The House in Amalfi (35 page)

Mifune was working near the swimming pool when he saw Aurora coming down the path after her talk with her father.

She was walking slowly, her head held high, seemingly unconcerned, yet as soon as she knew she was out of sight her shoulders and her head drooped. She sank to the ground and lay there curled into a ball, knees under her chin, arms clasped over her head, tight as any babe in the womb, signaling anguish from every bone in her body.

At first Mifune thought she was crying, but then he realized these were not sobs. Aurora was moaning, ghostly sounds that came from the desperate hidden part of her over which she had no control. The beautiful young woman he had known since she was a child had reverted to the wild, a small, hurt animal who did not know what to do.

Mifune went and sat beside her, but Aurora was so consumed with her own angst she did not even notice him until he spoke.

“Little one,” he said gently, “there is no reason for all this pain. Shock, yes of course, but not this pain. Your father still loves you the way he always has, right from the moment he first saw you. As did your mother.”

Aurora’s head shot up. She glared at him from under a curtain of dark hair. “My
mother
? Even you knew who she really
was, Mifune. Everyone knew except me. I was the dope no one could bring themselves to tell the truth to. The bastard child of Jon-Boy Harrington and a worthless woman. . . .”

“Never call Isabella worthless.” For once Mifune’s voice was sharp. “Your birth mother was a lady; she was gentle, kind; she was a pleasure to know. . . .”

Aurora’s laugh was bitter. “What a combination I am, Mifune. And all the while I thought I was the daughter of Lorenzo and Marella Pirata. I made myself believe I counted in life because of them, that I was somebody instead of the nobody I’ve somehow always known in my heart I really was. Do you know what it feels like to
know
that, Mifune? To wake each day with a question on your lips:
Who am I today? The good or the bad, the light or the dark?
Saying,
‘Please, God, let me be the “happy” one today; don’t let me fall into that black pit of depression again. . . .’
No, of course you can’t know that. Only those who suffer from this handicap, this giant black dog that beats you down one day, then reprieves you the next, can know. Sometimes he deludes you into believing you could be a whole person, not some poor torn soul searching for herself, striving to get out of bed in the morning, to find a reason to go on living and behave ‘normally.’ Ahh, Mifune, you know something? I’m twenty-one years old and I still don’t know what ‘normal’ is.”

Mifune did not touch her because he knew she would draw back into herself and he wanted her to keep on talking, to try to talk herself through this bad moment. He wanted desperately to help her, but he knew she needed more than his small words of wisdom.

“Little one,” he said gently, “I, too, had to search for the person who was ‘myself.’ I was left an orphan at the age of two. I never knew my parents. I was farmed out to an uncle and aunt while they lay ill in the far northern reaches of
Japan. First my parents died; then my aunt died. There was no money for an education. I was a poor peasant and I went to work alongside my uncle. I was forced to come to terms with that and find my own kind of peace. There was no love in my life. I was not as fortunate as you, Aurora, to find a family to love me.”

“A secondhand family,” Aurora said bitterly.

“What the Piratas gave you was not secondhand love. It was pure love, and you must never forget that. I have watched you struggle with depression, Aurora. I know how hard it is for you, but I am begging you now to understand, to know that Lorenzo and Marella loved you as much as they loved Nico. There was never any difference, not just in the way you were both treated but in their acceptance of you as their own child, and in the gift of their love. Do not throw away that gift, Aurora. Let your father find the help you need to overcome those days when the black dog doesn’t want you to get out of bed, when he allows you no pleasure in life, when he sees no reason for you to live. Your father has always helped you; you know he will do anything for you. He will help you now.”

Curled back in that tight fetal ball, Aurora retreated from Mifune’s all-knowing eyes behind her curtain of hair. She didn’t speak for a while because she was thinking and she didn’t want Mifune to know those thoughts. The black dog weighing down her shoulders had gone as suddenly as he appeared. Now the path was clear, the way rosy as a sunset. She knew exactly what she must do. And she knew who she wanted to accompany her on that final journey.

She got unsteadily to her feet. “Thank you, Mifune, for your advice,” she said, bowing to him. Then sweeping her long dark hair out of her eyes, she walked slowly along the path leading to the cliff and to the sea where Jon-Boy and her
mother had died and where she had been born. She took the
scalatinella
leading to the Mistress’s House and to her half sister, Lamour Harrington.

Unnoticed, Mifune followed at a discreet distance. There was something in Aurora’s sudden change of attitude that sent out warning signals. Her too-careful body language made him sure she was hiding something. Aurora was unpredictable and right now she was dangerous. He did not know what she might do.

As had become my habit, I was sitting in the belvedere with my glass of wine, watching the evening sky turn astonishing shades of pink and orange. The silvery sea reflected the hot colors until I felt I was in the middle of a giant kaleidoscope where every angle shimmered and shone, changing every second.

“Mia sorella,”
a quiet voice said.

I looked up and saw Aurora standing by the belvedere. She had called me her “sister” and I knew that Lorenzo had told her, but I couldn’t tell from her tone whether she was being sarcastic or pleasant.

“Don’t get up,” she said. “I’ll just sit here, if I may?”

“Please.” I waved an arm at the empty chair and asked if she would like some wine. When she said she would, I poured her a glass, and we sat together in uncomfortable silence, staring out to the sea, avoiding looking at each other.

“So we are sisters,” she said at last.

I nodded. “Lorenzo told me, too.”

