(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (18 page)

Silence hung between them, punctuated only by the sound of Antonio’s heart in Cary’s ear. After a minute or two, Cary said, “I used to dream about my father. What he was like. What my life would have been like if….” He let out a long, shuddering breath.

“I know.” Antonio kissed him again, lingering with his lips pressed to Cary’s hair.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to decide right now, caro. But whatever you do, I’ll be here if you need me. I promise.”

Chapter 14

U
NDER
THE
M
ICROSCOPE

Milan, Italy—May

“
M
ASSI,” Antonio said with a chuckle as Massimo launched into the tenth repeat of “Frère Jacques” from the backseat of the car, “your French is very good, but I think Cary would like a little quiet tonight.”

Please God!
Cary leaned his head back on the seat rest and closed his eyes.

The hour-long drive from Milan to Antonio’s mother’s house near Stradella already felt as though it had lasted several days. He loved Massimo—he really did—but, dammit, he was just about at his wits’ end with the constant babbling and singing.

“But I’m happy,” Massimo announced, as if this made all the difference. “Cary is going to meet Nonna! And Gisella, and Isabella, and Constanza, and Marg—”

“I think maybe Cary is a little nervous about meeting them,” Antonio interrupted as he ignored the scowl on Cary’s face.

Not nervous. Terrified and feeling like I’m about to puke.

Cary looked out the window of the car at the gentle hills and vineyards of this part of the Po Valley, trying to remind himself how beautiful it was here. Late spring, and the trees and fields were a lush green, and the fragrance of the season wafted in through the half-open windows. Cary watched the sun as it began to set a deep orange on the horizon, and did his best to clear his mind.

“Why?” Massimo’s question brought Cary back into the moment.

He sighed; “why” was Massimo’s new favorite word. Most days, Cary was happy to humor Massimo, enjoying answering the constant questions. But tonight, it was like Massi’s buzzing airplane noises in his ears all over again.

Breathe. Just breathe. It’s going to be fine. If they hate you, you can go back to your lonely, pathetic life, and all will be well with the world.
Only he knew he was
so
past the point of no return—his agreeing to meet the entire Bianchi brood was proof positive.

“Remember how you felt the first day of school? How you were worried the other children wouldn’t like you?” Antonio asked in his usual patient voice. Cary could see the mop of blond curls in the back seat bob up and down. “It’s the same for adults, sometimes.”

“Why?”

Because we’re idiots, kid. Because we do stupid shit like falling in love even though we know it means we have to put ourselves through hell and meet the in-laws.

Blessedly, Massimo forgot he asked the question when Antonio pulled the car through the familiar landmark gate.

“We’re here! We’re here!” he chanted happily. This was followed by a through-the-window tour of places where Massimo had fallen and skinned his knee, broken his arm, scraped his chin, and—the clear favorite—where his cousin Violetta had vomited.

After the long recitation, Cary was almost relieved when the car stopped in front of the large house and Massimo hopped out to trot down a stone walkway and leave Cary alone with Antonio. Cary’s relief was short-lived as he contemplated getting out of the car.

“How are you doing, caro?” Antonio’s face was half-sympathetic and half-amused to see Cary so anxious.

“Just great. You sure you want to do this? Because I’d be perfectly happy to go right back to Milan now and—”

Antonio’s warm lips pressed against his own, and he sighed. “They’ll love you, caro. I promise.” He trailed two fingers across Cary’s cheek, his eyes warm and forgiving. “They will love you because I do.”

“You sure you want to tell them?” Cary asked. “Seems like enough, just introducing me. Can’t we save the announce—”

“Cary. I know you’re afraid. But it’ll be fine. Really.” He leaned in to kiss Cary again. “I want to tell them we’ll be living together. It makes me happy.”

Cary managed a wan smile. It made him happy too. And really, was that such a bad thing?

A
FTER driving down the dirt road through the lush vineyard, Cary expected the house to be quite grand, much like David Somers’s villa. Instead, it was quite modest: stone, with vines of flowers and ivy that snaked their way up, digging into the mortar that held the irregular stonework together. Ancient shutters, painted a soft green, hung at either side of the windows. They were not purely decorative, and Cary had no doubt that during the hot summer months or the dead of winter, they would be closed.

The flower beds at either side of the building were in full bloom with an eclectic mix of daisies, poppies, bachelor buttons, snapdragons, and a few dozen others Cary did not recognize. The effect was charming and unpretentious, and the backdrop of the vineyards was stunning. It was far more a home than the grand estate he had envisioned. Simple and down to earth, much like the man who walked at his side down the pathway to the front door.

Cary had also expected a convergence of adults and children at the front door to greet them, so he was pleasantly surprised when the only person waiting there was a petite woman with white-blond hair and blue eyes.

“Tonino, caro!” Antonio’s mother exclaimed happily as he bent down to kiss her cheek.

“Mamma,” he said as he turned to Cary, “I’d like you to meet Cary Redding. Cary, this is my mother, Oriana Bianchi.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cary said stiffly, offering the woman his hand. She ignored it, instead throwing her arms around him and hugging him with such enthusiasm that he was momentarily speechless.

“Oh, carino,” she cooed in lilting Italian, “it’s so good to finally meet you.” When she released him, she frowned at her son, although the adoring look in her eyes belied her stern expression. “You have been hiding him too long, Tonino.” She hugged Cary again, then added, “Welcome, Cary. We’re so happy to have you join us.”

