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“How much time? And before you tell me that’s a conversation I need to have with Carter, I know that it is, but it’s not like he’s answering my calls. Hell, he wouldn’t even talk to me when we saw him a few days ago…”
And I feel like things are getting worse, spiraling further and further out of my control.
Tristan takes a step back and glances over his shoulder. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you, but I think you should talk to Sam about this. She’ll be able to help you much better than I can.”
My hand darts out and closes around Tristan’s wrist. “You’re in touch with him. You’ve seen him.”
Gently, Tristan pries my fingers away and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I don’t have anything else that I can tell you.”
I stop and stare at the space he occupied for so long that Anita voices her concern.
When I offer her a weak smile, she loops her arm through mine and leads me into the living room. There, she pushes me onto the couch and drapes a blanket over me. She opens and closes several cupboards in the background, all while singing a tune in a language I don’t recognize. With a sigh, I twist to face her and bring my head to rest against the pillows.
“What language is that?”
“Italian,” Anita replies without missing a beat. “My mom used to sing us this lullaby when we were younger.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Will you teach me so I can sing it to my daughter?”
Anita ties an apron around her waist and offers me a maternal smile. “I’d love to. I think there’s a box here somewhere of Carter’s old things. We can go through it together if you’d like.”
My lips lift into a half smile. “I would love that.”
Anita takes out a bowl and some eggs and starts to whisk. “I’m going to make you one of Carter’s favorite meals. Whenever my Matteo was away, eating his favorite foods helped me feel closer to him.”
I nod and offer Anita a more genuine smile. “I really appreciate that.”
“When is your next class?”
“In a couple of hours,” I reply without missing a beat. “I like having something else to do.”
Anita sets the bowl down on the counter and adds a few more ingredients. “I’m like that too. I’ve never liked idle hands.”
After a brief pause, I throw the covers off and wander into the kitchen. In silence, Anita and I work together, with the Blackthorne family matriarch going out of her way to keep me busy. She keeps up a steady stream of conversation the whole time, mostly one sided, but I don’t mind. I like listening to the cadence of her voice and the warmth in it.
And I like feeling closer to her.
As I help her lay out the pasta sheets for lasagna, I hang on to her every word.
Each story, each laugh I’m privy to, makes me feel less alone like Carter is in the kitchen with me. I keep imagining him as a teenager, running around and wreaking havoc, and a smile springs to my lips when I think how protective he’s going to be of our daughter. By the time Anita sets the pot to a slow simmer, I slide the lasagna into the oven and smile at her.
She shoos me out of the kitchen and sits down at the counter for a glass of wine.
In my room, I pick up and set down several random items, a strange restlessness building up in the center of my chest. When I circle back to the window, I push the curtain aside and peer out. The sun is peeking out from behind a slew of dark clouds, and I can make out vague chirps in the distance.
“You should come and sit outside. It’s surprisingly warm today.”
I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Sam. “Thanks, but I’ve got another online session in a few minutes.”
Sam pushes herself off the wall. “Tristan and Anita told me that it went well.”
“As well as can be expected.”
Sam stops in the middle of the room and gives me a concerned look. “Hey, we’re good, right?”
I blink. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”
“I know I didn’t exactly apologize for the other day, so in case it wasn’t obvious, me trying to drag you out to the bar was my apology. Until Carter ruined it.”
