Corsica Gate

by Robena Grant

  I’ll go straight to his condo and talk to him.

  After making the decision, Dia slept well.

  She arrived in San Diego with a determination to fight for what she believed could be a good relationship. Everyone had spats and misunderstandings. Passionate argument was something she understood. She’d watched her mother and father, and Marco and Maria, as they battled things out. Funny though, she and Jason had never had any spats. Not ever.

  She rested her carry-on luggage at her feet on the moving walkway and stood to one side so those who were in a hurry could walk on past. Mama and Frank were coming to pick her up. She’d ask them to drop her at Carlo’s. He could drive her home later, or not. She grimaced. She might be getting a taxi. But this had to be done face to face. She looked up to see someone running through the middle of the two walkways, and caught her breath sharply. He bumped into someone, apologized, and then spotted her. He looked tired, harried. He doubled back keeping pace with the walkway for a little bit.

  “Carlo?”

  “I’m in a desperate hurry. Got to run.”

  Her heart started to pound. Questions clashed with ideas, and the whole time the walkway kept taking her further away from him. “Where are you going?” she yelled.

  “Italy.” He made a motion with his fingers for her to call. “Plane is boarding. Call my mother.” With that he took off at a fast jog, his small duffel bag bobbing on his shoulder.

  Call his mother? Dia turned to look behind her, her mouth still open, and watched his receding form. What the hell? He’s going to Italy? What an overbearing control freak? He won’t even allow his sister a bit of romance?

  She felt sick. Her stomach did a flip-flop and her legs trembled. She looked down at her shaking hands and held them tight across her stomach.

  He’s going to Italy? How could she have been so wrong? Why had she believed she could give him a chance to explain? The walkway ending approached. She could go back. Find out which flight was about to leave for Italy. But if he’d been in that much of a hurry then it meant they were about to close the doors. She’d only make herself sicker. She hurried toward baggage claim.

  While waiting for the luggage to arrive, she thought over her wish. She’d asked for a sign on first meeting with Carlo. Or wait…had she said first meeting, or first being? Being. It had been being, hadn’t it? She was so pathetic, still grasping at straws.

  Her eyes welled up, and she blinked back the moisture. This was no time to second-guess things. She needed food. And sleep. And then she’d think about everything. She grabbed her luggage, pulled up the handle, and dragged it behind her. On the pavement, she stood for a few minutes her thoughts still jangling, and drew in the sweet smells of home. She wouldn’t say anything to Mama or Frank. Not yet.

  She waved as they slowed and, without turning off the engine, popped the trunk of the Cadillac. She loaded her suitcase and jumped into the backseat before anyone could yell at them to get moving.

  “How are you, Dia?” Mama asked, as Frank slid back into the flow of traffic.

  “Tired. But okay.”

  “It was good, yes?”

  “Excellent, Mama. Nico and his family are wonderful people, so gracious and generous.”

  “How is my Nico?” Frank asked. “He is doing well?”

  “Very well. I…ah…I think he’s in love.”

  “With you?” Mama’s head spun around with such swiftness, Dia wondered how she hadn’t ended up with a whiplash injury.

  She smiled, and then shook her head. “With Susan.”

  “Yeah?” Frank asked. He glanced in the rear vision mirror. “So quick, eh?”

  “Tell me about it.” Dia closed her eyes. “I’ll tell you more. Later. After I sleep for a bit.”

  “You hungry?” Mama asked. “We could stop at the deli.”

  She had been. She’d been ravenous an hour ago. “No. Thanks. I just want to lie down.”

  “Sure, sure. Your room is ready.” Mama went quiet for a minute. “Some soft music, Frankie, let Dia relax. No more talk.”

  That was a distinct change in Mama. Dia figured she should take more vacations, or at least move out of the house. Well, she would do that. She kept her eyes closed until she heard the garage door open. She looked behind her at the old Honda. Cat basked in the warm sun. He’d come in later for a belly rub.

