AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There’s so much of her I recognize in Sophie. Her petite body and delicate bone structure. Her auburn hair and the muddy brown of her wide, haunting eyes. Her sensitivity and intelligence. Having Sophie is like having a part of my mother that didn’t die. They’re similar yet so different. Sophie doesn’t suffer from my mother’s inferiority complex. She’s a strong little girl, just like Sabella. I suppose that’s what it must be like to have children, to see yourself in them and at the same time a wondrously unique little being. There’s so much to discover. As they grow, every day brings something new. I always wanted to be a father, but I never realized how much I’d love it.
Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes. This room is like a child. It bears the genes of a person who’s gone as well as those of a newborn baby. The furniture is the same. The sewing machine stands in its place on the table. Yet the rugs and linen are new. Beiges and browns replace the colorful mishmash of old. The daybed is made with a cream comforter and matching pillows. The wooden surfaces are polished, but the smell is different. It’s something lemony instead of the lavender I remember.
When I take it all in, a sense of peace washes over me. It doesn’t hurt less, but the pain is more bearable. The pain has a different dimension now.
Hope.
Yes. My mother would’ve liked this. She would’ve been pleased. She’d prefer to have her favorite spaces filled with breaths and tears and laughter instead of with dust and flaking memories.
I close the door and walk to Adeline’s room. I only hesitate for a second before I open the door. For a moment, I’m too overcome with shock to process my feelings. All her personal belongings are gone. The jewelry and ornate photo frames and clothes vanished as if they were never there. The bed is made with white linen. My old baby crib stands in the corner. A fluffy panda bear sits on a fleece blanket that’s neatly folded on the foot-end. A mobile with seagulls carved from wood and painted white hangs over the crib.
The pang of loss that tightens my chest isn’t only because Adeline’s existence is all but wiped from the room. The grief that assaults me is knowing that this is what Sabella and I lost. A crib with a teddy and a mobile with birds. A baby. A little girl, perhaps. With Sabella’s expressive brown eyes and her soft pink lips. The beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. Maybe I should’ve given our baby a gravestone. A cross with roses like my mother and Adeline’s. But we never even got the chance to name her. I never got to go down on my knees and kiss Sabella’s belly. To put my hands on her stomach and feel the first kick. And a devious, unfair part of me is jealous of Sabella’s sister and brother for having what we lost.
I take another moment to let the newness sink in. I want to cling to the past, to the explosion of colors and baubles, to the jewelry box I so carefully repaired, and to the string of Venetian glass beads I restrung, but it’s time to move on. It’s time to hold the good memories inside my head and my heart instead of locking them up in a room. It’s time to make new memories.
My heart rips in two when I close the door. No one said it was going to be easy. But this is life. Death is part of it. It’s the choices we made. No, not we. Me. It’s the choicesImade. It’s me who’ll live with them. And Sabella. She’ll have to live with the choices I made because I never gave her one. She’s suffering from my mistakes, and she doesn’t deserve a single ounce of the pain I dumped on her. She’s always been innocent. Her only sin was to be mine. To have been promised to me. I’ll make things right if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll dedicate my life to that goal. With all the shit I put her through, I’ve got my work cut out for me.
The bruise in my chest feels raw by the time I open the last two doors on opposite ends of the hallway. My mother and father’s rooms. They look the same, but they’ve been cleaned. The windows are open, letting the crisp air of an early spring inside. The voile curtains lift in the breeze that blows in from the vineyard. The bed linen is new. The colors are different. Not brown and black with gold trimmings but butter yellow like a winter sun. Not purple with silver stitching but blue like the sky in summer.
Good. I’m glad Heidi added the new touches. It somehow lessens the pain. I’m equally glad she didn’t put anyone in these rooms. I’m ready to open the doors, but I’m not quite ready for that.
Leaving my memories behind, I fetch the tray Heidi prepared from the kitchen and carry our lunch upstairs.
Sabella sits up in bed when I enter. A book lies open on her lap.
“Reading?” I ask as I leave the tray on the nightstand.
She smiles. “Trying to.”
I take the book and turn it over. “Marine life?”
“A gift from Mrs. Campana. The pharmacist.”
“I know who Mrs. Campana is.” I put the book back in her lap. “That was very considerate of her.”
“She knows I wanted to become a marine biologist. I mentioned it to her once.”
She seems a little more upbeat. Yes, she gives me smiles and humor, but I know inside she’s hurting. I know what she’s buried under the surface because I buried those skeletons too.
Studying her face, I ask, “Did you enjoy the visit?”
“It was good to see them. They’re very kind to me.”
I draw up a chair and sit down. “Then they should visit more often.”
“They’re not asking questions about what happened.” Her brow pleats. “I think they suspect. I’m worried about you.” Her slender throat bobs as she swallows. “About what will happen to you if the truth comes out.”
“They can suspect all they like. As long as we stick to what you told the officer, nothing is going to happen to me.”
The look she gives me says she’s not convinced.
“Hungry?” I ask to change the subject. Not waiting for her reply, I hand her a plate and a fork. Heidi made chicken-a-la-king.
While we eat, I tell her about my visit to the village and the improvements that will be made. To my surprise, I find that I enjoy this—simply talking to her. I like sharing the mundane details of my day. Maybe it’s the interest she shows. Maybe it’s the approval in her eyes. Whatever the reason, I’m reluctant to leave when our plates are empty, but she needs to rest.
“Do you want me to stay?” I ask, getting to my feet. “I can do with a nap.”
Her smile is sweet. “You have to stop lying to me. You’re many things, Mr. Russo, but you’re not an afternoon napper. I bet you have tons of work waiting on your desk.”