“Thank you,” Cary mumbled, unused to such an effusive greeting and not quite sure what to say.

“Come.” Oriana took Cary by the hand and led him through the house to the large kitchen. “I want you to meet my children.”

They sat down at the long table behind the house an hour later, a thoroughly overwhelmed Cary relieved to have a glass of red wine in his hand and a plate full of food in front of him. The back patio overlooked the vines that lined the sloping hills. The flagstones were slightly uneven, and the spaces between were moss-covered and soft to the feet. The smell of garlic and butter mingled with the scent of flowers growing beneath the canopy of vines and around the supporting posts. Antonio’s mother, sisters, and brothers-in-law sat around two large tables, and a multitude of children, ranging from two to thirteen years old, buzzed about. Several large outdoor heaters kept the area warm in spite of the evening chill.

Antonio’s large hand found Cary’s thigh, and Cary relaxed with the touch. Across the table, Antonio’s oldest sister, Gisella, smiled at him with real warmth. Of course Antonio had been right. He always was, wasn’t he? There was nothing but acceptance to be found in this beautiful setting.

Dinner was a lively affair, and the children disappeared after a short while, leaving the adults to their conversation. Most of the questions, of course, were aimed at Cary and Antonio. Cary told a rapt audience about how Antonio had rescued him on the Milan street seven months before (leaving out a few of the pertinent details, of course). For his part, Antonio told them about Cary’s playing, which led to a surprising discussion about classical music, with Antonio’s mother suggesting that what Beethoven and Brahms needed most were more young artists like Cary and Alex Bishop to inject life into the genre.

The food was plentiful. Cary noted with pleasure that Oriana was, unlike her son, an excellent cook. By the time they had cleared the table and set out the dessert, the children had returned, a few of them sporting dirty knees and smudged faces. No one seemed to mind.

A few reminders to wash hands later, Oriana set down a large dish of panna cotta and began to portion it out, adding a bit extra to Cary’s plate with a smile in Antonio’s direction. “He needs to eat more,” she said.

After the plates were emptied—several literally licked clean by the younger children—Antonio stood up and raised his glass of sparkling water. He motioned Massimo over, and Massimo climbed without hesitation onto Cary’s lap, yawning as he settled in comfortably.

Cary clenched his hand around his wine glass as Antonio thanked his family for welcoming Cary into the fold. Antonio put his free hand on Cary’s shoulder, glancing briefly at him, then around at those gathered. “The next time we meet will be in Milan,” he said with eyes wide with happiness. “Massimo, Cary, and I would like to have you come to our new apartment.”

Massimo, who had been slowly falling asleep on Cary’s shoulder, now looked up at his father and bounded off of Cary’s lap, dancing around with renewed energy. “You
are
staying, Cary! I knew you would. I
knew
it! Is Roberta coming too?”

“She’s coming too,” Antonio confirmed with a quick smile for Cary.

As they said their goodbyes an hour later, Oriana took Cary aside while Antonio carried the now sleeping Massimo into the car and belted him in. “Carino,” she said as she clasped his hands in hers, “it’s been too long since I’ve seen my Tonino so happy. And I think it’s been even longer for you.”

He looked at her in surprise, noting the understanding in her eyes.

“You will be good for him.” Then, without waiting for him to respond, she kissed him on the cheek and embraced him as she had her own son, hours earlier. “He will take care of you,” she added. “But you must also take care of yourself, Cary. For him.”

A
FTER dinner the next evening, Cary took a wrinkled bit of paper from his wallet and studied it while Antonio looked on in silence. Cary took a deep breath, then pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. His hand shook and his shoulders tensed, his fingers clutching the phone as if it might slip from his grip.

Please
.

Funny, how he had no idea what he was asking for. Something. A sign, perhaps, that he wasn’t making a huge mistake. He had so much now—his own family with Antonio and Massi—was he being greedy to wish for more? But there was no thunderclap, no moment of great clarity as he heard the call connect, just the mundane drone of traffic from the street and the low rumble of the washing machine as it spun wet clothes about.

“Hello?” came the voice on the other end of the line.

“Uh…,” Cary began with a slight tremor in his voice. “J-John?” As he had the night before, he felt Antonio’s solid hand on his shoulder. He knew he couldn’t have done this alone. He wouldn’t have had the strength.

“Cary? Is that you?”

Chapter 15

P
ROMISES
M
ADE

Milan, Italy—June

M
ASSIMO bounded past Antonio and Cary into the empty apartment, feet tapping against the wood floors as he explored one room after another.

“Massi,” Antonio called from the doorway, “shoes!”

Two small shoes landed in the hallway outside of one of the bedrooms, and Cary laughed. “Pretty efficient, that kid.”

“Better that than have the downstairs neighbors complaining before we’ve even moved in.” Antonio leaned over and took Cary in his arms. “Welcome home, Cary.”

“Welcome home, Tonino.”

Home
. It felt strange to call it that. They had been to the apartment before, of course, but this was the first time since the paperwork had gone through. It was
their
apartment now. The deed revealed nothing but a business partnership. But they owned it. Together. Cary took Antonio’s hand and, smiling, led him into the living room.