A Soul Mate's Promise

by Soprano, Robin H

  A Soul Mate’s

  Promise

  Robin H. Soprano

  A Soul Mate’s Promise by Robin H. Soprano

  Copyright © 2014 by Robin Soprano

  Cover layout by Alexandra King

  A Soul Mate’s Promise by Robin H. Soprano

  410p. ill. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-935795-31-5

  LCCN 2014916430

  ______________________

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any

  means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or

  otherwise, without permission in writing from Michael Ray King Publishing

  Michael Ray King Publishing

  PO Box 353431

  Palm Coast, FL 32135-3431

  www.clearviewpressinc.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  To my Mother and Father, who always told me; I can do anything. I know they are guiding me from above.

  To every one of my friends, too many to list, who have cheered me on to pursue my dream. Thank you I truly could not have done this without all of you.

  To the special few that have talked me down from ledges when I was banging my head against the wall. Your words of encouragement and support even in the smallest way, helped save me from a dark hour and kept me motivated. And to breathe…

  Thank you:

  Suzanne Kework.

  Margherita Perry.

  Kathryn Batta.

  Michael Ray King.(Author /Publisher)

  Jorja Dupont Olivia.(Author)

  Lori Elen Maguire.(Author)

  Jennifer Probst. (Author)

  Nancy Quatrano. (Editor) You heard my heart and helped the world understand it. You are the echo of my voice. Thank you for also making me laugh at my mistakes instead of crying!

  To my husband Paul – Thank you for letting me do my thing and letting me fly.

  ~Anima Gemella ~

  ~ He is more myself then I am

  Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine

  Are the same ~

  Emily Bronte ~

  CHAPTER 1

  Three years ago, I woke up at two in the morning and reached over to find Richard missing—again. Unable to stop the tears that had become far too frequent, my dog Toby jumped up on the bed to lick my face and try to comfort me. My heart felt like broken glass, the pain in my chest nearly suffocating me—almost beyond what I could bear.

  What had once been a marriage and life full of promise and love became a nightmare of loneliness and desperation for me.

  The man I’d met, loved and married had disappeared in the seductive power and wealth that his parents left him as his inheritance.

  A bird in a gilded cage, I realized late that I hadn’t changed—but that he had. And I couldn’t live with the changes.

  * * *

  Up and about at the crack of dawn, Toby rouses me so we can go for our morning hike on the beach and watch the sun come up.

  This is my peaceful time of day, where I do most of my thinking. My divorce is just about final, just some discrepancies about money to be ironed out.

  I don’t know what’s so difficult. I just want to move on and I need money to do it. Richard and I were married for twelve years, nine of those before the evil inheritance. I think on some level Richard feels bad things didn’t work out. He moved me so far away from my home in the Northeast that I never recovered. He thought he was going to give me the world but it came with too high a price for me.

  We grew apart. His life was corporate chaos, and the more involved he got the more I felt like a nuisance to him. When we tried and failed to have a baby, the marriage just crashed and burned. I went to a dark depressed place after two miscarriages, and Richard was too busy to notice. On one occasion he told me to just get over it and toughen up! When I emerged from my grief-filled fog, I asked Richard for a divorce.

  I guess I knew in my gut that we were just not meant to be. He felt the same, so he left. He told me I could stay at the mansion—he knew I had nowhere to go. He promised that soon the details would be figured out.

  I suspect that he feels responsible; he was supposed to take care of me. I gave up everything for him: my job, my family, and my friends! When we moved south he told me that he would be the breadwinner. I didn’t need to worry about a job. Not like I could easily find one way out here on the god-forsaken island that he’d inherited, anyway.

  I loved being a veterinarian’s assistant and I miss that work. For me, no job and being alone so much was not a good combination After a while, I was actually happier when he wasn’t home since my sadness seemed to make him angrier every day. When he was at home we had one fight after another over stupid nonsense.

  Shortly after we separated, and he moved out, Richard started seeing Camille James, his business associate. I gotta say, I knew it, and really, wasn’t shocked or upset.

  I think they’re right for each other. They are both cold type personalities. I crave affection and I love to give it, too. When I would try to cozy up to Richard he would push me away and say, “stop your annoying me!” His words broke me down every time.

  I want more out of life, I want to be appreciated and cherished by someone.

  * * *

  Here on the island property is a cute, smaller cottage-style house that sits closer to the beach. It has a tin roof, and the white paint is a little worn away from the salt air. The back of this house faces the back yard of the mansion, a few yards apart with grass separating them. A little stone path between them shows the way from door to door.. I was told by my mother-in-law that in the old days it was used for a maid’s quarters. For a few years my in-laws rented or loaned it to clients for vacations or business trips. But now, a very nice older gentleman by the name of Antonio Patroni lives there.

  Years ago, before I knew the Boumonts, he was a security guard for them. One night Antonio stopped a robbery at the mansion and got shot; the outcome left him in a wheelchair. Antonio did managed to shoot one of the bastards, and off to prison they went!

