Say Ye (36 page)

“Morning,” he said as she stepped into the hall. He’d waited for her, pacing the hall, wanting, needing to be with her. “How are you?”

She looked away. “I need to have some breakfast.”

“I’ll make you something,” he said, following her downstairs.

She kept going, averting her eyes from the family portraits lining the walls, the photos from their wedding, blank spaces for future children. She paused on the bottom step. He knew she liked the fuzzy feeling of the carpet between her toes. He leaned toward her and took a deep breath. How could he have left her, when her fragrance alone made him reach out to her? His hands hovered over her arms.

“You can’t cook.”

“Celeste taught me to make eggs, scrambled or fried.”

“No thanks.”

“Please, let me--”

“I don’t want to upset Uncle Enzo anymore. I’m only still here because of the baby.”

“You don’t mean that. We talked about this before. I know you won’t leave me.” He put his hand on Lita’s shoulder.

“Don’t.” She shrugged him off and padded across the cold floor, into the kitchen.

He followed her, each step an effort. Celeste, poking around in the refrigerator, turned as they entered, while Uncle Enzo glanced up from the paper. They greeted each other. Celeste asked if they wanted some breakfast.

“I’ll make myself a smoothie. I want to take a walk,” Lita said.

Lorenzo got himself a cup of coffee. “Do you want a cup?” Lorenzo turned to her.

“No, thanks. Too much caffeine might be bad for the baby.”

“I have a lot to learn.”

Lita shrugged at his comment. She brushed her hand across her throat.

“I’ll make that for you, you sit down,” he said as Lita rose.

She eased herself back into the chair. Celeste offered to make some French toast, Lita’s favorite. Lorenzo felt Lita watching him. He tried to look competent and controlled. At least she still wanted to look at him.

“I’ll walk with you,” Lorenzo said as he put her drink on the table.

She glanced up at him. Her eyes flashed before growing tender. He gazed at her, studied her, with all the tender longing of their courtship. She closed her eyes. He knew she needed him. Lita spent the rest of the meal studying her plate. Lorenzo drank a smoothie but didn’t eat. He wanted to watch Lita. She pushed away her plate and stood, went to the sink, got a drink of water. He wondered what she was thinking. She stood taller, her hands around her stomach. She tensed when Lorenzo touched her back.

“You ready?”

“I want to go by myself,” Lita said.

“I feel like a walk.”

Lita shrugged and walked out as he held the door for her.

Lorenzo watched her as they strode down the steep sidewalk, cars rushing past, a few people out, strolling, the morning fog floating, misty, around them, obscuring everything but their immediate surroundings. She’d lost weight--that couldn’t be good. She didn’t look quite herself anymore. Her eyes weren’t sunny and she frowned a lot, all his fault. He saw the rigidity of her back. He almost ran to catch up with her. She turned her head to him and stepped off the sidewalk.

“Lita!” he shouted as he pulled her back, his arms crushed her as the hot whoosh of the passing car crackled against them. He lifted her back onto the sidewalk and folded her against him. She leaned into him. He couldn’t tell which one of them trembled more. “Thank God I came with you. You need to be more careful, especially now. The baby and I need you,” he whispered. His breath blew the tendrils of hair loosened around her ear.

Caressing the small of her back, he pulled her closer. His body ached for her. She pushed him away and walked home. He tried talking to her, but she wouldn’t respond. As they approached their front door, he grasped her arm.

“You and the baby need me, Lita. I know you want our baby to have a father around.”

“Our baby? I see, when it’s in your interest, you’ll claim us. Isn’t that how your father kept your mother under his thumb?”

He dropped her arm. Her words pierced him like a hundred pinpricks. He’d told her too much.

“See you later,” he said.

“Too early to go to the club again, isn’t it?” she said to his back as he walked away.

He turned to her, unable to assume his detached mask, unable to hide the pain. “Fine, I’ll stay here,” he said.

He brushed past her with a frown as he went into the house. He jogged up the stairs, not looking back. He wouldn’t leave this time, but he might as well be gone now. He closed his office door.

27

Lita leaned against the heavy door and breathed. She inhaled the last drifting hint of Lorenzo’s scent wafting from her clothes, where he’d pressed himself close to her. Once, after seeing him with another woman the first time, right after they got engaged, she leaned against this door as she did now. She remembered how crushed she felt but sure she would be okay without him. But, she told herself then, she didn’t want okay, she wanted a warm, happy family and a glorious, intense love--she wanted Lorenzo. She still did. She shouldn’t have said those hurtful things to him, but she trembled, thinking of how they might argue if she tried to apologize.

Celeste and Uncle Enzo sat at the kitchen table when she walked in, talking in low tones. They stopped when Lita approached.

“How are you? Can I get you anything?” Celeste asked.

“No thank you,” Lita said. She sat near Uncle Enzo.

“I think we may have forgotten we’re having everyone over later for your birthday party and to say goodbye to Gianni. Do you want me to ask Sophia to have it at her house instead?”

“No. I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. I want to, for Gianni. The family shouldn’t have to be affected by my problems.”

“You mean Lorenzo’s,” Uncle Enzo said. “Are there things you haven’t told us, my dear? You shouldn’t have to put up with his behavior alone. I won’t see you suffer, like Annamaria did.”

“Enzo! You of all people should be more understanding of Lorenzo. We all know he is not his father. Perhaps if you spoke to him, truthfully, about your own marriage, he might be helped. Surely you want him to know his child?” Celeste said.

