Damaged (49 page)

“Right, they're just like you, and they're learning to read because the teachers there know how to teach them differently.” Mary thought a moment. “You met my mother, you heard her speaking a different language, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“It was Italian, and she speaks Italian because she was never very good at learning English. She's very smart, but she doesn't speak the same language we do. She was never taught it, so she never learned it.” Mary went with the flow, seeing an analogy and hoping Patrick did, too. “See, you can be very smart but still not speak the same language as the people around you. That's because everybody's different. And it certainly doesn't mean you're dumb, because my mother's very, very smart.”

Patrick seemed to be listening, so she continued.

“You're going to like your new school and I think you'll feel happier there. The kids there don't make fun of other kids and they'll be nicer to you. And the teachers will know how to teach you in a way that you'll understand. Okay?”

“Yes.”

Mary knew it was time to let him go. “Do you want to say your prayers now?”

“You have to turn off the light first. My Pops always turns out the light.”

“Okay.” Mary reached over and turned out the lamp, which darkened the bedroom.

Patrick closed his eyes, made praying hands, and brought them up to his chin, whispering hoarsely. “Amen,” he said aloud, lowering his hands. He looked over at her, his expression solemn. “I'm done.”

“Good job.” Mary touched his face.

“You have a big family.”

Mary remembered that he had said that before. “I guess I do. I have a sister who wasn't here tonight and I have my parents.”

“And all The Tonys.”

“Right, they're my family, too.”

“I like them. It's funny they have the same name.
Three
people with the
same
name!”

“Pretty crazy, huh?” Mary didn't know whether to ask him how he was feeling because she didn't want to make him upset, but she wanted him to know that he could express himself. She was quickly realizing that motherhood might actually be impossible. “How you feeling, honey? Are you sad or are you happy?”

“I don't know,” Patrick answered, but his voice sounded suddenly shaky in the stillness. “I miss my Pops.”

“I know you do, honey. I'm so sorry about that.”

“He's in heaven. My family is in heaven now.”

“Yes, they are, and they're looking at you right now and making sure you're okay. That's what I believe.” Mary felt tears come to her eyes, but held them back.

“I figured out how it works. I
do
have a family. Just some people have their families with them and some people have their families in heaven.”

“I think you're right, honey.” Mary thought of her first husband, Mike, who had passed. She realized that he would always be a part of her family, in heaven. It was a comforting insight, out of the mouth of babes.

“I wish my family wasn't in heaven. I wish they were right
here
.” Patrick patted the bed next to him.

“I get that, honey, too,” Mary said, heartbroken for him. “I wish that were true, too.”

“I better go to sleep now.”

“Okay. Good night.” Mary leaned over and impulsively kissed him on the forehead, and suddenly he reached up, wrapped his arms around her, and gave her a big hug. She hugged him back, trying not to cry, and she sensed he was trying not to cry too, so she gave him another kiss on the top of the head. “I'm really happy you're here.”

“Me too,” Patrick said, as she released him back onto his pillow and he wiped his eyes.

“You want Anthony to come in and say good night?”

“No, he said it downstairs.”

“Okay, good. Now if you want anything, I'll be down the hall.” Mary rose, realizing she had reached another awkward moment. She and Anthony slept with the door open, and if Patrick slept with the door open, that meant they would have to wait until he fell asleep until they could talk.

“I'm okay.”

“You want the door open or closed?”

“Open.”

“Okay, good night, honey.”

“My Pops always says ‘nighty-night.'”

“Nighty-night, honey,” Mary said softly, leaving the bedroom before her eyes welled up again.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Mary walked into the bedroom, but it was empty, which surprised her. She had left Anthony in here getting changed, because it was usually the first thing he did when he hit the house, slipping into a faded T-shirt and gym shorts. She checked the bathroom just to make sure, but he wasn't there. She got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is what it would feel like if he were gone.

She went downstairs and by the time she hit the first floor, she knew that he was in the kitchen because she could smell espresso. He made it from a silvery Bialetti espresso maker, a seven-dollar pot that brewed on the stovetop, and the first time she saw him making espresso, she realized he'd fit in perfectly with her family. But in the time they'd lived together, he'd only brewed espresso when he had to stay up late to grade papers or finish his thesis, so this wasn't a good sign.

“Hi,” Mary said, entering the kitchen, and Anthony looked up from the book he'd been reading at the kitchen island, his cup and saucer at his right hand.

“Hey.” Anthony placed the book flap in the pages to mark his place, then closed the book, which read
Overcoming Dyslexia
. “Is he in bed?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds weird, doesn't it? This whole thing, it's just unreal. I thought it would be better if we talked downstairs.” Anthony shook his head. “But first tell me what happened with Kather. What I read online scared me. He tried to
kill
you?”

“I don't want to talk about that now. We have too much to talk about.” Mary had to know where they stood as a couple. “And I have to apologize. I'm sorry, I know I put you in a tough position with Patrick. It's amazing that you got him the gift, and I really appreciate it.”

Anthony sighed, leaning back. “You don't have to say that. It seemed in order.”

“Well, thank you.” Mary pulled out the seat across from him, even though they usually sat next to each other at the kitchen island. His demeanor, and the circumstances, told her to keep her distance. The sky was turning black outside the kitchen window, and they normally would've gone outside to their back patio, had a glass of wine, and tried to find the stars through Philadelphia's electrical haze. But this wasn't one of those nights.

“I thought about it, is what happened,” Anthony began, his tone quiet. His lips formed a grim line, his chin grizzly, and he seemed even more tired than before, his dark eyes sunken as if he hadn't slept in a while.