  A few years before that accident, his wife had past on and his two sons already had lives of their own. My in-laws left him the little cottage in their will in recognition of his service and sacrifice.

  I adore Antonio. He is just sweet, old Tony to me. He’s my only neighbor and we have become kind of dependent on each other; he has become like a father figure to me, and I’ve become like the daughter he never had.

  Over the years, Tony has dried some of my tears over a good glass of wine and good advice! He came to the States by ship from Palermo Italy when he was in his twenty’s. He is 70 now with salt and pepper hair and dark eyes that look deep into yours and he has a laugh like Santa Clause. I’m blessed to have him as a friend.

  * * *

  Finished with our walk, Toby and I head straight to Antonio’s. He’s already yelling and waving at us from his deck. “Good morning, Mia Caro!”

  I smile big because I love his accent. He reminds me of my family who are also Italian, though passed on. I miss them dearly, so we have some common ground, he and I.

  “Hows-a- my gal today?” he asks like he’s singing.

  “Oh fine,” I say as I make my way up to the deck. Toby runs ahead to give Antonio a big hello lick and get a pat on the head.

  “Did you make coffee?” I ask.

  “Of-a-course,” he says, “helpa you-self.”

  I go in and pour myself a mug and go back out on the deck and have a seat next to Antonio, Toby’s already chewing on his morning treat. I take a look over the calm ocean and take in a deep breath.

  “What�
��s happening with the divorce?” he asks.

  “Well, not too much,” I start, taking a sip of the fragrant brew in my mug. “The attorney says I’m entitled to half of everything. But truly, I just want enough to get out and make it on my own. But because I gave Rich money for the new part of the firm, the lawyer says I should get profits. I think Rich and Camille are just spitting fire about it!” Antonio looks at me with an eyebrow arched.

  “You listen to what the lawyer says, Caro, he knows what is best to do.”

  I look over at him, and nod. “Thanks by the way for getting me this lawyer. I wouldn’t have known the first thing about it. And apparently, he is one of the best in the area!”

  “Ahh, no thanking me. You just listen to him Gracie, and have faith. Now, let-a me see your beautiful smile!”

  I look over at him and cross my eyes and stick out my tongue. He laughs his big hearty laugh and pats me on the knee.

  “So, what’s on your agenda today, Tony, you need to go to the store or anything?”

  “Nahh,” he grunts, “calm day today.”

  Before he continues on, his phone rings. “You want me to get that?” I gesture with my thumb.

  “Please, gratzi.” He nods.

  I run in the house and grab his cell off the kitchen counter. “Hello?”

  A deep voice on the other end replies, “Gracie, hi!”

  “Hi, Joey!” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Where’s Pop?”

  “Oh, we’re out on the deck. I’ll get him for you–just a sec. So Joe, how’s things in Cali? You and Mary alright?”

  “Yes, thanks. Everything is fine, though Mary’s getting grumpy with the pregnancy.”

  I chuckle. “Oh yeah Well you just give her anything she wants.”

  “Oh, you got that right!” He laughs. “She will kick my ass you know, and I really would like to be alive for the birth of my son!”

  “Good! You need an ass kicking every now and then, it’s good for you! Oh by the way have you come up with names yet? Please tell me you won’t name him Jesus!”

  “Ahh, cute Gracie,” he says as he laughs, “like we haven’t heard that one before!”

  Still giggling, I hand the phone to Antonio. “Here, it’s your son Joseph.”

  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say, “Joe and Mary are thinking about naming the baby, Jesus!”

  “AHHH!” he grunts waving the phone in the air. He lightly spanks me on the rear with his hand. “You all crazy!”

  I returned into his kitchen to get more coffee. I over hear the usual comebacks and move further into the house. Walking through Antonio’s house I always look at the pictures in the living room of his wife Marie, his son Joe, and Joe’s wife Mary and the winery they live on in Napa.

  I know he had another son who is estranged from the family. Antonio doesn’t really talk about him much, just told me once that he was military, Special Ops.

  The soldier-son went all over the world. When Antonio’s wife Marie was dying, and his youngest son didn’t return home in time for good-bye’s, Antonio could not let it go, though Marie had begged him to.

  “He broke my heart,” Antonio told me once.

  “Gracie!” Antonio calls me, breaking me out of the memories.

  I walk back out on the deck and sit down. The sun was all the way up and the air is getting warmer.

  “Hey, you off the phone? You want more coffee or breakfast?” I ask him.

  “Huh? Oh, no, no I’m good” he says with a far-away look in his eye.

  “Tony, is everything okay?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah yeah,” he says. “I umm.. that-a was Joey,” he says

  “And?” I encouraged.

  “He tells me my son Salvatore got hurt, but he’s alright—CIA gave him a discharge to get well and he wants to come home. Joey thought it would be best for him to come here so we can mend our relationship.”

  “Wow, Tony,” I said. “How bad is he hurt?”

  “Just a shot to the shoulder–he will be fine but he needs physical and mental therapy. It’s mandatory when you work in the Government or military.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling bad for Tony because I know how he feels about Sal. “Soooo, he’ll be here when?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” he answers as he looks out towards the sea. Drifting in his own thoughts he suddenly seems smaller, much older than he did a half-hour ago.

