The Broken One

by Cardello, Ruth

  “Veterinarians are animal doctors, dummy,” Kevin said.

  I was about to tell Kevin that calling anyone names wasn’t nice, when Ava held the car up and said, “Dummy? I fixed it. You know who calls people dummies? Dummies. Say you’re sorry.” She put the car down on the track. It took off.

  Yes, indeed, Ava was my daughter.

  “Sorry,” Kevin grumbled.

  Ava seemed to accept his apology. She settled back onto the couch with Charlotte, and peace returned to the room.

  I sat down next to them and in a low voice asked Ava if she should apologize to Kevin as well. “You did call him a name too.”

  “He said it first,” she countered.

  “You’re not responsible for what he says, but you are for what you do. I did like, though, that you accepted his apology. That’s a good friend.”

  Ava shared a look with Charlotte, then called out, “Sorry, Kevin.”

  “It’s okay,” he answered absently. He was already playing with his brother again.

  Was it an ideal resolution? Could I have done more? Should I have done less? Parenting felt like a series of on-the-fly best guesses. Later I’d think of things I could have said, but right then I was just happy to see the storm had passed.

  Rising, I headed toward the kitchen. Erica looked up from setting the table in the dining room. “Hey, you didn’t have to rush back. The difference between three or four children is so marginal I sometimes forget she’s here. I just listen for yelling or any prolonged quiet—that’s never good.”

  I chuckled and started placing silverware near the plates for her. “I do the same. Although, with one kid my house is often quiet. I think that’s why Ava loves to come here.”

  “And we love to have her. It’s like having another parent in the house. I never have to worry about what my boys are up to; she’ll either tell them to stop or she’ll tell me to tell them.”

  That was Ava.

  I paused from setting the table. “We don’t have to stay for dinner. I have food at home.”

  “First, Bob is working tonight, so please stay so I can get my daily dose of adult interaction.” Erica waved one finger, then two. “Second, there is no way you’re leaving without telling me how your second date went. He sent a car for you. Swoon. I may have to role-play that out with Bob . . . that was hot.”

  I took a seat with a sigh. “It started off good. Really, really good.”

  “So his elevator is still functioning.”

  “Oh yes.” My cheeks warmed. “That was the good part. And the house he took me to was amazing.”

  She sat down across from me. “Then why so glum?”

  I fiddled with a paper napkin as I spoke. “He made me glow, Erica. And things were so easy between us. I thought I’d be here telling you that he and I were diving into something wild and amazing.”

  “But?”

  Discussing it wasn’t easy, because it required unpacking what I’d already stuffed away in a mental box. “I didn’t tell you that Rakesh Bhatt came to see me this morning.”

  “The one who owns the store Sebastian is buying out.”

  “His family owns it, but yes. His father is very ill, and he asked Sebastian to postpone construction on the new store until after he passes away. They don’t think it will be long. Sebastian refused to even consider it, and Rakesh asked me to see if I could sway him. All I did was ask Sebastian if he’d consider meeting with him again.”

  Erica blew a hair out of her eyes. “That was what you chose to discuss right after you rode his elevator?”

  I shrugged and looked at the plastic plate before me. “I promised Rakesh I’d say something to Sebastian if I ever saw him again.”

  “Girl, I have to teach you about timing. Let me guess—he did not take that well.”

  I swallowed and met her gaze. “He asked me if I’d slept with him to sway his decision.”

  “Idiot. Him, not you. Men say stupid shit when they’re cornered. Bob once bought an antique car without asking me. When I say antique, I mean old, beaten up—someone should have paid him to take it. He hid it in the garage . . . like I wouldn’t notice it. When I asked him about it, he accused me of switching laundry detergent and giving him jock itch. How does that even make sense? My point is, he really wanted that car, and instead of talking it out with him, we had a yelling match about itchy balls and who does which house chores. Thankfully, we’ve learned to circle back after a cooling-off period and ask for clarification. He doesn’t splurge on many things for himself, and he was already feeling guilty about getting the car—that’s why he went off the deep end when I confronted him about it. He brought baggage to the talk. And me? I actually do care about his junk’s comfort, and I was okay with the car. I just wanted to be included in the decision to buy it. So what I’m saying is that I brought my own baggage to our itchy-ball fight.”

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the mental image of her husband scratching himself while arguing for his antique car. “I could have chosen a better time.”

  “Um, yeah. So after he asked you if you were pimping yourself for his competition, did you stick around and try to talk it out?”

  I looked away again.

  “Let me guess—you told him off and stormed back here?”

  “I was angry.”

  “And scared. My guess is mostly scared.”

  “No.”

  “Heather, I adore you, but I’ve seen you with him. I’ve also seen you with your father.”

  My head snapped up. “You’ve never seen me with my father. He’s not part of my life anymore.”

  “That’s what I mean. I’ve seen the way you avoid him.”

  “He has no interest in me or Ava.”

  “You’ve told me that he used to call to check in on you.”

  “Too little, too late.”

