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Another text message comes in from a New York based number.
I removed my phone number from my website before I left the hotel this morning, but a few messages are still landing on my phone.
I only read a handful before I gave up.
I already have enough potential handbag orders to keep me busy for the next two years.
“You seem preoccupied.” Marla juts her hip out. “Should we do this later? Is tomorrow better for you?”
“I’m going back to New York tomorrow morning,” I point out. “I’ll silence the phone.”
She gives me the once-over again. I’m still wearing the same white maxi-dress and red flats that I put on this morning.
I could tell from her expression when I arrived at the boutique that she didn’t approve. I didn’t care.
I drop my phone back in my purse.
“Suzanne is thinking five bags a season to start.” She claps her hands together in mock glee. “Do you want to head over to the design studio?”
I want to absorb every ounce of information I can about how Suzanne Belese runs her business because when I get back to Manhattan, I plan on finding an investor who will fund my replication of it.
Chapter 58
Rocco
“Your mother used to bring you here,” my dad says as he gazes up at a tree, the branches whipping in the light wind, sending a leaf floating down. “It was in the afternoon after lunch at Calvetti’s.”
My memories of those days are spot-on. I can draw up an image of Nash in a stroller and my pregnant mom walking along one of the paths here in Bryant Park.
After her death, my dad kept the tradition up, bringing us down here every week.
He’d sit on a bench and weep. My brothers and I would kick around a soccer ball and then we’d go home and have dinner.
“It’s just us four men now,” my dad would comment before we’d fall asleep.
“How’s April?” I rest a hand on his shoulder.
We’re stopped in the middle of the park. I dragged him out of the hospital to shower and change his clothes. It was his idea to take a walk here.
I needed the fresh air too. I’ve been trying to reach Dexie since I left Calvetti’s last night. I haven’t heard a word back.
“It’s going to take time, Rocco.” He bows his head. “Time for us to adjust.”
Adjust to a diagnosis that will ultimately leave him a widower again.
A tumor is sitting at the base of April’s brain. It’s inoperable. She has time. No one can guarantee how much, but treatment will give her more days with my dad.
Chloe’s husband, Evan, is a doctor. He’s been helping my dad and April understand it all.
“I’m sorry, Pop.” It’s the first time I’ve said it since he was given the news.
He turns to look at me. “I talked to Marti this morning.”
It’s always been my job to deliver bad news to the family.
I was the one who called everyone to gather at Marti’s restaurant after Irena passed. I broke down when I told them that my mother had died.
Irena was my mother as much as Gaia was.