  “Umm, Tony?” I prod softly, trying to get his attention back. Are you okay with this?”

  He gazes back at me, a small smile playing on his lips though his eyes remain creased with concern.

  “I no have a choice, Caro—he is-a my son.” He turns his eyes back to the ocean and I go to sit on the lounge chair in front of him touching his hands lightly.

  “Tony, this might be a good thing for you guys to get back in touch. I don’t know–repair a father son bond?” I squint, hoping I’ve said the right thing.

  He turns his gaze back in my direction and smiles. My Tony is back, even if only for a second.

  “Yeah or we will kill each other!”

  My eyes go wide at first, then I laugh. “Try Tony, maybe it’ll be a good reunion!”

  Tony sticks his chin out and nods once. “We are a lot a like, him and me. Stubborn.”

  “Yes,” I agree with a laugh. ”But, you have an excuse–you’re old and crazy!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Antonio’s son Sal arrives later today. Thunderstorms rumble across the grey sky.

  I promised Tony that I would make a baked ziti and a pot of sauce with meatballs and some cookies for them so they would have some meals for the week while they settled in, that meant we had to hit the store before I could begin cooking. And, since Antonio asked me to stay for dinner so at least their first meal together might be less stressful, I planned to cook and be the gracious hostess, although I wasn’t all that keen on the idea.

  So, after a quick run to the grocery store, and the little wine shop we have on the beach-side I got everything I needed. Toby and I headed back home and over to Antonio’s.

  When I get there, he’s happy to see me, but I can feel the tension in the air.

  To lighten the mood, I grab an Andrea Bocelli CD, A Night in Tuscany, and play it on Tony’s CD player. Music fills the house along with the delicious smells of garlic and simmering tomato gravy coming from his kitchen.

  With everything on simmer, I pour two glasses of Chianti for Tony and me and walk out on the deck where he is sitting with Toby at his side. The rain has let up for now but we can still hear thunder in the distance.

  “Here ya go, have some wine, its good for you,” I say as I hand him the glass.

  “Gratzi, mio caro,” he says with a smile as he takes the wine.

  I sit down next to him. “Here’s to a happy reunion!” I offer and we clink our glasses.

  “I gotta tell you, Tony, I think I’m a little nervous myself for you guys.”

  Antonio looks up at me. “Don’t worry Gracie, we will be on our best behavior.”

  “Okay.” I say, “I’ll drink to that. You promise me now because I don’t like fighting and neither does Toby.”

  “I promise, Caro.” he says with a hint of a smile.

  A few hours pass and so do the thunderstorms and Sal still hasn’t arrived, but Joey calls to see how it’s going.

  “We still haven’t seen Sal and haven’t been able to get him on the phone,” I tell Joey. “I made enough sauce and meat for your brother and father to eat for a week.”

  Joey thanks me and explains I should just let the two men work out their differences and not worry about it.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am that my dad has you to watch out for him. You’re the best thing to happen to him in many years.”

  “And he’s the best thing to happen to me, too,” I tell Joey. Then I give the phone to Tony and they talk for a few more minutes while I go into the kitchen to shut off the stove.

&nb
sp; “How about we just have that dinner, Mia Caro?” Tony says when he joins me.

  “Sounds like a great idea. I’m sure we’ll hear from Salvatore soon. Maybe his plane was delayed.”

  I pull out another CD of Italian Favorites, and as soon as Rosemary Clooney starts “Mambo Italiano,” I pull the baked Ziti out of the oven and put it down on the little dinette set in his dining room.

  “This house is so cute,” I tell him as we are getting ready to eat. The cottage has seen slight remodeling over the years to keep up the charm and functionality of it. At about 1300 square feet, the two-bedroom, two-bath structure has a detached garage, hardwood floors and a small, but functional fireplace. The kitchen isn’t big enough for a table, but the house has a great room for lounging and dining.

  After Tony moved in, he had ramps put in to accommodate his wheelchair.

  He looks around and I see a smile cross his face and light his eyes. “Yes, this house serves me just fine,” he says. “Is the kitchen hard to cook in? You must be used to that big gourmet kitchen you gotta next door.”

  “Nope,” I tell him, “I like your kitchen–it’s cozy and quaint. Mine feels too industrial sometimes. I was going to have it remodeled but that’s pointless now.” I take a sip of wine, determined not to go down that sorry path again.

  “Okaaaaay,” I sing, to change the subject. “Tell me about Salvatore? Where has he been? What’s his deal?”

  Antonio smiles at me and shrugs his shoulders.

  “My son, he always fought me, he makes up his own rules and he can have a bad temper.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He is-a- forty-one now.”

  “Oh he’s my age!”

  “Yes, Joseph is two years older than Sal. They were born shortly after Marie and I moved to the States. They went to school up in NJ, then went their separate ways. After school, Sal went into the military, there was Desert Storm first, and when we got hit with 911, I knew he would be off to Iraq.”