The Legacy (67 page)

Leaning back against the pillows, I stretch out my leg.
Adagio
rubs
some
lotion
between
his
hands
and gently
massages it into my leg. I close my eyes and sigh as he performs
the ritual he'd started years ago whenever my leg gives me any
trouble.

“Thank you,” I say softly.
“You are welcome.” He looks into my eyes. “It is nothing
compared to the sacrifice you made that day in the rain.” He
runs his fingers over the long scar below my knee.
“Not very pretty, is it?”
“No,” he answers, leaning down and kissing it. “It is
beautiful because it is a part of you.” He continues to run his
finger over the raised line of skin. “This scar will always remind
me of how fragile life is, and it helps me remember to never
take you for granted.”
I press a hand into his hair and caress his face. “You
never have.”
Pouring
more
lotion
into
his
hand,
he
continues
to
massage my leg. “It has been a wonderful day.”
“It has been. And it's so good to see Ingo again. I will
miss his little family when they go back to the states.”
“So will I.”
When Adagio is finished, I thank him again and we get in
bed.
“Well,” he says, turning off the light and pulling me close,
“only two more weddings to go, Mrs. St. John.”
I smile, snuggling deeper in his arms. “It won't be long at
all”.
“Time is passing by quickly.” His voice is soft.
I hear the unspoken words in his somber tone. Cupping
his cheek, I kiss his lips in the darkness. “I love you, Adagio.”
“I love you,” he murmurs back, deepening the kiss, and I
silently relish his warmth as his touch transports me to another
world–a
world where
our
love
roams
free
and we
are
untouched by time.

We watch the growth and progression of our family
with quiet contentment.
Phillip and Mali have adjusted to married life well. I am
very happy they chose to live with us, and Adagio is pleased to
have
Phillip
take
over
the
position
of
head chef
at
the
restaurant. He trusts Phillip implicitly and knows the kitchen
crew is in good hands.
Three months after the wedding, we take a trip back to
the states and spend a week with Ingo and his family. We
treasure the time we are able to spend with our grandchildren.
While we are in the states, we spend a few days in Salt Lake
City. We relish being alone in the big house and again soak in
the many memories we've made there through the years.
The following year our family is abundantly blessed with
more grandchildren. Ingo's wife gives birth to a son they name
Patrick, after his biological grandfather, and Phillip and Mali are
blessed with
triplet
girls.
They
named one
Marcella,
after
Adagio's
mother,
one,
Geneva,
after
mine,
and the
third,
Jessica. Needless to say, we are very touched by their name
choices. The babies are small and have to remain in the hospital
for a few weeks, but they are healthy and grow quickly.
We love our grandchildren beyond words and take every
opportunity to spoil them as much as possible.

Within four years, we welcome three more grandchildren,
including a son born to Mali and Phillip. There is no question
as to what he will be named, and Adagio is thrilled to finally
have a grandson carry on his name.

Isabelle falls in love and marries a young chef working at
the restaurant. Martino Battiato is a wonderful man from an
affluent family who loves Isabelle with all his heart. The two
were made for each other and are very happy.

Ian returns from college in California. The next year he
marries Serena, an old friend, who also happens to be Martino's
sister. We are pleased that both siblings are settled only twenty
minutes away in Venice. We love having them so close and visit
them often. Life is very good.

As I enter this new phase of my life, I find the purpose of life ever
present in my mind. The years are passing quickly, but time is also ringing
more eternal. And my thoughts are permanently fixed on the important
things.

The years come and go, and more grandchildren are
born. Many holidays see the big house full of running and
laughing
children
as
we
keep
up
our
tradition
of
getting
together every other year for Christmas.

And every evening, Adagio and I relax on the veranda
and enjoy the sunset. We discuss our children and what is going
on in their lives. They are all doing well and continually striving
to live good lives. They have trials in life just like everyone else
in the world, but they get through them and continue to
endure. We can't ask for more for them.

After decades of absence, the nightmares have started
again. I try to pinpoint a trigger, but there is none, and though
they aren't as vivid or intense as they once were, they still cause
me to awaken in a cold sweat. On these nights, Adagio holds
me, giving me comfort. And when his arms are not enough, he
makes love to me and helps me forget. His kisses and touches
are like a healing balm, and I eagerly lose myself in his love.

I find myself passing many days in analytical thought and
conversations with Adagio about the dreams, but nothing
seems to bring me the clarity I seek.
So I try to let it go.

