Say Ye (28 page)

She began to smile but stopped seeing Lorenzo’s frown. They sat and ate in silence. Lita listened to the unfamiliar quiet, the lapping of the sea on the beach, the low rustle of the breeze through the lemon trees, and the distant shouts she couldn’t translate.

When they finished, Lorenzo stood and took their plates. He washed them and set them in the wooden dish drain. He gripped the sink edge and bowed his head. Lita rose and came up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself into him. He was strong, warm, his scent dizzied her. He turned and tipped her face up. She studied him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head then kissed her. She sighed into him and soon she tingled in anticipation. He carried her upstairs and their honeymoon truly began.

The next morning, Lita traipsed downstairs to get a breakfast tray while Lorenzo showered. She was sore in places she didn’t realize could get sore, but she smiled all the same. Lorenzo hadn’t let her come downstairs yet; he’d brought up dinner last night and coffee earlier.

She hurried up with the rolls and strawberries, placing the tray on the bed before she hopped up. The double doors to the balcony stood open to the balmy morning, the long white curtains billowed in the breeze. A seagull cried in the distance as it floated on the wind, maybe looking for its mate.

Lorenzo walked in, toweling his hair roughly before he threw the linen into the wicker hamper by the door. Lita stared, still amazed and aroused by the sight of him, tanned and masculine. She giggled at his hair, though, which bristled oddly. Usually he was carefully groomed. He stared seductively but she bit into a roll. He reclined on the bed and ate the tiny bread in a few bites. Lita set hers on a small white plate.

He leaned over and offered her a strawberry. She took a bite as he held it. The sweet firm fruit satisfied her. Lorenzo brushed the berry over her lips, the juice moistened them. She licked her lips then his. He slid off her robe and made love to her, so slowly and gently the tray only rattled a few times, an otherwise silent witness to Lita’s pleasure.

“I guess we need to get ready soon,” Lita said as they lay together several hours later. Lita loved the way her head nestled into Lorenzo’s chest, how he stroked her hair, and the quiet satisfaction they shared. This would be a good habit, addictive but good.

“Unless you want me to call and cancel,” he said.

“No, everyone’s probably gone to some trouble to arrange it. Besides, maybe you need a break.”

He chuckled. “I already broke my record, more than one. The right woman was all it took.”

She smiled. “What other record?” she asked. He’d told her he’d never had sex so many times in twenty-four hours.

“Not a record, I guess. Didn’t you feel that, the last time?”

“You mean when we…”

“Simultaneous. Not very common.”

“You’re uncommon, extraordinary, really,” she said. Lita kissed him.

“So are you, my angel,” he said.

She warmed again then slid off him. “If I was, I’d pluck out every feather in my wings if it meant I could stay with you forever.”

It was almost how she felt sometimes, not that she hurt, but that she gave him a little piece of herself every time they kissed, held each other, whispered “I love you,” or made love. Yet the giving didn’t diminish her, it filled her, grew her.

“Don’t say that,” he said. His voice grated, low and jagged. He rose and began to dress.

She sat up, her forehead wrinkled. “Why? I only meant--”

“We should get ready. Did you want to shower again? I’ll be downstairs. I should call Uncle Enzo and Nick to let them know we got here okay.”

“But--”

He was already halfway downstairs. She caressed the spot he had occupied, still warm. She exhaled.

An hour later, they arrived at Aunt Arianna’s house. Lorenzo was broodingly silent on the ten minute drive over. Lita didn’t want to argue, so she faced the window and silently admired the landscape, lush yet subdued. Her aunt’s house was similar to Uncle Enzo’s villa, only smaller. The street was lined with cars, from Mercedes sedans and Volvos to tiny Alpha Romeos and Fiats.

Lita was soon passed from hug to hug among the relatives, who kissed her cheeks and exclaimed over the prize Lorenzo married. A few glanced at him with almost amazed expressions, but most smiled and laughed. Aunt Arianna reminded her of Janice, tall and regal, edgy and expressive. She introduced Lita to the other guests, who included Eduardo and Mena, her older sister and husband, several generations of DeGrazia cousins, and some neighbors. All had little tidbits to share about themselves and her father and Lita spent the first hour absorbing as much as she could while Lorenzo stood quietly watching.

They filed around the tables for the buffet dinner of salads, cold chicken, fish, ham, breadsticks, and fruit. Lita sat by Lorenzo, her plate perched on her lap. Mena’s older sister told her a story about how she and Aunt Angela scoured the beaches for glass pebbles as girls and thought they saw a mermaid. Lita smiled, reminded of when she herself believed she’d seen a ring of fairies in a grove of redwoods near Aunt Cass’s Berkeley home when she was a girl.

Aunt Arianna came over soon after to claim her. Lorenzo stood talking to a distant cousin, so Lita followed her into the dining room, where she set her plate down.

“A guest has arrived who particularly asked to meet you,” the older woman said. “She and her husband have a summer home nearby. She said she knew your father.”

Aunt Arianna guided her onto the terrace, where a striking woman stood alone. Her eyes were a bluish green which provided a vivid contrast to her tanned olive skin and chestnut hair.

“You must be Lita,” she said in an engaging voice.

Lita nodded. A clatter of plates caused Aunt Arianna to excuse herself.

“I wished to meet you under different circumstances, but…” She shrugged. Her laugh made Lita nervous.

Lita frowned slightly. “Nice to meet you, but--” Lita turned to go inside.

