Gaining visibility, p.25
Gaining Visibility, page 25
Melissa’s gaze drifted down the length of the figure in the bed. The concerned crease between her eyebrows softened. “She doesn’t seem to be in any pain.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “I don’t think she’s hurting. Her breathing’s too peaceful. I think she’s drifting into a deep sleep.”
Like it had done all afternoon, the conversation shifted back and forth from Hettie to catching up on tidbits in their lives. “I think she’d be pleased you’re moving back to Paducah, Dad, and back into the house.”
“Yeah, it feels right to me, too,” Frank said. “I think whoever said ‘You can’t go home again’ was wrong. Home feels pretty good.”
Melissa smiled wryly and shook her head as her eyes darted from Frank to Julia and back. “I was blown away when you told me you were staying with Mom at our house. I would’ve bet my last three paychecks that would never happen.”
“Let that be a lesson to you, young lady.” Frank wagged his finger in her face. “Never bet against the home team.”
Melissa arched an eyebrow. “Especially when you’re pitching, huh?”
Frank gave a quick nod. “You know it.”
Melissa turned to her mom, obviously expecting a remark, and Julia bit back a retort about it being Frank’s last inning. No use breaking the peace for a cheap shot. But it wouldn’t be right to give Melissa any hopes their broken family was mended either. “He can pitch it till he’s blue in the face,” she said, sending the banter in a different direction. “I’ll just keep shoveling it out.”
Melissa laughed and made a mark in the air with her finger. “Score one for Mom.”
“Actually”—Julia nodded toward the sleeping figure in the bed—“I’ll give that point to Hettie. She would’ve come out with it first.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been around her so long you’ve picked up a lot of her sassiness, Mom. Even more than the last time I was home.” Melissa eyed Julia thoughtfully. “I mean, look at your hair. When did you change it?”
The comment took Julia by surprise. She pulled the top strands through her fingers and shook her head so it fell back into place. “I woke up one morning in Italy with this wild idea I wanted a change.”
She had to force the memory of the specific morning and the true impetus for the change from her mind before her facial expression gave her away. “A young woman in Lerici did it while I was there, and Darlene’s been able to copy the cut and match the color.”
“Well, you look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Dad?” Melissa nudged Frank for an answer.
“Yeah, she looks fantastic.”
Melissa laid Hettie’s hand gently on the bed and moved restlessly over to the window. “I can see the river from up here.” Her wistful tone was punctuated with a sigh. “Besides y’all and my friends, that’s one of the things I miss most about this place. I miss sitting at the river on summer nights and picnics at Kentucky Lake. I would never have admitted it to Grandpa, but I even miss that old bass boat he used to take me fishing in.”
“All part of growing up, Issy.” Frank used the nickname he’d pinned on the child at birth. “Figuring out the things most important to us.”
Julia caught the brief, sidelong glance he cast her way.
Melissa spun from the window, eyes wide with expression darting around the room. “Do you think Grandpa’s here? Waiting for her?”
“I hope so.” Frank’s eyes shifted from his mother’s face again to settle on Julia’s. “They had a lot of happy years together. I’m sure he’s anxious to be with her again.”
Julia picked up on the subtle message, though she tried to ignore it. She hoped Melissa did the same. Still, she couldn’t keep her eyes from misting up as a memory washed over her. “The night he died, she told him to walk slow and she’d catch up to him soon.”
Melissa moved back to the bed, and they stood quietly for a long moment, each lost in personal reminiscence.
Recognition broke slowly as Julia realized she was listening for a sound that wasn’t forthcoming.
And never would be again.
Her eyes moved slowly up to meet Frank’s . . . Melissa’s . . . back to Frank’s.
A sharp breath shuddered his chest, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as if in slow motion.
“I think she just caught up,” he said.
CHAPTER 25
Vitale gently pushed his thumb into the plasticine, making a delicate indentation below the ankle. Although he often worked straight from imagination, the piece he’d been commissioned by Mario to create was too costly for there to be any mistakes. He’d chosen to first create a small clay model to scale. When the model was completed, which meant it had to be perfect in every detail, then and only then would he allow himself to move on to begin the actual piece.
It would take time. Time during which Mario would become impatient. Vitale closed his eyes and drew in a satisfied breath. But time he now had.
His days were his own at last. Or rather four days a week were his own to work in his studio to his heart’s content. Two days he still spent on projects he had promised, working on walkways, walls, and patios. And Sunday he kept reserved for family.
Adrianna did a fine job of taking care of the business end of Villa de Luca, but some nights he had to work also on that mundane end of things.
All in all, he was satisfied with the turn his life had taken. Making a living doing what he wanted to do, never again looking forward to retirement. This was retirement. Happily, this was the way he would spend the rest of his time on earth.
The CD Julietta had left was in the player rather than one of his operas. The songs usually brought joy and comfort—a piece of Julietta from across the miles. But today, they brought thoughts not only of her, but also of Hettie, whose funeral would be today. And with that came sadness. Julietta had described Hettie as someone with such energy and zest for life. Someday, he would create a sculpture of his vision of Hettie for Julietta, capturing that energy.