  She grabbed her things and followed the folks inside. For once Mama had known what she’d needed: peace and quiet. She pecked them both on the cheek and motioned to upstairs, not even having to feign dizziness, nausea, or exhaustion, because as soon as she entered the front door her entire body gave in to extreme tiredness…jetlag.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” she called down from the fourth stair. “See you later. Don’t let me sleep more than three hours.”

  ****

  When Dia woke a couple of hours later, she still felt queasy. The purple room seemed to dance before her. She closed her eyes and stretched out flat on her back. She replayed the words Carlo had said, and thought about the emotion, or lack thereof, on his face. It had been masklike, frozen.

  There could be only one answer. He was going to Italy to drag his sister home.

  How shameful. How controlling. How idiotic. Why should she call his mother? That would be ridiculous. He should be calling her as soon as he possibly could. Maybe he wouldn’t though, for fear of another argument. Indignation got the better of her, and she reached for her cell phone. Surely he’d have had a chance to call before takeoff?

  Nothing. Not a damn thing.

  She thought over his possible itinerary. Maybe like her flight had been, there would be a change of plane in Chicago. That meant he could make a call soon, in about an hour. She slipped on her dressing gown and slippers, left the cell phone on and shoved it into her pocket. She’d shower later. She turned away from the vanity mirror. She looked awful. After splashing cold water on her face and pushing at her curly hair with damp hands, she figured it was time for a long chat with Mama.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Dia asked as she came down the stairs.

  Mama hopped up out of the chair. “You want to eat?”

  “Sure, Mama, what is there?”

  Mama hurried ahead of her and began hauling out all kinds of foods from the fridge. “We got lasagna, salad, cold cuts, and eggs. What you think?”

  “A ham and cheese omelet sounds good.”

  “Toast?”

  “Yes, please. I’ll make coffee. Do you want some?”

  “Sure. Sure. Not for Frankie. He’s gone fishing.”

  Good. It would be easier to tell Mama everything without Frankie. They busied themselves with their tasks, neither speaking.

  “You look sad.”

  “I’ll be okay, after I eat.” Dia poured two mugs of coffee. Nothing got by Mama. How could she see her unhappiness? Was she that much of an open book? She sat, wrapped her hands around the mug, and sipped. A few minutes later, one mug of steaming coffee and a slice of buttered toast under her belt, she felt almost normal. The omelet smelled delicious, and she waited for Mama to dish it up. “You’re not having any?”

  “I eat before. Coffee is enough.”

  Dia ate in silence. Even with keeping her eyes on her plate, she could see Mama watching intently. The woman knew something had gone wrong, but she restrained herself. Somehow, since the wedding, Frankie had kind of moved in. He’d worked wonders with Mama. Dia had never seen her so patient. She put her silverware on the empty plate and straightened. “Me and Carlo…it’s over.”

  Mama gasped and clutched at her heart. “No! But he followed you to Italy.”

  “I know. But I’m certain.” She looked away and blinked rapidly stemming the smart of her tears. It felt like she’d opened a fresh wound and poured salt in it. Just saying those words out loud was almost more than she could bear. She pulled in a shuddery breath. “I could never be with him now. He’s not what I thought.”

  “He go with another woman?”

  “No,
nothing like that.” Dia pulled in a deep breath and let it out. There was no reason to delay this. She had to tell the truth.

  Ten minutes later, while Mama had said nothing but nodded in all the appropriate places, Dia finished with her story. Right down to watching Carlo run for the plane to Italy. Mama turned her mug around a few times, and then she peered inside of it, like maybe there’d be an answer within. “You love him.”

  It wasn’t a question. Dia nodded. “Yes…no. I don’t know.”

  “You look to me like I was when your father passed. Frozen. In so much pain.”

  “Mama,” Dia said, and softened her voice. “Your pain was so much worse.”

  “No, is the same.”

  “But you lost your husband, your lover, the father of your children. I don’t know how you managed to survive.”

  “Love is love,” Mama said sagely, and raised her mug to take a sip. “Some days I thought I wouldn’t live. But it got better. I’m just sorry for you…I didn’t have anything left to teach you how to love.”