“Oh, you mustn’t go yet. My husband was friends with your father, you know. Poor Timo, he had always wanted a child. But when he needed one…he felt he had no one, you see, though we all loved him. Such a man, though, does not wish to burden others.”

Lita crossed her arms. She wouldn’t cry. “I know he had MS, but my uncle said he was happy. But then the disease progressed so fast…”

“Yes, he knew he would soon be unable to care for himself. That’s why he took his own life, such a shame.” She shook her head. Her tiny dangly earrings shimmered.

Lita’s throat choked. Sweat prickled her neck.

“I thought you knew. Everyone does.” Her hand remained on Lita’s arm, cold and sickening.

“Lita.” Lorenzo’s footsteps clicked on the patio and stopped. “Ornela.” His voice chilled.

“Lorenzo, so lovely to see you again.” She kissed his cheeks.

Lita gripped her arms tighter. How did Lorenzo know this woman?

“I wished to meet your wife. I’ve heard so much about her.”

“Are you okay?” Lorenzo asked Lita. He put his hand where Ornela’s had been.

Lita shrugged his touch away. “Did you know my father killed himself?” she said. She gripped her throat to stop the scream. He said nothing.

“I should leave you to comfort your wife,” Ornela said. “He can be a great consolation when one is in need. Though only in the bedroom, it appears.”

Lita trembled and her eye twitched. She closed them. Another one of Lorenzo’s women?

“Shut up, you bitch,” Lorenzo said.

Lita’s eyes shot open. He advanced on Ornela and grabbed her arm.

Ornela laughed. “You have offended your sweet wife. She doesn’t like such talk. It seems even I know her better than you do.”

Lorenzo threw her arm away from him and faced Lita. She gasped for air. She felt its cool freshness around her, but it eluded her lungs. She ran, pushed through the groups, and stumbled down the front steps into the shadowed, strange street, Ornela’s laughter pursuing her. She could breathe again, but it was an effort, each footfall shot a stinger up into her leg. Footsteps pounded in an unsteady rhythm over the cobbled street. His hands caught her, pulled her into his chest. Their breathing panted, their hearts drummed in her ears. She hit his chest with her fist.

“Why?” she said. “Why?” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

He led her to the car and shut her in. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in the folds of her dress. The car hummed to life and Lorenzo drove the windy road back to Sorrento. Not home, but it was all she had in that moment. When the car rolled to a stop, Lita glanced up and uncurled herself.

“Uncle Enzo asked me not to tell you yet. He didn’t want you to be unhappy.”

Lita laughed. It sounded as bitter as the taste in her mouth. “No one has a right to keep my father from me, to keep me from knowing about him. You can’t really know someone unless you know the good and the bad. He needed me.”

“I--”

“And Ornela? When did you sleep with her?”

“It was over a year ago—before we kissed.”

Lita got out and slammed the door. The metallic clunk reverberated in the quiet street. She ran inside then out the back doors. She leaned against the railing on the lower balcony and stared out at the sea. The sky and water floated together, vast, dark, and empty. Need bubbled up. She could barely stand. Her legs wobbled. She needed Lorenzo.

20

Lorenzo paced in front of the house. His first instinct had been to drive away. He only wanted to tell Lita he needed her. Wasn’t he more important than her dead, unknown father? Then he cursed himself. Lita needed him right now. He couldn’t let her hurt like that. She deserved only joy, laughter, gentleness. Not the ugly destruction and pain he brought, however unwittingly. He ran his hands through his hair. He had to make it right, for her.

He jogged upstairs and pushed open the door. Darkness punctuated the room.

“Lita!”

The back doors opened onto the terrace. She appeared and ran to him. He embraced her. She gripped his shirt, rumpled it in her desperation to draw him closer. He tightened his hold until her breathing joined his, their hearts beating in time. A breeze whispered across the floor, the sea shushed like a mother comforting a crying child.

“We wanted you to be happy. We were going to tell you after we got home. Uncle Enzo was afraid you’d blame yourself, thinking you could have saved him. It wasn’t your fault. You can’t save other people. They have to want to change.”

Lita pushed back. Her eyes darkened in pain. “I could have helped him. Jane…it’s her fault. She knew. She knew everything. I need to talk to her, now.”

“Are you sure? It’s not going to change anything.”

“Maybe she’ll finally admit she was wrong. Maybe she’ll be sorry.”

“It’s the middle of the day there. Won’t she be at work?”

“So? She has help, she can take a call.”

Lita went to the phone, but he had to dial for her, she didn’t know all the international codes. He handed her the phone and waited next to her.

“Jane? It’s me, Lita. … I’m in Italy. … Yes. Did you know my father had MS? That he killed himself? … It matters. You knew about his family, didn’t you? I know you. You were with him longer than one night. You would have talked about things. He must have told you his sister was in San Francisco. That’s why you never wanted me to meet Lorenzo’s family. Admit it!”

Lorenzo slipped his arm around her waist. She leaned into him, still gripping the phone. He waited. Jane finally must have something to say.

“Did Lee know? … How can you say that? Those people would have loved me, taken real care of me, like they do now. …” Lita dropped the phone and threw herself into him.

He pulled the phone up by the cord. Jane’s voice shouted.

“Hello,” he said. “Lita dropped the phone.”

Jane took a deep breath. “See what you and your family have done to her? Lee and I could have gotten her to do something with her life. Then she would have outgrown all this nonsense.”