Savage Pride

17

“I believe there’s chalk in the garage somewhere—that way, your drawing doesn’t disappear quite so quickly.” I’ve heard Mr. De Rossi yell at his boys, so I know he can be scary, but right now, his voice is calm and soothing, so I’m not worried. If anything, I’m surprised he’s come out since he’s usually busy with work. “I like the way it fades. That’s the cool part,” I tell him. He nods as though he understands now. “What are you drawing?” “A house for myself without my sister where I’m the only one who gets to play with the toys. She says I mess up her doll’s hair and won’t let me play with it, but I don’t. I always brush her hair carefully.” “Ah … now I understand.” “Gia’s just being mean cause she’s older than me.” “Well, I suppose you could move into my house. It would mean never seeing your sister again—no birthdays or Christmas mornings with her. No riding bicycles or painting with her. And you two share a room, right? You’d have to sleep all by yourself.” I look up at his huge house behind us. It’s fun to play hide-and-seek in, but I’m not sure I want to be there all alone. No more Gia? No cuddles at bedtime. No singing while we clean up our room together. No sharing treats or laughing at cartoons together. No more Gia hugs. When I look back at Mr. De Rossi, I can barely see him through the tears. He squats until his eyes are right in front of mine. “Sometimes we get angry, but we forgive our family. Always. They are the best part of our lives.” I nod. “I’m gonna go home, now.” He smiles, and I take that as my cue to leave. I run all the way back home. When I step through the doorway to the room I share with my sister, she’s on the bed, crying. “What’s wrong?” I ask, confused why she’d be upset. Gia sits up, eyes round. “I’m sorry I got mad. You can play with my dolls.” Dolls forgotten, I run to the bed and climb on, wrapping my arms around my big sister. Mom found us an hour later, asleep on the bed in each other’s arms. It wasn’t the only fight we ever had, but it was the last time I wished away my sister. Silvano had a way with people, even children. He was good at hearing people, which is a rare quality to possess. Lost in the memory, I don’t notice someone entering the room until a throat clears behind me. I startle, hand on my chest, when I whip around to find Zeno leaning in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry to frighten you. I just wanted to see if you needed any help.” “I thought you and your brother had to mingle with your guests.” Away from the help. My sympathy for his loss shrivels as I recall his arrogant refusal to allow Nevio time with me. “Whoever thought it was a good idea for a grieving family to host a party was a masochist.” His lips thin with the attempt at a smile. “It’s fine if I’m gone for a few minutes.” He’s allowing me to witness how drained he’s become over the past few days, a glimpse into his struggles. It’s been unquestionably challenging, and I realize I haven’t given him much grace. Someone in the midst of a crisis should not be judged according to their behavior during that time. Yes, but why would you cast me away to the kitchens in front of my friend, then sneak away to help me? Confusion puts me off balance, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. “I don’t think I told you yet, but I’m sorry about your dad.” Pain, unfettered and raw, lances through him. “I’ve heard that so many times tonight, and every time I express my appreciation, put on a brave face, and assure people we’re managing well … that everything is fine. But it’s not. There’s nothing fine or fair about this.” His agonized words hang in the quiet between us, filling the gaping distance. Neither of us moves to step closer to one another, though we are at opposite ends of the room. There’s a safety to our distance as if a protective bubble exists around us and neither of us wants to risk upsetting the balance. I can’t tell what’s unfolding between us, but I’m entranced and don’t want it to end. No matter how angry he makes me, there will always be an even larger part of me that desperately wants to call him a friend again. I can’t fathom why after so many years, but it’s the truth. The hint of an olive branch from him assuages years of hurt and confusion. “You’re right. It’s not fair at all,” I say softly. “Life is utterly unpredictable—that’s why we have to make the most of each moment we have.” To forgive and forget. To embrace our families and hold them close even when we’re angry. His father was the one to teach me that. “And what would you have me do to make the most of this moment?” My eyes glance out the window to the gathering of people. “You could take advantage of the opportunity to see family.” “And if I don’t want to go out there?” I peer at the pile of bowls and flatware in the sink, then bite my lip with a smirk. “There’s plenty of dishes to be washed.” Zeno huffs an almost laugh, then slips his suit jacket off his shoulders. He deposits the jacket over the back of a chair and rolls up his white shirtsleeves to his elbows before ambling toward me. I can’t believe this is happening. Have I stumbled into some alternate universe where my life is unrecognizable? A week before, if I’d been told I’d be back home doing the dishes with Zeno De Rossi, I would have fallen over laughing at the absurdity. Yet here I am, sliding on an apron before handing Z one of his own. “Can’t have you getting all dirty.” “A little dirt never hurt anyone,” he murmurs. “Now, where do we start?” We work in companionable silence for a half hour. Even if I knew what to say, I wouldn’t want to interrupt the moment. I’d planned to leave the mess for Cecelia to clean in the morning, but there’d been something compelling in Zeno’s manner that overrode my petty grievances. He’d offered up a rare showing of vulnerability. I hadn’t stolen this knowledge by watching him covertly. He’d come to me with his shields lowered, something he hadn’t done for years. We get most of the dishes either loaded in one of the two dish washers or cleaned and set on towels to dry. No one interrupts, and for once, our history is forgotten. We are simply two people helping each other complete a necessary task. Once I’ve hung up my apron, I wander back to the window. “People will start leaving soon. You should be there to say goodbye.”