Silence Is Golden (14 page)

“What’s the problem, officers?” asks Helga.

“Unfortunately we can’t say. It’s confidential.”

“I’m Helga Kohler, the owner of this bookstore. Ms. Russo is my employee. Did she get into some trouble?”

I want to slap her. What the hell kind of question is that?

“Again, it’s confidential,” the first policeman repeats.

“Well, this bookstore is an important institution in town, and I’d like to keep its good name. I wouldn’t want the misconduct of one of my employees to reflect poorly on me and my business.”

Misconduct? How dare she! I haven’t done anything wrong!

“Ma’am, please. We can’t say anything else, so I kindly ask you not to pursue this line of questioning further.”

Finally, he shut that ungrateful old crow up.

“Ms. Russo, would you care to follow us?”

Of course not! Leaving the shop escorted by two policemen is not exactly what my pitiful reputation needs right now, but I don’t think I can refuse. Without saying a word, I grab my coat and let the first cop open the door for me. Everyone is staring at me: the people walking by, the people lurking outside the café . . . They look almost predatory. They’re probably hoping I’ll be convicted for my seductive ways and hanged in the town square. I meekly climb into the police car, hoping that the entire town isn’t watching. But I’m going to bet that by dinnertime, everyone will have heard about this.

“You are Emilia Russo?” an inspector at the police station of the neighboring town asks. Bren is too small to have its own police station.

“Yes,” I say, hoping that my voice sounds meek and quiet, even though that’s the opposite of how I feel.

“We’ve got a missing persons report for an Emilia Russo, from L’Aquila. It’s signed by her father, Lorenzo Russo.”

An expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief crosses my face. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“Well,” I reply, “as you can see, I’m not missing. And I’m twenty-six years old. I’m certainly not a minor.”

“When someone reports a disappearance, we proceed no matter the person’s age. The only difference is that in the case of a minor, we proceed more quickly,” the inspector says. I know he’s correct, but I just want to get out of here.

“Okay,” I admit. “I’m sorry. But now the matter is settled, right? I moved away from my father’s house for personal reasons.”

“The problem is that there’s a second complaint against you.”

“What’s that?”

“Theft.”

I can’t believe it. How can anyone treat their daughter so cruelly?

“Your father alleges that you stole one thousand euros. According to him, you took the money from his home when you left.”

“That’s a lie!” I reply, furious. “That money was mine! My mother left it to me before she died!”

The inspector stares at me, and I can tell that he knows I’m telling the truth.

“Unfortunately it’s your word against his. There will be a trial, unless you can prove your innocence.”

“But how can I? The money was in my room. As I said, my mother gave it to me.”

He brings his face close to mine. “Whether or not I believe you, Miss, is irrelevant.”

I feel trapped. Moving to Bren apparently didn’t change a thing. Now I’m in trouble. I can’t hold back my tears. The inspector looks uncomfortable and stands up.

“I’ll just leave you alone for a few minutes.”

I don’t even nod. He can do whatever he wants. I can’t. Why did I ever think I’d be able to escape? Who cares if I cry until I have no more tears left? I’m alone. I sit crying for a while. Then my anger takes over, and I feel that if my father were standing in front of me, I would kill him. My tears stop when I realize that I can’t let him win that easily. I hear the door open and close again, but I don’t even bother glancing up. I expect the inspector to reappear in front of me. Instead, Aris bends down and puts his arms around me, his chest softly pressing against my back. His hand is resting on one of my cheeks, his lips on the other. I don’t need to see him. I just need his touch and his scent. My anger dissipates, and I start to cry again.

“Shh . . . It’ll be okay,” he says in his gentle voice. “I’ll take you home now.”

I stand up, turn around, and hug him. I’m ashamed that I thought I was alone. The door opens again, and he squeezes my hand once more before letting go.

“Aris, you may take Ms. Russo with you, but she’s under your watch,” the inspector says. “If she disappears, you’ll be held responsible.”

“I understand,” he says. “Thanks, Davide.”

“Just remember, you’ll receive the summons for the trial, and you’ll have to make sure she attends.”