  “Mama, don’t.” Dia’s eyes welled up with tears. “You did what you could, and I’m fine.”

  “You know what it is to love.” Mama rocked herself back and forth on the hard-backed kitchen chair. “So you called to his Mama…to Christina?”

  Dia flipped up both of her hands and made a face. She’d just started to understand her mother, and now this?

  “No. I mean, why would I?” Anger started to nudge at her. “Seriously, I could not be with a man like that. Not ever. So why bother to pick up the phone and hear some lame excuse from his mommy who detests me?”

  “Because he ask you—”

  “Mamaaa! Didn’t you hear anything I said?”

  “Si. But it sounds to me like he was upset. Maybe afraid. No emotion…is not like Carlo. But he wants for you to know more about why he goes there.”

  “Fine. Fine.” Dia got up and grabbed the phone, and then remembered she had her cell phone in her pocket. She sat glared at Mama, dragged the cell out of her pocket, and punched in the numbers.

  “Hello, Christina. It’s Dia Romani. I just got home. I saw Carlo at the airport…”

  “Oh, Dia. You don’t know?” Christina burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. Oh dear. Of course you don’t know. You’ve been on a plane for over a day.”

  Dia’s blood run cold. A tiny shiver ran down her back. Mama’s words “fear, no emotion” played around in her mind. Something was wrong. “What? Know what?”

  “Susan and Nico had an accident. A car accident―”

  “Oh, no…how bad?” Dia shook the fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. She couldn’t look at Mama who kept mouthing “What?” She had to concentrate.

  “Susan’s in a coma. Nico is okay.”

  Dear God, she prayed, her mind racing. Let them be okay. Let them make it. Please. Mama got up and stood behind her, a warm hand on each shoulder. Dia forced herself to listen to Christina, but she really wanted Carlo. She wanted to beg for his forgiveness. She had judged him. She was not a loveable person after all.

  “Carlo got a last minute flight. He should be there soon. He called me from Chicago. He said he wouldn’t call you because you might be sleeping, and that I should call tonight.”

  “Th-that’s very thoughtful of him,” Dia said, her voice soft. She gave her head a quick shake. “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Gino is going ahead of us. We’ll leave later tonight.” She started to cry.

  “Can I come help you with Angie?”

  “Would you? Please? I…Dia, I’m so sorry for everything, my mean behavior, and now I’m so worried that I caused this, and—”

  “Okay. Hush. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Dia pressed the phone off and slid it into her pocket. She closed her eyes and folded her arms on the tabletop and then rested her head on them. And she cried, big blubbery tears that shook her entire body. Mama stroked her back, just like when Dia was a little girl. Dia cried for Susan. She cried for Nico. She cried for Carlo, Angie, and the family. And she cried for herself.

  “What happened?” Mama finally whispered.

  Dia mumbled the story, as little as she knew, and then she sat up straighter. “I don’t even know where they are.” She took a tissue from the box Mama held toward her, and wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. “I mean which hospital. Christina said up the coast. I know they were heading toward Ventimiglia.”

  “It doesn’t matter. There is nothing for you to do but pray.”

  “I know.” She stood, and hugged Mama. “Plus, I need to shower and then go over and help Christina.”

  “I will drive you. I will leave a note for Frank.”

  She’d misjudged Carlo. She’d berated him, even if only to herself. How could she be in love with him, and not understand that something had to be wrong for him to rush off to Italy like that? Mama held her and made comforting circles on her back. She’d missed that. When was the last time she’d let Mama give her comfort? She was such a bad daughter.

  “I’m going to get ready.” Her voice cracked. She rubbed her lips together and grabbed another tissue before stumbling toward the stairs.

  She looked back. Mama’s eyes were filled with such love and understanding, but she sat at the table instead of following and talking non-stop.

  “Thanks. And I love you, Mama.”

  Mama nodded, her lips pressed tight.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  That evening, Marco and Maria arrived just as Dia and Mama got back from the Antonellis’ home.

