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“What did she say?”
“Nothing, really. She could barely speak. I was trying to ask her questions, but she wasn’t giving me much. She’s been back a few weeks, has an apartment, and is working. That’s all I know.”
“How was it, seeing her again after all this time?”
“Fuck, man.” My chest feels tight just thinking about her, and a flood of emotions hit me. Her eyes, piercing green with flecks of golden yellow surrounding her pupils, glowed with sadness and love. “She’s as beautiful as ever. Still has that long curly hair, ringlets surrounding her face; her glasses are bigger than the ones she wore back in the day.”
I was all torn up because I’m still pissed about how she left, disappeared from my life, and vanished into thin air, but when I saw her, I just wanted to kiss her senseless.
“My head is spinning again. It’s like I’m back to square one. But I was with the boys, and there wasn’t much I could say or do.”
“Does she know about Camila?”
“No, I don’t think so, but I have no idea.”
“Are you gonna see her?”
“I’m gonna try. She was about to say something, but the boys interrupted us. When she saw them, she froze and ran away from me.”
“Well, it must be hard for her to see you with kids. I mean, you two always talked about starting a family together.”
“That’s bullshit though! This is all her doing.”
“That may be true, but it doesn’t make seeing you with kids that aren’t hers any easier.”
I tip my head up to the darkening sky, letting out a deep sigh.
“What’s next?” Dom asks.
“I have to find her. I’m gonna make a few phone calls, check to see if she comes up in a Google search.”
“All right, man, let me know what I can do for you. Whatever you need.” He gives me a fist bump, and we part ways.
When I get back to my parents’ house, my father tells me Dr. Bova is in the bedroom with my mother.
“Has she told you anything yet?”
“Not yet, son. She asked to see your mother first, then she would speak with me.”
“Where are Lucio and Leandro?”
“Your sister took them down to Modern’s to get some pastries. I need to focus on what the doctor has to say.”
We sit on the couch and chat for a few minutes. My father and I didn’t have a great relationship when I was growing up. As a young boy, I would be frightened when I caused trouble, which was often because he would punish me at every opportunity. Since I’m the oldest, he made sure I set the example for my brother and sister. He was tough, would hit me a lot when I got in trouble, or disobeyed him or my mother. Sometimes with his fists, other times with his leather belt. He was no-nonsense and never hesitated to remind me of it. The older I got, the worse our fights became because I started rebelling against his attempts to control me. Eventually, he kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen, which is how I ended up living with my uncle and working at his restaurant. Now I look back and realize he probably didn’t know any better because that’s how he was raised. It was a different generation.
For years I resented him, but when Lucio was born, he started acting differently. I was wary at first, worried his behavior hadn’t changed. But he was softer with Lucio, then Leandro, than he ever was with me. I wanted a better relationship with him for my boys. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, it catapulted our relationship. He even apologized to me for being so rough with me as a kid. Although we still butt heads, I am glad I could get to know the man my father truly is.
Dr. Bova enters the living room, and both my father and I stand up. “Mr. DeLorenzo,” she says to my father. “Rosa is not well; she’s nearing the end and doesn’t have much time.”
My father’s face goes pale, and he stumbles. I reach out and grasp his arm to help steady him.
“How long does she have?” my father asks, his voice shaking.
“It’s hard to say,” she says, extending her hand to hold my father’s in hers. “Sometimes it’s swift, a matter of hours or days. Other times it can be a matter of weeks. Because of the uncertainty, I recommend you let your family and loved ones know they should come to say their goodbyes. You should contact the priest; have him administer last rites.”
My father moans at the doctor’s words, and I help him sit because he’s too shaky to continue standing.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. DeLorenzo,” Dr. Bova says, patting my father’s arm in sympathy.