“What did you think about? Taking Patrick? And what happened with the job, did you get it?” Mary could hear herself firing questions at him, her default when she was anxious. Anthony, on the other hand, only got quieter and more introspective.

“I thought about everything. I think more clearly on planes. I don't know why, but I swear, I have real clarity in the air.”

“So what happened?”

“I flew back to California and I thought about it the whole way there. What you said, what I said, what I would do in your situation, everything.” Anthony nodded, as if resolving something in his own mind. “And I thought that we were both making a terrible mistake, the
same
terrible mistake.”

“And? What's the terrible mistake?”

Anthony met her eye directly. “The terrible mistake is that we are not functioning as a couple. We live together and we love each other—”

“We do,” Mary interrupted.

“—but we haven't come together, not really. We don't function together, at least we're not as yet. I'm as guilty of it as you are.” Anthony shook his head. “The first time I went to UCLA, they started making noises about the opening in the department, and I let it be known that I wanted it. I didn't think to ask you about it, I didn't
want
to tell you about it. I knew what you were going to say. So I did it anyway. Without you.”

“What did you decide?”

“Be patient, please.” Anthony raised a hand, and Mary knew he wasn't trying to torture her, so she tried to shut up while he continued. “You did the same thing with Patrick. His grandfather passed away, and you decided to step up for him. On your own. You didn't talk to me about it. You could've tried to tell me, but you didn't want to.”

“That's true.” Mary had to admit it, now that he'd said it aloud.

“You were doing the same thing I was doing. You were functioning on your own, as if you're not part of us, and that's the thing we have to change. If we're going to get married, we have to get
married
.”

“I want to get married,” Mary said, a huge wave of relief washing over her.

“I know you do, and so do I.” Anthony took her hand across the kitchen island, and Mary felt her eyes well up all over again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Anthony smiled, a little sadly. “But we have to change this. What I realized, somewhere over the Grand Canyon, is that we don't have to wait to be in a church to get married. Our wedding
isn't
when we get married. We marry each other when we decide to do things together—and only together.
Now
is when we get married. Right
here
.”

Mary listened quietly, not only because her heart was eased, but because Anthony was making so much sense and his emotional intelligence was one of the things she loved most about him.

“By the way, I think we make this mistake because we met each other when we were older. We're too accustomed to operating on our own. But it can't stay that way. You can't go around becoming guardians for children and installing them in our house.” Anthony gestured upstairs. “As cute as Patrick is, and as deserving, there's a child I don't even know sleeping under my roof. I can't have that. That's not how married people act.”

“That's not how it works,” Mary said, borrowing Patrick's phrase.

“Right.” Anthony smiled, less sadly. “And I can't go to UCLA and decide to interview for a job there and then come home and tell you that you have to move to California. I don't know what I was thinking. Because you can't get Mary DiNunzio out of Philadelphia.”

“Aw.” Mary smiled. “So what did you do about the job?”

“I interviewed, they offered it to me, and I turned it down.”

“You did?” Mary felt delighted and dismayed, both at once. “Oh, Anthony, I'm so sorry. I can't believe you made that sacrifice.”

“I did it, because somebody had to go first.” Anthony's expression darkened. “But I'm going to ask you to make a sacrifice, in return. Patrick is here for the time being, and I'm going to welcome him. He deserves that, and I'm totally on board. But you have to give him up when the time comes. We're fostering him, not adopting him.” Anthony squeezed her hand. “I don't want to start my life and my marriage with a ten-year-old child. I don't
want
a teenager in three years. When I thought about it on the flight to LA, I realized that
that
was what scared me. That you wouldn't let him go. We talked about traveling, we made plans. And when the time comes to have a baby, I want a baby of our own.”

Mary felt the words resonate in her chest. “I want the same thing, I do.”

“So that's the deal, then. I know it won't be easy for him, you, or me either. And you know who else it won't be easy for? Your parents, who are already in love with him.”

“I told them it can't be forever.”

“It can't be.”

“I know. I agree.”

“Good.” Anthony rose with a soft smile and held Mary's hand as he walked around the island. “Here. Now. Will you marry me?”

“Aw, yes.” Mary stood up and kissed him lightly, then with feeling, and she felt the love that flowed between them, binding them one to the other.

“
Now
we're married.” Anthony brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Yes, and from now on we're going to
act
married. Decisions made together. Jointly.” Mary was about to kiss him again but her phone started ringing. She took it from her pocket and checked the screen to see that it was Machiavelli. She hesitated to take the call, but the Complaint in Common Pleas Court was still viable and she still wanted to back him down from deposing Patrick. “Anthony, do you mind? I should take this call.”

“Go ahead. I'll meet you out back.” Anthony kissed her on the cheek, picked up his cup and saucer, and went out to the patio.

Mary answered Machiavelli's call. “What do you want?”

“I read about what happened to you in the Northeast.” Machiavelli sounded unusually somber. “Glad to hear you're alive, and I'm sorry about what I did in my office.”

“Fine, I have to go. Never call me for a personal reason again.”

“I'm not calling for a personal reason. I'm calling for a business reason.”

“What is it?”

“Steven Robertson was arrested tonight for rape and sexual assault on a nine-year-old boy in his neighborhood.”

“My God!” Mary said, appalled.

“I know, I'm disgusted, too.”

Mary didn't know if she could trust him. “Is this true or one of your schemes?”

“Objection to form, but it's true.”

“So Robertson's in jail?” Mary couldn't process it fast enough.

“Yes. He's asked me to represent him, but I declined. In addition, I'm withdrawing from representing him in the civil case against the O'Brien estate and the school district. I refuse to represent anyone who lies to me.”