  “I’m not a psychologist—but I wonder if being left by your mother hasn’t made you a little . . . proactive when it comes to cutting people out of your life. Do you think pushing them away is better than being afraid they’ll leave you?”

  “You’re right, Erica. You’re not a psychologist. I’m past being affected by anything my mother did.”

  “Are you? Before you deny it again, I just want you to consider that everything we do teaches our children something. Ava has a grandfather she doesn’t know. I hope she doesn’t one day have children who don’t know you.”

  I gasped as if sucker punched. “That would never happen.”

  Erica just held my gaze.

  My eyes misted. “My father didn’t approve of me adopting Ava. You think I’d want him around her after that?”

  “You want to protect Ava; I get it. People make mistakes, though. They say things they regret. I just hope that if I ever say something stupid, I won’t be the next one you refuse to talk to.”

  “I promise you, if we ever argue, I will come back for advice on how to make up with you.” I sniffed. Erica knew me better than anyone else did. If she thought she was one argument away from being cut out . . . what did that say about how I was living my life? And about what Ava was learning from me?

  I’d told myself that I’d left the past in the past.

  Maybe I hadn’t.

  Maybe I was still as confused as I accused Sebastian of being.

  “If we ever do fight, I’ll leave my door open for that talk.” Erica leaned over and gave one of my hands a pat. “Just don’t accuse me of making your junk itchy. Apparently that’s a trigger for me.”

  I chuckled.

  “Now”—Erica lowered her voice and leaned closer—“tell me about this house he took you to . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  * * *

  SEBASTIAN

  After a restless night, breakfast with my mother wouldn’t have been my first choice, but she wanted to hear about my trip, and I had told my brothers they wouldn’t see me back at the office that week. Time out of work was supposed to be relaxing, but I had only been back in my ap
artment for a day, and I was already climbing the walls.

  As I entered my parents’ home, my mother rushed over. I ducked down so she could give my forehead a big hand-on-either-side-of-my-face kiss. “Morning, Mom.”

  She stepped back and looked me over. “You look tired.”

  “Jet lag.”

  “Are you hungry?” she said as she led me toward the kitchen. I wasn’t, but she would fill a plate with food for me regardless of what I said.

  “Sure.” I settled down at the counter of the kitchen island. She handed me a cup of steaming coffee.

  “So how was Montalcino?”

  “Nice. I didn’t understand much Nonna said, though. My Italian is rusty.”

  My mother set a heaping plate of eggs in front of me. “She might also not be speaking clearly. She’s ninety-two. When you’re ninety-two, we’ll see how well you speak.”

  I blew on the coffee. “Did you tell her to fatten me up? I probably put on five pounds from all that homemade pasta.”

  That pleased my mother. “That’s how you know she loves you. I’m glad you went to see her. At her age, every year we have her is a gift.”

  I nodded. “Curious, though, I didn’t see any table wine while I was there. Not once. No after-dinner digestif either.”

  My mother sat on a stool on the other side of the island. “That is curious.”

  “It was almost as if they’d been told I couldn’t be around alcohol.” When my mother didn’t deny her involvement, I added, “Mom, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “A mother’s job is to worry about her babies. I don’t care how old you are, Sebastian; you’ll always be my baby.”

  I smiled down at my coffee. Parts of my life had gone very wrong, but I knew how blessed I was that other parts were very, very right. I could imagine Heather saying something similar to Ava. She was a good mother, a good person.

  I groaned.

  My mother sighed. “Sebastian, you have always been my most serious child. You’ve also always assumed responsibility for things even if they weren’t your fault. When you were little, if your brothers fell, to you it was your fault for not keeping them safer. You’re not God, Sebastian. You can’t control the twists and turns life takes.”

  “I know.”

  “Talk to me. What were you hoping to find in Montalcino?”

  I shook my head, then admitted, “Some of who I used to be. I don’t like who I’ve become.”

  She bustled around the kitchen, then placed a freshly baked piece of bread next to the plate of food I still hadn’t touched. “You’re too hard on yourself, son. We’ve all made mistakes. We all have things we wish we could go back and do differently. You can’t let that define you. Who is this Sebastian you don’t like? The one who married a woman he loved? Worked hard to provide for her? Do you dislike the loving son, the one who put his pain aside to build a good life for all of us? I look at you, and I don’t see anything I would change.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. She wouldn’t see my faults. Still, because I needed to get it out of my head, I told her about the conversation I’d had with Rakesh Bhatt, along with my response to him. This situation had haunted me, and I shared the conversations I’d had with my brothers that had led to me taking this “vacation.” My mother had always been able to look beyond what I said into the heart of what was bothering me.

  She came around to sit closer to me. “This man’s situation with his father is not your responsibility.”

  “I know.”

  “And your brothers are perfectly capable of filling in for you. You deserve time off.”

  “That’s why I left.”

  “But you want to help him, don’t you?”

  “I do. But there’s a cost to agreeing to push back the construction. We have employees to pay. Compassion doesn’t pay our bills.”