Uncle Enzo nodded and left the room. Lita glanced at Celeste and rubbed her hand across the table, the same table she’d sat at with Lorenzo the night he proposed. She cradled her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

“Lita, I know Lorenzo has said hurtful things, you both have. But I don’t believe he meant what you thought he did, about the baby.” Celeste sat next to her and patted her hand.

Lita knew she was probably right, but she was so tired.

“We will support you, whatever you choose, but remember, many marriages have recovered from worse trials: Enzo’s and my son Frank’s, for example. That is the miracle of love, of forgiveness. Now, do you want to bake with me, or would you rather rest? Sophia will be over in a few hours to help with dinner.”

“I’d like to, but I should shower first.”

Celeste nodded and Lita went upstairs, feeling heavy and exhausted, hearing all the whisperings of her own failures, the excuses she made for Lorenzo every time.

Undressing for her shower, she noticed some light spotting and her stomach dropped. She told herself over and over it was normal. She’d read a lot of pregnancy and baby books already. Still, as she stood letting the steamy water patter against her, she began to shake. She couldn’t cry anymore, for she felt dry as a desert wind inside. Turning, she let the water rinse her face for a moment before inhaling deeply as she washed.

If only Lorenzo would hear her, would know, as he had before, her need. Even when he hurt her with his flirting, his entanglements, when he would hold her, sometimes all night, she calmed, as if Lorenzo’s arms snug around her would keep her safe, as if his soft words would erase their problems. They did, too, for a while, but something always happened again. Each time her sense of herself and faith in him peeled away, like stripping layer after layer of old wallpaper. Eventually they’d both be bare drywall, nothing to protect them, so ruined nothing could be salvaged.

“I’m sorry,” Lita murmured to Sophia and Celeste a few hours later as they surveyed the pan of charred meatballs Lita had tended. The acrid smell made Lita swallow, her stomach cramped.

“It’s okay, honey,” Sophia said. She took the pan from her and placed it in the sink. “I know you usually bake yours. Why don’t you relax for a bit? Maybe go see how Carlo, my dad, and Lorenzo are doing?”

Lita shook her head. She couldn’t see Lorenzo yet. “I’ll do the lettuce for the salad.”

Lita cleaned out the sink as Celeste and Sophia went on with their cheerful exchange. Those two never ran out of things to talk about, from the latest wedding to children to neighborhood news. Usually Lita listened more carefully but now she let their words surround her, cocooning her in their domestic normalcy.

Lita sat through dinner, tried to smile and listen, forced herself to eat, her limbs aching and heavy. Tired of Lorenzo’s problems, tired of needing him, tired of pretending to be okay. Her ability to fake being happy disturbed her. It had before her engagement; it did now, when she and Lorenzo had troubles. She glanced at him. He didn’t try, he brooded, but everyone was used to his moods, so they ignored him. She touched her necklace, the heart he’d given her what seemed a lifetime ago. The weight of it crushed her.

Lee eyed her suspiciously. He must be concerned. But after dinner she managed to avoid talking to anyone by busying herself in the kitchen and then sneaking into Uncle Enzo’s study. She looked around the still, darkened room and clicked on the desk lamp, which shed a yellow glow out around the wide old desk. A green leather blotter sat in the middle, a pen tray, a phone. So orderly, like Lorenzo’s home office upstairs. They were a lot alike, Lorenzo and his uncle.

She wanted to talk to Lorenzo, to say she was sorry for the hurt between them. She opened the door, stepping back when she saw Gianni standing there.

“I wanted to talk to you before I leave,” he said.

Lita nodded and moved back into the room. They stood just inside the door. Talk and laughter came from the living room.

“Will you be okay? I’m sorry about last night.”

“Thanks, Gianni, but it wasn’t your fault. It was nice of you to drive him home.”

“He’s my cousin, I love him. I love you.”

The way he said it, Lita understood why Lorenzo became so jealous. Why couldn’t Lorenzo say he loved her like that, so easily? He hardly ever told her anymore, except when they made love. A tear escaped. Guilt prickled her, like the thorns on a cactus, for comparing him to Gianni, wondering again if she had somehow caused Gianni’s feelings for her.

“Don’t cry, please,” Gianni said, wiping her tear with his fingertips. “You and Lorenzo had a fight last night, didn’t you?”

He still caressed her face, touched her hair. She shouldn’t let him, but her arms were too heavy to move to stop him.

“Yes, I’m pregnant but I don’t think he wants the baby,” she whispered as he leaned in to hear her.

Lita stepped back at a yell, almost a growl, low and territorial, like a dog guarding his turf. Lorenzo shoved in and pushed Gianni into the desk. Lita screamed as best she could as her throat strangled. Footsteps, scuffling and loud, echoed before the click of the overhead light as Lorenzo shouted at Gianni.

“Don’t touch her! Thought you’d get something before you leave?”

“Get off!” Gianni swung at him. “She’s upset, you asshole!”

Lorenzo punched him, right in the face. Lita screamed again as blood trickled from Gianni’s nose. Not again, not Gianni. The room became close, Pete and Carlo grabbed Lorenzo, pulling him into the hall as Joe whispered to Gianni. Lita saw Joanna take her hand, while Sophia stood in front of her, trying to speak, but Lita couldn’t hear anything except all the shouting. She followed Sophia into the foyer, where Lorenzo struggled against Pete and Carlo. She shivered, she wanted a blanket. Sophia hugged her.

“Why are you blaming me?” Lorenzo shouted. “He tried to kiss my wife!”

“I was trying to help her,” Gianni yelled. “Put your energy into not kissing other women!”