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“Caleb, forget about him. He got nowhere. I hurt him more than he hurt me. He’ll never be able to face me again.”
His hand shook with fury and he spoke through gritted teeth. “How dare he? Take advantage of your vulnerability. The fucking bastard.”
“I’m so sorry.” My voice broke. “I don’t know why I keep getting caught up in these situations.”
He cradled the side of my face. “It’s not your fault if men are assholes.”
“I’m so very sorry, Caleb, you had to go to prison for all those years. Even though you wanted to take the blame to save me. The truth is If I had not lost my memory, I would have told them everything. They would never have sent me to prison. It was not fair. You suffered way too much for me.” I thought of all the hardship and torment he must have suffered in a prison with dangerous people for twelve long years on my account. And yet he had come back to me without a trace of bitterness.
“You should have told me,” I said. “From the moment you came back. How could you bear all of it alone?”
“Your life had moved on. You’d gotten yourself a little business and I was proud of you, Willow. I didn’t want you to remember what that beast did to you.”
I shut my eyes against the flash of images in my mind, and fought the urge to throw up. I looked away from him and tried to bring myself under control.
“How could I make you remember that? I was glad that you had forgotten, and I hoped that you’d never have to remember.”
“I love you, Caleb. I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” he said simply.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and wrapped my hands around his arm as we rode home.
When we got out of the taxi he turned to me.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked as we got into the house.
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “What about you?”
“I just need a shower.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
I followed him to my bedroom … our bedroom. The room was a complete mess. Over the last several days, it seems he had retreated into it and drank himself to oblivion. All around, were empty whiskey bottles and take-out food cartons. He began to pick up a bottle, but the motion must have made his head ache because he winced and straightened.
“I’ll help you,” I said and walked over, but he stopped me.
“No, there’s too much to do,” he said. “I’ll get someone to come clean it up in the morning. Let’s use the guest bedroom for tonight.”
“Alright,” I agreed with a smile.
He took me to one of the other bedrooms. I stood at the doorway watching him. Suddenly, I remembered what Marie had said.
“Marie came to the shop. She told me you’ve lost everything, even your license. She said you will even have to sell this house to pay for all your losses. Is it true?”
He stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at me. “Yes, it’s true.”
Quote
“When Death smiles at you, all you can do is smile back.
They are barbarians, all who cannot understand true love.”
– Anonymous.
53
Caleb
Two days earlier
One of the Don Carlo Bambino’s goons held the door open and I walked into his study. I stood at the entrance of the dark wood paneled room and waited. It was very quiet in the room even though there were three people in it. Two men in dark suits, whose sole purpose was probably nothing other than intimidation, were standing behind the Don, and the Don himself.
The Don was sitting behind a big mahogany desk with a green leather surface. There was nothing on the desk except an elaborate Christie’s lamp, an intricately carved golden box, and a black gun. Where I stood I could see he had a flabby white face and pitiless, dead eyes. He was what one would call a thoroughly ugly man. He kinda reminded me of Hitchcock. His corpulent body was dressed in a charcoal black silk shirt and a beautifully cut white suit. He looked like a poisonous frog in it.
He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand towards the gold box.
Immediately, one of the men who had been standing behind him rushed to open it, take out a cigar, cut and light it. His head was slightly lowered as if he was in the presence of greatness. He held the cigar out for the Don as if it was an offering. Foul cigar smoke drifted towards me. Through the curls of smoke his dead eyes watched me.
“I like that you didn’t presume to come forward.” His voice was surprisingly smooth and cultured. Like a radio personality’s. “Come in and sit down,” he invited.
I walked to one of the two chairs on the other side of him and sat down.