“She’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

I don’t say anything. I’m just so tired. Right now, Aris feels like my guardian angel. If he’s with me, nothing bad can happen. I tightly grip his hand as we leave the police station. His pickup truck is right outside, parked sideways with one wheel on the curb. Aris opens the passenger door, and I climb in. We drive slowly toward Bren and say nothing for a time. Suddenly, Aris pulls over and cuts the engine. I turn to look at him. As usual, words are unnecessary, as his eyes tell me everything. I scoot over and curl up against him, and he plants a kiss on my forehead.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“That was my money, Aris. My mother gave it to me, and I know she would have wanted me to escape from my father—”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Emi,” he interrupts me. “Not to me. Not now, anyway. You need to rest.”

I sigh and curl up against his warm body.

“But how will I defend myself? The inspector was very clear. It’s my father’s word against mine.”

“We’ll find a way,” Aris replies, kissing my cheek. “Now sleep.”

He said
we.
The two of us, together. Finally, I close my eyes, and sleep comes. All too soon we wake up, and I can tell from the redness of his eyes that Aris didn’t sleep much. I slept well, however, knowing he was there. We get dressed and make breakfast, but we barely touch our food.

“My mother passed away earlier this year,” I say, staring at the food on my plate. Aris is silent, listening. “The day after her funeral, my father told me that I had to take her place in his home. And in his bed.” I pause. I will not cry. “I took the money she’d given me, and I ran away.” Aris stretches his hand out to touch mine. He stands and leads me by the hand to the armchair in the living room. Sitting down, he beckons me to sit between his legs, like we always do. He hugs me as I sit down. “I don’t want to go back there,” I add. “I swore that I’d never go back.”

Aris smooths the hair on my forehead.

“What does your father really want from you?” he asks.

“He wants me to return to him and my brothers. To be his slave, and—”

He puts a finger to my lips. “Shh . . . You don’t have to say it. I get it.”

I sigh, laying my head on his chest. We stay like that, silent, until dawn gives way to morning.

“Listen,” he says, “When you’re summoned, I’ll go with you.”

I shake my head, and Aris cups my face in his hands.

“Listen, I won’t leave you alone for even a second. I swear. I’ll be right with you,” he says, staring at me. “You’ll tell the judge the truth, and everything will be fine. I promise.”

“I can always run away again,” I answer.

“If you run away, I’ll come with you.”

I knew he’d say that. But I could never allow it.

“And don’t even think about running off in the middle of the night,” he adds. “I’d find you.”

I smile. “Do you really think you could?”

“I’d find you wherever you went,” he responds, absolutely serious.

We kiss, and I slip my hands through his hair. I feel his hands move under my sweater and touch my bare skin.

As we walk through the woods into the village, I tell Aris about Helga’s behavior yesterday, along with how I suspect she wants to get rid of me since I know about her and Mr. Moser.

“That guy’s a real dick,” he says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him judge anyone so harshly.

“Maybe she didn’t realize that.”

He looks at me incredulously. Aris may not say much, but he listens and observes quite a bit.

“What are you going to do about Helga?” he asks.

“Well, it’s the only job I have left, and I need it. I’m just going to have to ignore her. Unless she fires me.”

“I could come up with another solution,” he replies.

“I know you could, but I don’t want you to. You’re not my husband.”

“Not yet,” he corrects me.

When he’s excited or angry, his blue eyes harden, and his gaze becomes steely. It almost scares me.

“You haven’t known me for very long. How much do you trust me?” I ask.

“When I asked if you were afraid that I’d hurt you when I followed you into the forest, you told me that you knew I wouldn’t,” he responds. “How could you be so sure?”

I lower my head. He’s right. I don’t know why, but from the moment I first laid eyes on him, I’ve known I could trust him.

“Okay, I understand. But I have arms, legs, and a working brain, and they’ve never let me hold on to a man before, Aris, though all of me is crazy for you.”

He smiles. “I like your answer. It’s just your style.”

“I have a style?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Of course,” he says. “Proud, scrappy, and very adversarial.” He laughs and lunges forward to escape me trying to catch him.