“Did you love your father very much?” she asked, rather wistfully, I thought.

“Very much. I’ve learned that he wasn’t perfect, but then, who of us is?” I shrugged. “Certainly not I. But Jon-Boy was a good man, a kind man. And you know what else he was, Aurora?” I smiled, remembering. “Jon-Boy was
fun
. We had
such good times when I was a little kid, especially after he brought me here to Italy. All my good memories are of our times together in Rome, and then here at this house. That’s why I came back. My personal life was falling apart and I wanted to try to recapture the feeling of true happiness I remembered from then.”

She stared curiously at me with those huge dark eyes that seemed to reflect no light. “And how did it feel, that kind of happiness?” she asked.

I looked at her, shocked. This child of love and privilege was asking me, the kid who was shunted from house to house, who was dumped on the Mortimers and who rarely saw her father . . . . Could this girl
really
be asking me what true happiness felt like?

She waited seriously for my reply. “It took me a while to find this out, Aurora,” I said finally, “but I believe happiness is to be found in the small things of life. Don’t go searching for the holy grail, for goodness’ sakes; just take any happiness you can, right there at that moment you find it. It’s in small things like when you’re dunking a chocolate chip cookie into a glass of ice-cold milk, anticipating how it will taste, the chill and the chocolate, the melting texture on your tongue. It’s in the purr of a cat who curls herself up on your lap, giving you her warmth and sharing her contentment. It’s even in Affare’s joyful bark of greeting, and her settling comfortably at your father’s feet while you play an evening game of backgammon together. It’s when you dance with a man and his eyes smile at you, telling you you look wonderful and that he’s thrilled to be with you. . . . It’s in the pretty new dress that makes you feel good. . . . It’s in the softness of the bed that envelops you after you’ve exhausted yourself working in the hot sun. It’s even here, right now, Aurora. It’s you and I, two newly found sisters, sharing a glass of wine and together watching the sun set.”

Her black eyes were fixed on me. “Is that all there is?” she asked sadly.

I was in too deep here; I couldn’t handle this kind of despair, this soul’s worth of sadness. “It’s not all,
carina,
” I said gently, “but it’s a start, don’t you think?”

“And did you find it then? The happiness you were looking for here?”

“Now I have. Thanks to my lovely Amalfi house and its garden. And to my old friend Mifune. And of course to your father.”

“You two are in love.”

I caught the flicker of resentment in her voice. “I love Lorenzo,” I admitted. “But then as you know, he’s an easy man to love.”

“He told me you look like your father.
Our
father.”

“He told me that, too. I have pictures of Jon-Boy, if you’d like to see them.”

A mask of caution descended over her face. “I think I’d like that,” she said, but I could tell she was apprehensive. After all, it wasn’t easy being presented with a birth father and a sister you had never known about until that day.

I said impulsively, “Look, Jon-Boy was as good a father as a free spirit like him could be. You would have liked him, but I think you were better off with Lorenzo for a father.” She looked surprised, but I wanted her to know the truth as I now knew it.

I brought out the leather case containing the old snapshots of Jon-Boy and me, most of them taken right here in Amalfi. There was also a clipping from
The New York Times
praising his novel, with a photograph of him looking handsome and amused, a lock of black hair sliding over his eyes.

Aurora looked at the photographs in silence. She read the article, then folded it carefully up again. She stared for a long
time at a snapshot of Jon-Boy and me standing on this terrace, holding hands, beaming into the camera. She ran a gentle finger over it and said, “I can see you were happy together, Lamour. I’m sorry you lost him.”

I pushed down the lump in my throat. “And I’m sorry you never knew him. But we both gained something, Aurora. You gained a wonderful father in Lorenzo.”

“And you gained a lover.”

We were on tricky ground again; I heard it in her suddenly steely voice. I didn’t answer, busying myself replacing the photos in their case.

“Lamour . . . ?”

I glanced up, wondering what was coming.

“I really need to get to know you. I think I
need
you. I’ve never had a real woman friend, not even in school. I was always so . . . different . . . you see. . . .”

Oh God, the poor girl was damaged and here I was judging her. None of us could cure Aurora. We could only in our simplistic way try to encourage her. I had to be there for her. “Of course I’ll be your friend, Aurora,” I said eagerly. “After all, that’s what sisters are supposed to be.”

She held out her hand to me. “Then come with me. Let’s be alone together for a while, Lamour. Just you and me. Let’s go for a sail; I’ll take you to my secret place, a cave I discovered. Not even Nico knows about it. But now I want to share it with you.”

It was a bit late to go sailing, the sun was already setting, but I leaped at the chance to become her confidante, keeper of her secrets. After all, she was my half sister and I was also about to become her stepmother. Bonding was a priority.

“Let’s go,
sorella mia,
” I said with a new lilt in my voice, and we walked together down the flights of rocky stairs to the jetty where the boats waited.

_______

From his position at the top of the cliff, Mifune saw them go. He saw Aurora on the jetty untie the mooring lines of her father’s old fishing boat. He saw Lamour bound gaily on board, then hold out her hand, laughing, to help Aurora make the leap from the jetty. He saw Aurora fiddling with the controls. He knew she had never sailed her father’s boat before. She scarcely knew what she was doing, but of course Lamour was unaware of that.

Every nerve in Mifune’s body warned him of danger. He turned and made for the Castello and Lorenzo as fast as an old man could.