But first, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Plucking another piece of the oil-based clay, he kneaded it between his fingers until it was soft and pliable, then pressed it onto the model.
This day would not be an easy one for Julietta, although, after what she’d been through the last few weeks, there surely would be relief the ordeal was finally over. Perhaps in a few weeks or a couple of months, Julietta would be able to come back to Italy, and they could pick up where they left off.
He smiled, thinking of the changes she would see in the studio, in the way he spent his time . . . in him. And he had her to thank.
An image of precisely the way he would thank her in person spread across his brain, causing his thumb to tighten on the plasticine and make an indentation where one should not be.
“Porca vacca!” He ground out the expletive through clenched teeth.
“Vitale! You should be ashamed. Using such language in front of your mother.”
“Mama! This is a surprise.” He grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the clay from his hands and deposited it on top of his sketches to obscure them from view.
“Obviously,” she answered wryly, closing the door behind her. “Those ugly words would not have come from your mouth had you known I was here.”
He met her with a kiss halfway across the studio, preferring to keep her as far away as possible from the project. “That was the first time I’ve ever said those words.” He couldn’t hold back the telltale grin.
She patted his face a little harder than a proper love pat should be.
“Let’s go in the house”—he tilted his head toward the door—“where it’s more comfortable. What brings you here?” With a hand to the small of her back, he managed to move her in the right direction without being too pushy . . . or suspicious.
“Adrianna tells me you work all day and often skip lunch now you’re working here at home. So I decided we would have lunch together today. I brought minestrone and that parmesan-rosemary bread you like so much.” Her eyebrow arched slightly, daring him to decline her offer.
Instead, he raised his arm to rest across her shoulders and hugged her to him as they walked. “Thank you. That sounds delicious.”
Adrianna was at the stove, stirring the soup, when they walked in. “I hope you are hungry.” She gave him a contrite look of apology she hadn’t been able to warn him of Mama’s surprise visit.
“Starved.” He smiled and winked to let her know everything was cool.
The scent of his mother’s minestrone made his mouth water, and he found he was indeed happy for the disruption of his day.
They chatted about how well the business was going as Mama sliced the bread and he prepared drinks. She seemed genuinely pleased and perhaps a little awed one could make money by selling wares off the computer, which was not something she’d taken the time to learn much about.
Adrianna dished up the soup into large bowls, and when they sat down to eat, Mama recited a quick blessing. Vitale said a silent prayer for Julietta, that she would have the strength and courage sufficient for what she would face this day.
As if she’d heard him, or maybe the years had somehow taught her to read his thoughts by the look on his face, Mama asked, “The funeral is today, then?”
“Yes.” He dipped a piece of the warm bread into the broth and watched how quickly the red color infused through the coarse texture.
“You have contact with her often?”
“We e-mail.” He filled his mouth with a spoonful of soup and swallowed. “Mmmm. This is delicious, Mama.” His eyes met Adrianna’s, sending a verbal cue it was her turn.
She took the hint. “My bread is never this light, Mama. I don’t think I inherited any of your bread-making skills.”
Mama ignored the comment. “So, how is Julietta holding up through all of this?” The woman was obviously not going to be deterred from her chosen conversation.
“She is doing as well as can be expected. She is sad. Her mother-in-law was more like a mother to her, and Julietta loved her very much.”
Mama cast him a sidelong glance. “And what will Julietta do now she is gone?”
Vitale wished to hell he knew the answer to that. “She will continue working in her business. This is really a pleasant surprise—it’s rare for it to just be the three of us.” He eased the subject away from Julietta again and this time Mama didn’t press.
She filled them in on various things she had heard around town, mostly things and people he didn’t care to know much about. But it gave him a chance to eat his soup without requiring too much exchange.
“I had a pleasant surprise yesterday,” Mama said, and the timbre of her voice shifted. He looked up to see her smile, but it was forced, and his grip on his spoon tightened reflexively. “Francesca stopped by.”
Adrianna shot him a wary look, but he continued to eat his soup.
“She says everyone in town is talking about your new business. Apparently Mario is quite excited about a large piece you are creating for the area beside his pool.”
Vitale kept his eyes on his soup and shrugged. “News travels fast in Lerici.”
“I told her I didn’t know anything about the work you are doing for Mario. I’m only your mother, I told her, so I am usually not included in discussions about your business.”
After all these years, the guilt-inflicting tone she used shouldn’t have an effect on him, but it did. He laid down his spoon and stretched his hand out to cover hers and pat it gently. “I never want to worry you with bland business details. They might drop into the delicious soup and ruin the taste.”
Adrianna’s lips twitched and she rolled her eyes. “If it’s any consolation, Mama, I work with him, and I have yet to be told exactly what this mysterious new piece is.”
Vitale grinned at them both. “I will show it when the time comes. Until then, everyone will have to wait.” He finished up the last few bites of his soup but helped himself to another piece of bread, which he dipped into the shallow bowl of olive oil.