We part, as always, at the edge of the forest, on the main street of the village. After a few steps, I stop and turn. He keeps walking, but eventually also stops and turns to look at me. A childish joy fills my heart. I run to meet him, and he scoops me into his arms.

“I was right to be afraid of you,” he says, chortling. “You’re crazy.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Martini,” he replies, puzzled.

“I love you to death, Aris Martini.”

And I run off.

I’m still giddy when I get to the bookstore, but I know the feeling won’t last long. I’ve a long list of worries, and the first item on my list suddenly materializes in front of me.

“Good morning, Helga,” I say, not taking off my coat.

“I didn’t think you’d come in today.”

Helga seems even more formal than usual, which tells me all I need to know.

“Why wouldn’t I? I still work here,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Actually, I don’t think your assistance will be necessary anymore. I’ve learned how to use the computer,” she lies, blushing, “and I can very well manage by myself. Here’s your final paycheck.” She hands me a sealed envelope.

“I understand,” I say, tucking the envelope in my bag without opening it.

“As you know, business isn’t doing too well—”

“I said that I understand. You don’t have to explain anything.”

I go to leave, then suddenly turn around.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for me,” I say.

She’s caught completely off guard by this. Her usual ruddiness fades to a ghostly pale. I’m almost afraid she’s going to faint. Though I really hope not, because I’ve exhausted my generosity for today. I leave without turning around again.

I walk along the sidewalk, passing other shops. I’m trying to stay calm and put on a brave face for everyone who’s so unabashedly staring at me. But my heart is racing, and tears are threatening to cascade from my eyes, so I duck into the first alley that I find. I allow myself a very brief cry, leaning against the side of a house, and then I wipe my eyes and continue on my way. I wish I could run straight to the wood shop and into Aris’s arms. He would console me. He’d take good care of me. But I won’t, and I can’t. Not ten minutes ago, I refused his offer to help me. He deserves a woman who can take care of herself. I found not one but two jobs a few days after first getting here. What’s stopping me from finding another one? As I walk, I come up with two reasons why the people of Bren must hate me: I’m the “foreigner” who seduced the strange, innocent son of Tommaso the carpenter, and I’ve been accused of theft, thanks to my father. I have no illusions about Davide, the police inspector. Aris told me that he’s known him since they were in school. I’m sure he spread the word. Or perhaps it was one of the police officers. But the fact is that somebody must have shared my news, with no regard for privacy or the presumption of innocence. Otherwise Helga wouldn’t have been so quick to fire me.

I’m worried that I’m going to have to return home to my father for now, at least until I can afford to pay rent. But then I spot Benedetto’s café. Looking for kind words rather than food or drink, I step inside. Luckily Benedetto is there, and I sit down on one of the stools at the counter.

“What’s wrong, my little Abruzzan?” he asks me, genuinely concerned.

“I was almost arrested by the police yesterday, after my father accused me of stealing, even though I’m totally innocent, and today I got fired,” I blurt out in a single breath.

He grimaces. “The world can sometimes be a difficult place,” he replies.

I didn’t expect anything less. I smile at him. “Yeah. But some of us are lucky enough to live in the presence of angels,” I say.

Benedetto immediately catches my reference, and his eyes twinkle.

“True. We must keep those angels close, don’t you think?”

“As close as possible,” I answer.

After a cup of tea and a wonderful slice of pecan pie that he insisted on giving me, I feel much better from the sugar and his kind words. I stand up and put my coat on again.

“How can I thank you, Benedetto? You’ve been an amazing friend.”

He shakes his head. “I can tell when a great girl is down on her luck,” he replies. “Trust me, it’ll all work out.”

“I hope so.”

We say good-bye with a smile and a nod. As I go to leave the café, I’m forced to stop. Dora is blocking the doorway. Her malicious sneer tells me that she knows everything, from all my misfortune to all my joy. Aris must have forbidden her from speaking to me, but as he should very well know, there are many ways in which to communicate. I step aside and let her pass, never taking my eyes off her face, then overhear her saying to Benedetto, “Some people just don’t understand when it’s time to get out of the way.”

