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I went to his side and considered the picture. “It’s a really nice view. But it is kind of startling to see the twin towers.”
“Picked it up in a thrift store years ago,” he explained. His arm accidentally brushed against mine. “Copyright in the corner says it’s from 1985.”
I stared at him for a moment. He seemed pensive, perhaps almost sad. “I guess it reminds you of home.”
He continued to stare down at the picture. “Something like that.”
“Gio says you guys don’t go back to visit.”
He raised his head and gazed toward the kitchen, a faraway look in his eyes. “No, we don’t.”
“How come?”
He stared down at me, and for a second I thought I was being too nosy, that he wouldn’t answer.
“Too busy, I guess,” he finally said. “And I have to admit there hasn’t been anything there for us in a long time. Once we lost the restaurant and the family split ... let’s just say that there’s some bitter memories mixed in there. So no, I don’t go back. Maybe someday I will, maybe not.”
As I listened to him talk, I touched the edge of the print. I liked this thoughtful version of Dominic. His tone was even different, no longer clipped and sardonic, but quiet and reflective. I wanted him to keep talking, but he silently took a step back.
I tried to keep the conversation going. “I’ve always planned on seeing that city,” I said. “My mom’s family was from Brooklyn originally, although there’s nobody left there now. Her parents moved everyone to Tucson when she was about twelve, but when I was a kid, she always used to talk about Saturday trips to Manhattan. The museums, the people, the excitement of a thousand different sights and sounds in one afternoon.”
Dominic bent down and picked up the hammer he’d dropped earlier. I wasn’t sure he was listening to me.
“Well,” he said in an offhand tone, “maybe you and your mom can take a trip there someday, see New York together.”
The familiar ache filled me. I should’ve been used to the feeling of loss and emptiness that always threatened to hit at odd moments when I talked about my parents. But I wasn’t. I didn’t think I ever would be.
“Afraid not,” I told him, hearing the huskiness in my own voice. “They’re dead. Both my parents. My dad was a motorcycle hobbyist, and my mom loved nothing more than to ride with him. It happened quick. Drunk driver.”
Dominic didn’t answer right away. When I glanced up, though, I saw I had his full attention. His expression was pained, sympathetic. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
I took a breath to control my emotions and then elaborated. “It was four years ago. Whenever I think about them, I remember how in love they were. When I was a kid, I didn’t think about it much except to get embarrassed by the way they held hands or ate spaghetti off the same plate or danced in the moonlight on the back patio. Kids don’t like to think of their parents in love. I never really understood how special their relationship was until I was older. It’s a rare thing, what they had, a gift. At least, since they went together, one never had to watch the other die. That would have been unbearable for them.” My throat tightened and my voice broke. I bit my lip to stop it from quivering.
“Melanie?” Dominic said my name gently, and even though I bowed my head as my eyes swam with tears, I could feel him beside me. The hand that landed on my shoulder was friendly and kind. It was just basic human contact from one person to another, just a small sign of compassion. My instinct was to lurch toward that sympathy, perhaps bury my face in his strong chest and cry for a little while.
But I didn’t. I took a deep breath, shook his hand off, and deliberately put all that sadness away.
“Would you like to go over the marketing plan now or wait for Gio?” I asked as if we hadn’t just been discussing dead parents. I sniffed once and pushed my hair behind my ears.
Dominic cocked his head, looking at me oddly. “We may as well wait for Gio,” he said slowly. “I’m no good when it comes to things like marketing plans.”
“All right. Well, I think I’ll get back to the grind.” I was halfway to the office when Dominic called me back.
“Here,” he said, tossing me a key. “I wasn’t sure if Gio had given you one already.”
“He hadn’t. Thank you.”
Dominic gestured to the door. “Don’t you want to go take lunch or something? I feel bad that you were stuck here.”
“No need. I had a sandwich delivered.”
He made a face. “Is that why it smells in here?”
I put my hands on my hips. “It’s ham and cheese, wise guy. It hardly smells like anything.”
Dominic snorted. “Just messing with you. Seriously though, if you want to get out of here for a while, or even head home for the day, I have no problem with that. You definitely earned an extended break.”
“I don’t want to get out of here. I’d rather just finish up the marketing plan and then tackle the quarterly payroll tax reports.”