With
the
passing
of
years,
the
sporadic
nightmares
continue, causing me to grow restless. I try to stay busy, doing
charity work, traveling with Adagio, and anything else I can do
to keep emotionally and physically active, but it still isn't
enough to calm the restlessness. It is almost like there is
something I am supposed to be doing, only I don't know what
it is. Adagio begins to feel it as well.

We
finally
sit
down
and discuss
our
feelings.
After
pondering on it a while, the answer to my dilemma comes.
And it is an answer that completely surprises us both.

A sense of melancholy fills me as I take in the familiar
scenic beauty of North Carolina. It has been many years since
we visited the state of my birth, and now here we are, back in
Asheville.

And I have no idea why.
Pete and Donna have long since passed away, and Velma
and her husband moved to New York years ago, so I don't
know why I've felt such a strong need to return.
We have been in North Carolina for a while now, and
though we miss the family, we've enjoyed ourselves immensely.
However, each morning when I awaken, I carry the hope that I
will finally discover what has drawn me back. For now, we will
just tour the state and stop where it feels right.

We've been in Winston Salem for two months and plan
to
stay
another
month
before
going
back
to
Italy.
I've
thoroughly enjoyed our time here, and though I still don't have
a clue why we
are
here, there is still time to find out.
After spending the morning doing laundry, shopping for
groceries, and writing letters to the family, we decide to grab
some lunch at the mall food court. Adagio pulls into a parking
spot, then comes around and opens the door for me. I thank
him, giving him my hand.
Walking to the entrance, I glance over and find him
staring at me. I smile. “What are you thinking about, my love?”
He smiles back slowly. “I was just thinking that no matter
how old we get, you will always be the most beautiful thing in
the world to me.”
I squeeze his hand. “I feel the same way about you.”
When we enter the mall, he whispers, “Okay,
amore
, don't
look in any store windows until after we have eaten. Otherwise,
I will starve waiting for you to shop.”
I laugh. “Don't worry. I won't put you through that
today.
Besides,
we
already
have
plenty
of
souvenirs
for
everyone, so I'll probably only shop for things we will need
until we leave for home.” I chuckle as Adagio feigns relief.
We walk through the mall at a leisurely pace, observing
people coming and going. The crowd is more teenagers than
adults. Leaning over to Adagio, I whisper, “I suddenly feel very
old.”
He grins. “Well, if you are old, baby, I guess I am
ancient.”
I pat his hand. “Oh, you're not ancient, just very mature.”
He smirks and I laugh.
We pass by a group of rowdy teenagers. The girls are
immodestly dressed with various piercings in their ears and on
their faces. The guys are equally disturbing, wearing baggy
clothing and multiple piercings as well.
I remind myself not to be judgmental, and that I don't
know anything about them or their home life. I am still
pondering on the group when a young lady walks by pushing a
cleaning cart. Looking at her, she can't be more than eighteen
or nineteen years old. She is very curvy, her uniform is neatly
pressed and fits her well. Her skin tone is slightly tan, and her
wavy hair, which is pulled back in a ponytail, is the blackest
black I have ever seen. Thin wisps of hair softly frame her face.
Taking in her facial features, I muse that except for the hard
look in her gray eyes, she's very pretty. She looks as if she is
angry at the world and I sense a great deal of pain behind those
eyes.
Taking Adagio by surprise, I stop and watch the girl as
she stops to change the bag in a garbage can located next to the
group of teenagers. One of the guys in the group points at her
and they all start calling out hateful things. It is obvious the
young woman is doing her best to ignore them. She finishes
changing the garbage and tosses the full bag on top of the cart.
As she moves past the group, one of the guys bumps into
the cart, pushing it over. The garbage sack breaks and cleaning
supplies scatter everywhere.
The girl swears softly, then stoops down and begins
picking up the garbage that has fallen out of the bag. The
teenagers laugh and walk off.
Adagio and I look at each other sadly. We approach and
begin helping her pick everything up. Glancing at Adagio, I can
tell he is a little annoyed that no one bothers to stop and help.
People just step around the objects and continue on their way.
Anger flashes in the young woman's eyes. “You don't
have to do that,” she says harshly. “I can pick it up myself.”
“We know you can,” I say softly, smiling at her. “We just
wanted to help.”
Her eyes soften a little. She says nothing more as we
collect all the things that have fallen. When Adagio puts the last
rolls of paper towels on the cart, she looked at us and says,
“Thanks.” Her voice is a little softer this time.
“You are very welcome,” Adagio says.
Glancing at us once more, she walks away.
“She is in a lot of pain,” I say softly.
“I think so too,” Adagio agrees, taking my hand.