.
“Addio amore mia, ti amerò per sempre.” (“Goodbye my love, I will love you forever.”)
“Arrivederci mamma.” (“Goodbye mamma.”) The tiny sob from the little boy beside me draws my attention and I look down at him sadly.
“Let’s go give mamma your rose mio figlio.” (“My son.”)
His tiny fingers curl around my rather large one as we make our way forward, stepping up to the casket, rose in hand, we place our roses on top.
She fought a good fight. She was strong but in the end the cancer won.
For a year, I watched as my beautiful wife and mother of my child wither as the disease ate away at her.
She grew more frail by the day, unable to carry out simple tasks.
Things we take for granted like walking to the garden or carrying our child, bedtime stories and cuddles.
Her once thick luscious tresses that used to fall over me when we were in bed, all but gone as her final days approached.
She was the first woman I’ve ever loved, my confidant, my lover and my best friend.
My partner in every sense of the word. Now all that is left is a shell of a man, an empty husk, existing only for the little boy standing at my side, silently sobbing for his mamma.
Angelo and I watch silently as the casket is lowered into the ground, taking my heart with it. I will never love another. There is no happily ever after for me now. All I have is my boy and that is enough. As if on cue, adding further to my somber mood, the heavens open.
“Showers of blessings.” Mamma says. She’s standing a few feet away from me, head lowered, rosary in hand. She was fond of Vic. They were close.
There are no blessings here, only sorrow.
I motion for Liana to take Angelo away and out of the rain, not wanting him to get sick.
She leads him towards the awaiting car; a look of sorrow and worry cast over her face.
She’s been with the family since I was just a little boy.
I would go so far as to say that she raised me.
Now, she will raise my son. Angelo Marino, fourth generation after my grandfather, my father and myself.
The rain is substantially heavier, turning into a steady fall. I know that I should leave, Angelo is probably watching me but my feet don’t cooperate. I can’t leave her here. The thought of her lying in the cold wet ground, alone, causes a lump to form in my throat, making it hard to swallow.
“You okay brother?” I feel his presence before I see him. We always had a good relationship. Tony was always intuitive and has the gift of reading people. It’s probably why he’s so good at playing cards.
He pats my shoulder and looks at me; concern etched on his face.
“I’m good Tony, don’t worry about me. Is the lodge ready?” I ask, not really caring for the details. A simple yes or no would suffice.
“Yes, it is, but are you sure you don’t want to head back home? Everyone would expect to see you to pay their respects.”
“I just want to be left alone with my boy for a while. We need the space from all of this.” Gesturing towards the impressive number of people around us rushing to leave the cemetery on account of the rain.
She was well loved, my Vic. A smile, albeit small, breaks across my face at the memory of my wife in better times.
“Papa, wet.”
The small voice breaks through my selfish thoughts. I glance down at my little boy. His thick black hair, so much like hers, sticking to his forehead, cheeks rosy from the chill.
He doesn’t understand.
I kneel slowly, knees sinking into the damp soil.
Reaching out and wiping away the rain from Angelo’s face, hands trembling, but not from the cold.
He always was an escape artist. I look up in the direction from where he’d darted off and see Liana running towards us trying to catch up to Angelo.
I hold my hand up to her, palm out gesturing for her to stop, she does and then I nod my head towards the car they were initially headed to, for her to carry on.
She gives me a brief look before nodding, then turns and proceeds in the direction she came from.
“I know, buddy.” I murmur, my voice betraying me, coming out as a hoarse whisper, hollow and broken.
“We’ll go soon.”
Tilting his head, he looks at me with wide jade eyes, my eyes. Angelo inherited his mother’s hair but he has my eyes. Thank God. I don’t think I could stand watching him grow up, haunting me with her eyes. At least that is a small mercy.
“Mama come home?”
Fuck! How do I answer that? My throat seems to close. Gulping, I clear my throat and look down lovingly at him.
“She’s sleeping, buddy. Remember what I said? Mama’s sleeping now.” He wrinkles his cute little button nose at me.
“Wake her up?”
My chest locks up. His innocence is breaking my heart. Just like his mother. Damn you Vic for leaving me like this.
“No, piccolo,” (little one) I try to sound soothing but my soul is being crushed, my heart broken, my mind a complete fucking fog but I must keep it together for him.
“We can’t wake her up.”
Angelo looks down, a look of defeat on his face. He pauses for a moment as if just only then thinking of something. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to me.
“For mama.”
I cautiously take the piece of paper from him and open it up.
A drawing. My chest heaves with a silent sob.
I smile at him and look back at the rough drawing, three stick figures in peach crayon.
A man with black hair and long legs, a woman with long black hair and a triangular skirt, a little boy with black hair and green eyes.
It’s us. Our family. The stick figures stand unimpressively next to each other with large shaky crooked grins.
In the far corner is another figure, its obscured, almost blurry and drawn in bright yellow.
“What’s this buddy?”
Angelo leans over me to see what I’m pointing at. Immediately he smiles.
“Angel papa.”
I get up off the wet ground, my pants completely soaked and muddy now, as I hold Angelo’s hand and stride towards the grave.
The casket is already being lowered but I stop the gentleman from continuing his task, showing him the piece of paper in my hand, pointing it towards the casket.
He looks at the paper, and nods at me. The casket is just below ground level so I bend down and place the drawing on the top, securing it under our roses.
Letting out a deep breath, I nod at the man to continue.
For a long moment I stand there, not moving.
My head hung low, the weight of my loss suffocating me.
I’m not ready to leave her here. How can I?
The woman who made our house a home, who laughed when I burned the popcorn on movie night, who cradled our son in her arms like he was the most precious thing on this earth, who looked at me with so much love and adoration like I was a God for giving her such a priceless gift.
Angelo tugs on my sleeve, his voice small and low, laced with sleep.
“Papa, home?” Home? I scoff in my mind. The word sounds wrong now. Empty. But Angelo needs me.
I lift him up and hold him close to me. He nuzzles into my shoulder with a small yawn, innocent and unaware of my body trembling beneath him.
He smells like baby shampoo and rain. I look back one last time and whisper a promise to Victoria.
“I will take care of him. No harm will come to him, not on my watch. I will keep him safe and I’ll make sure he knows how much you loved him.
I miss you, sweetheart. “Ti amo amore mio.” (I love you) There will NEVER be another. This, I swear.”
The wind picks up just enough to rustle the leaves in the trees, and for a fleeting second, it felt like she was there.
Like she heard me. I turn and walk away, Angelo now heavy in my arms, asleep.
I envy him his peace. Tony follows me out of the cemetery, boots squelching in the soft mud.
I press a kiss to Angelo’s head, holding him tighter.
I don’t dare look back.