  “But nor does a little of it topple a business like you’ve built. Sebastian, when I was younger I thought there was a right way and a wrong way. It brought me a lot of grief. Eventually I realized that the only right way is the one I can live with. And the only wrong one is the one my heart cannot tolerate.” She laid her hand over my heart. “The answers you’re looking for are not in Italy. Your heart is telling you everything you need to know.”

  Although I wasn’t sure what that would mean as far as my business decision, her words struck home. “That helps, thank you.”

  She smiled and kissed my forehead again. “Now tell me, why do you have glitter in your hair?”

  My hand went to my head. Glitter? Oh yes, it had started on Heather’s face, then slowly spread all over both of us. I’d thought I’d washed it all off. “A friend of mine has a child.”

  “A friend. Do I know this friend?”

  “Mom.”

  Her eyes went wide with innocence. “If a mother can’t ask her son about who he is spending time with, what can she ask him?”

  “If there was something to tell you, I would.”

  “Mauricio said you’ve been talking to the woman you returned the stuffed animal to. She has a child.”

  “Yes, okay? I’ve seen her a few times. She’s a very nice woman.”

  “You’ve gotten close, no?”

  I wasn’t about to say.

  My mother waved a hand at my hair. “Glitter doesn’t jump. So why haven’t I met her?”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Could we drop this? I’m reasonably certain it’s over anyway.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Why are you sure I did something?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “A mother knows. So have you apologized to her yet?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “It’s never more complicated than that. My sources say only good things about her. I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

  “Your sources? Since when do you have sources?”

  She waved both hands. “Since my children have all decided to stay single. I am not getting younger. Don’t focus on me; think about you and this woman. You need to fix this.”

  Speaking of having sources made me remember something. “Mom, when I was at Nonna’s, she said there was a red-haired American woman asking a lot of questions about you and your sister.”

  My mother went pale. “Did Nonna tell her anything?”

  “It didn’t sound as if she did. Is there something to tell?”

  My mother stood. “It’s better to look forward rather than back, Sebastian. Now eat and think about what you can do to get back in the good graces of this Heather woman. I know my vote doesn’t count, but her daughter is adorable. After so many boys, I would love to spoil a little girl.”

  I allowed my mother to change the subject, because I understood how sometimes the only way a person could deal with something was to close a door on it. What was the past my mother refused to face? What was she afraid someone might uncover?

  I could have told her that no matter what she’d done, nothing would change my love for her—but she knew that. My mother wasn’t one to keep secrets or pretty up the truth. If she was hiding something, she had a reason to.

  From concern, not curiosity, I sought out time alone with my father before leaving that day. I told him about the red-haired woman who’d been asking questions about our family in Montalcino and about my mother’s reaction to hearing of her.

  My father sat down in his favorite leather chair and took a moment before answering. “A man could draw a thousand pictures and never create one as perfect as your mother. She was a beauty who stood out in our town like a rose in a field of wildflowers. Her older sister was a beauty as well, but not like Camilla. Theirs is a complicated story that’s not mine to tell, but I love your mother more for every choice she made. We’ve had our good times and our not-so-good ones, but I’m a better man because she pushed me to be.”

  It was the most my father had spoken on the subject. I paced beside his chair. “Does this have something to do with Gian? Is Mom’s
sister looking for him?”

  “She knows where he is. She’s always known.”

  “Why have none of us met her, then? Is she dead?”

  My father’s eyes darkened. “To me, to our family, she is. Once, perhaps, she acted selflessly, but she chooses to live in a state of crisis to justify putting her own needs above those of anyone else. I don’t hate her. I refuse to waste any emotion at all on such a person. If Gian never meets her, I think he’ll be better for it. She is neither strong nor loyal like your mother.”

  I didn’t know quite what to say in the face of that. “So who do you think is interested in our family history?”

  My father stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I couldn’t be prouder of my four sons. Sebastian, you have always protected your brothers and done what’s best for the family. For that reason, I will give you a name. What you do with it is up to you.”

  “Dad, is the mystery really necessary?”

  “I am a man of my word. Age has not changed that.”

  I didn’t push my father to say more, because I knew he would say only what he felt he had the right to. Although it meant I wouldn’t receive an easy answer to my questions, it confirmed his loyalty to my mother, and the beauty of that was undeniable. “What is the name you think I should know?”

  After giving my shoulder a final squeeze, he said, “Corisi.”

  Somewhat in jest, I asked, “Dominic Corisi?”

  My father nodded. “That’s the family I’m referring to.”

  “The billionaire?” As if there could be two. The Corisi name dominated the news, revered as American royalty, respected predominantly out of fear. His tech companies spanned the globe. When watercooler conversations turned to companies or individuals with so much power they were dangerous, his name headed the list. Anyone with that much money or influence was a potential threat to global welfare. Some said his business holdings were too big to fail—that the economies of many countries would topple if he withdrew from them.

  People said that, but the news never did. The positive spin on any and all of his endeavors was a testament to how pervasive his influence was even in the media.