“Speaking of waiting . . .” Mama finished her soup also and rested her clasped hands on the table in front of her. “Francesca wanted to know how long it would be until Julietta returns to Lerici. I told her—” She paused, weighing her comment.
Francesca again. The name caused a bitter taste to come into Vitale’s mouth and he let the bread drop onto his plate. “What, Mama? What did you tell her? I hope you told her it was none of her business.”
Mama swallowed a sip of water. “I told her you did not know.”
He doubted that was all Mama told her, but she didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t want to know. He pushed away from the table, no longer hungry for the piece of bread he’d taken.
“The flowers Orabella and Cesare planted in the beds at Lord Byron’s are certainly beautiful,” Adrianna gushed. “I can’t believe they’ve rooted and started to fill in the bare areas so quickly.”
“I taught her well,” Mama answered. Her eyes cut to Vitale, and she added, “She was a fast learner. She listened to me and took to heart everything I told her.”
The dig scratched at Vitale’s composure. Mama could compare Francesca and Julietta only on the surface. She had not yet seen their hearts. If she had, she would realize she was championing the wrong woman. But until Julietta returned and Mama got to know her better, arguing the point was futile.
He wiped his mouth and set his napkin aside. “Well, I need to get back to work.” He stood and reached for his dishes, but Adrianna waved him away.
“Mama and I will get those. Go.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink.
He gathered them anyway and placed them beside the sink. Then he went back and bent down to wrap his arms around Mama from the back and kiss her cheek. “Thank you for lunch. And if you leave the rest of the soup, I’ll make good use of it.”
She chuckled and patted his face.
He left them, knowing only too well Adrianna was about to be cross-examined to determine everything she knew about his new business. That didn’t worry him much. Of all his sisters, Adrianna knew best how to dodge Mama’s personal questions.
But the question of when Julietta would return burned in his stomach.
He looked forward to the time when he could prove to Mama he was a grown man with a keen insight when it came to judging people . . . especially women.
* * *
Hettie’s funeral was straightforward and simple, a fitting tribute to the woman it honored.
Julia had been both surprised and relieved when the funeral director informed her and Frank that Hettie had called him to the nursing home a few days before her last stroke and had planned the entire thing.
Hettie’s decision not to have a wake didn’t surprise her. “I don’t want people standing around, gawking at me, saying how good I look. I’ll be dead and I hope to God I don’t look better than I do now.” Hettie’s tone would get wrathy when she brought up the subject.
The pastor had commended the sweet soul into God’s hands during the final prayer and the people who attended the graveside service had started to disperse from under the blue tent.
Julia stood beside the vault, aware of the open grave below even though it had been camouflaged with artificial turf carpeting. Too fully aware that her precious mother-in-law would be lowered into the ground as soon as the mourners were out of sight.
Her heart hung heavy in her chest, taking up double its normal space, barely allowing any room for air in her lungs. So many things needed to be said, but the muscles in her neck tightened into steel bands. She wasn’t sure she could push enough air through the constriction to make a sound.
She laid a hand on the coffin and closed her eyes, imagining Hettie’s smiling face, full of animation and life. “You’re the finest person I’ve ever known,” she said, finding her voice at last. “You’ve been a mother . . . friend, and you’ve taught me so much.” A deep breath loosened the muscles a bit. “I’m so thankful you’ve been a part of my life.” Another deep breath, and she knew she could say it. “I’ll miss you.”
She placed a pink rose and a box of Godiva truffles on the casket and then moved out from under the tent into the bright sunshine.
Frank and Melissa were talking with friends when another stab of regret caught Julia. None of Hettie’s friends were there. She’d outlived almost all of them, and the ones who remained were too feeble to come.
Camille’s arm sliding around her waist broke her reverie. “I know how tough this is for you, Julia. I’m sorry.”
Julia drew a long breath to steady her voice. “We had so long to prepare, I thought I’d handle it better than this.” She wiped a tear, amazed her eyes could produce any more.
Camille’s husband, James, patted her arm. “We’re here if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
As Camille and James moved away, Grayson Chapman took their place, holding the hand of his wife, Olivia, who looked like she was going to pop at any minute, though the happy glow on her face negated the apparent discomfort of her swollen tummy.
Grayson clasped Julia’s hand with his free one, and Olivia did the same. The love in their touch moved through the circle, filling Julia with comfort. “We’re sorry for your loss, Julia.” Olivia’s eyes misted as she spoke.
Grayson squeezed Julia’s hand gently. “Give me a call when you’re ready for me to draw up that agreement we spoke about.”
“Maybe the first part of next week?” That was only four days away. Anxious as she was to settle things with Frank, Julia wanted the rest of the time with Melissa worry-free.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Grayson answered.
Grayson’s father, Kenneth, walked up beside them. Olivia let go of Julia’s hand and he took it. “You have my deepest condolences, Julia. Hettie was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was.”
As the three of them moved away, Grayson still held Olivia’s hand and Kenneth got a firm hold on her opposite elbow. Big as she was, movement was difficult and the uneven ground could be a hazard.
Someone said something, and Julia squinted into the sunlight at the tall figure standing beside her. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