  There had been a whirlwind trip to comfort Christina and Angie and to drive them to the airport.

  Christina had become Dia’s new best friend and confessed that she’d encouraged Susan to make a play for Nico. Dia convinced her there was no play. It was the most genuine coupling she’d seen in a long, long time. She carefully averted any conversation about herself and Carlo. That was a subject best left until after they saw each other face to face. But she was certain it was over. And here, she finally had an “in” with the mother.

  Life sure is strange.

  Marco and Maria had driven down from L.A. only having been back from their honeymoon for a few days. They both looked amazing. Hawaii could do that to the body and the soul. Dia sighed. Love could do that too.

  “Mama told me about Carlo,” Marco said. “About the two of you hooking up.”

  Dia rolled her eyes. He was always direct. No wishy-washy stuff with Marco.

  “I told them only a little bit,” Mama said.

  “We’re glad you did. It made us so happy,” Maria leaned across to place a warm hand over the top of Dia’s hand. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” She wished she had another slice of pizza so she could chow down and not have to answer, but the plates were empty and all eyes were fixed on her. “It’s over for me and Carlo. Let’s just say it’s another indication that I’m incapable of trust…or of love.”

  “What the hell?” Marco rolled his napkin into a ball and threw it onto his plate. “Of course you can love…you’re amazing with kids, and family, and—”

  “I’m not talking that kind. That’s different. I’m talking about what you two have.” She glanced from Maria to Marco. “And what Mama and Daddy had, and now what Mama and Frank have.”

  Frank shot her a quick smile. Mama toyed with her wine glass.

  “We talked about the connection you and Carlo had at the wedding,” Maria said softly. “That’s why we called Mama when we got home. We wanted to know what was going on.”

  “Yeah, talk about a surprise to know you’d taken off and gone to Corsica,” Marco said, and scowled.

  “I didn’t think you’d care,” Dia said.

  “Or that Carlo had hightailed it over the pond to be with you for a few days in Italy. It would have been nice to have a heads up on that.”

  “It was a surprise to me too. Anyway, telling you wouldn’t have made a difference.
You were on your honeymoon.”

  “Well, I would have told you that Carlo is a terrific guy and not to run away from the romance.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “What do you call running off to Italy?”

  “I booked that trip ages ago, except the Corsica part.” Dia yawned. “It had nothing to do with him. Sorry. I’m getting sleepy again.”

  “Oh, sorry, but you know you’ve always been a bit…” He shrugged.

  “Bit what, flighty? A runner, standoffish, aloof…a cynic?” This time Dia laughed, and it sounded more cheerful. “I know. I used to be. You know I never thought I was capable of deep love, so I became happy with half-assed love.”

  Maria looked shocked. Dia was sure it wasn’t about her language.

  “Really? You thought that?” Maria shook her head slowly.

  Marco put his hand over his wife’s, and his face took on a serious expression. “Dia was greatly affected by our father’s passing. She refused to grieve. I don’t think I ever saw her cry. And she became strong and unemotional afterward.”

  Dia blinked hard. Her eyes felt dry and gritty. How come he’d known that about her? She’d buried it so deep it had taken going to a damn magical gate to get to the bottom of the emotions she’d buried along with her father.

  “It was my fault,” Mama said, softly.

  “No,” Frank said. “We all grieve differently.”

  “No. No. I turn inside.” Mama tapped a closed fist over her heart. “I forget to show the love. Marco, he was much older. Nearly a man. He looked to Dia. Took good care, but then he went to college. Me and Dia, we go about our lives, but we never talk of the hurt.”

  “Frank’s right, Ma.” Dia blinked hard a couple of times. This was a major breakthrough for all of them. She couldn’t cry now. “We all grieve differently. If you’d tried to shower me with love, I’d probably have rejected it and gone to my room to be alone.”

  Mama smiled softly.

  “We got along okay, Mama. I think deep down we understood each other.”

  “Except it colored how you viewed romantic relationships,” Marco said.