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She pushed the button for the first floor and gripped his hand as though he were a five-year-old again, ready to bolt. “Your father, he is at the police station asking for information about you. He worries.” She dialed numbers on her cell phone and pressed it to her ear. “Hello? Yes, he is here. No…I don’t know… Yes, of course I will.” Her face softened. “Ti amo anch’io.”
Of course she loved his father. They’d been married for years. Still, hearing her say the words grated against his loyalty to his mother. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. She clicked off the phone and shoved it in her purse as the elevator opened at the first floor.
“Where are we going?” He really should get back upstairs. Then again, if he were going upstairs so Lucy could put the final detail on her breakup with him, he might as well take his time.
“To talk.” She jerked her chin toward the hospital cafeteria. He followed. When they arrived, she ordered tea for herself. He ordered nothing, so she ordered coffee for him.
They sat in a corner booth. He stared at the black sludge in his cup.
“How could you do it to her?” he whispered to the sludge.
Teresa lifted his chin with her fingers, so their eyes met. “Do what? To who?”
“You and dad, together. How could you do that to my mom?”
She shook her head, her thick black curls bouncing with the movement. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Do what to Patricia?”
“The messing around.” He glanced down again.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Mess around? I don’t understand this?”
“Your affair with my father.” There, it was out.
Teresa gasped. “Affare.” Her face gentled. “This is what you think? This is why you do not come home? William, look at me.” He did, and she continued. “We did not. Never. Your mother was my friend. The best one. I would never…”
They were silent for a moment.
“We were with her when she died. Your father, he struggled with this, and he worked all the time. It is a hard thing to let someone go. I know this. From my first husband when he passed. It took time, but your father, he came home, and we were both there in the big house. We found comfort in each other. Comfort turned to love.” Her dense accent thickened.
“You were with Mom? While she was dying?” He had to know she wasn’t alone in those hours.
Teresa’s eyes misted again, and she squeezed his hand across the table. “With her when she died.” She had been there.
William swallowed the perpetual guilt at his absence when his mom had needed him most. “Tried to get back. I didn’t have enough time.”
“She knew. Your mother was very smart. She understand. That’s why she wrote the letter for you, so you know she understand.”
William cleared his throat from emotion and residual ozone. “Didn’t read it. I was finally ready, and then it burned. Last night in the fire.”
Teresa removed her hand from his and rested it on her cheek. She spoke under her breath in rapid-fire Italian. He couldn’t keep up with it all, but she did use the term “idiota” along with his name multiple times, so he got the idea.
Finally, she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against them. When she blinked them open, she spoke English again. “She was too weak, your mother. So, I write the letter for her. She told me what to say.”
William couldn’t breathe for a moment. “You know what it said?”
Teresa leaned forward against the table. “She is sorry for the words the last time you talk, and she is proud of the man you become. She say, she leaves you time to prepare before you run her company. Your father, he never wants to be in broadcasting. This is her family company, her dream. She hopes when you are ready you could be successful with Crestone, and your father, he can do the things he wants to do. He loves the boats with the sails. What do you call them?”
“Sailboats?” William asked.
“No, the other, the cat-a-something?”
“Catamaran?”
She gave a quick nod. “Yes. He loves them. We move to the ocean so he can sail. Your mother, she made a plan so he can do this.”
William scooted his cup away, unable to speak. The years of worry that had rotted inside were now exposed. “Why did he fight so hard against me?”
“Your father, he is a hard man. You miss her funeral, our wedding. He loves you, but worries you aren’t ready. He sees now. You are. Your mother, she trusted you. She loved you. Your father sees this, too, and he lets go now.” Teresa wiped her tears on a handkerchief embroidered with poppies.