Sorry, you old hag,
I think to myself.
It won’t happen again
. And I leave without glancing back.

Back at my home in the woods, I realize I have two options: throw myself onto the bed and cry about my misfortune or take advantage of all this new free time and clean the house. Having had considerable experience recently doing the former, I decide to go for the latter option. At least that way I’ll be doing something productive. I clean the floors, rearrange the chaos that is my wardrobe, and dust what little furniture I have. But in spite of everything, I can’t stop worrying about how to find a new job. Once the house is spotless and there aren’t any more misplaced kitchen utensils or stray socks to be found, I sit down at the new desk that “we” have finished. Aris delivered it two days ago, but I haven’t yet had the opportunity to use it. It’s so beautiful and cozy. It’s bean-shaped, so I can put my chair in the middle and rest my elbows on the desktop as I write. The wavy drawers are still empty. I have to buy paper and pencils for Aris and a new pen for myself. I’m still using one that someone left at the bookstore.

My mind drifts to thoughts of Helga. She can’t be too thrilled about being left alone at the store. Now it’s up to her to unpack books and stock the shelves, and that’s quite a hassle for her to do by herself. I’m still mad that she fired me, even when I think about her solitary existence. She must be still recovering from Mr. Moser’s deception. I believe that firing me was a kind of necessity for her. She doesn’t want to make waves in the town, so letting me go when I was accused of theft was her way of defending herself. But I can’t spend time worrying about her. I decide to figure out how much money I have left, to gauge how long I can remain unemployed. Within ten minutes, I’ve got my answer: less than a month. The money that my mother gave me is dwindling, and even adding the final meager paychecks I received from both Emma and Helga doesn’t leave much to be happy about. The cost of living is going to consume most of my savings, and I’ll be lucky if I can make it two months by sacrificing things. I’m feeling discouraged, so I decide to make some tea. Just then, there’s a knock at the door. It’s only five thirty in the afternoon, too early to be Aris. So who is it? I open the door to find that real estate agent standing on my doorstep. What was his name again? Ah, yes.

“Valerio! What a surprise,” I say sincerely.

“Hello, Emilia. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Would you like to come in?” He nods and enters my house. I tell him to take off his coat. “I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please. Thanks.”

He smiles, a bit too widely for my taste, but perhaps recent events have just made me more distrustful. Be kind, damn it.

“This looks like a brand new house!” he exclaims, looking around. “Clearly all it needed was a woman’s touch.”

What else did I expect from him? Such a cliché. My first impression was right. He’s a country boy through and through, although he did a bang-up job disguising his dialect and roots in the name of salesmanship. However, my face doesn’t show any of these uncharitable thoughts. I plaster a polite smile on my face, giving the impression that I’m a good girl who’s humbled by his compliment. While I’m preparing the tea in the kitchen, he wanders into the living room.

“This must be the work of Aris Martini,” he says loudly for my benefit.

“Yes, indeed,” I answer.

“Did you buy it from him?”

I want to tell him that no, I didn’t buy it, that he held me at gunpoint while he built it and forced me to take it. Or better yet, that I traded it for sexual favors. I’d love to see the expression on his face at that . . . But I restrain myself.

“Yes,” I answer simply.

“His work is so strange . . . You wouldn’t see this kind of thing in my house.”

And I’m sure Aris’s work wouldn’t want to be there either.

“Well, it fits in great here,” he adds.

“There wasn’t much furniture to begin with, so there’s not much for it to go with,” I can’t help but say as I place the tea tray on the small table.

“You’re right. There wasn’t much here,” he admits. “But you’re happy with the place, aren’t you?”

“Yes, it’s fine, thanks.”

I pour the tea and offer Valerio some cookies, as I have nothing else in the house. Though I must admit that if I had anything better to offer, I’d save it for Aris. He’s still too thin.

“You know, I thought . . .” Valerio’s voice startles me out of my thoughts of Aris. What did he say?

“I thought you were working?”

“Not really,” I reply casually. “Why?”

“Well, our office is looking to hire a new real estate agent, and a woman would be a lovely addition to our team,” he concludes with what I imagine he thinks is a winning smile. I can’t believe he actually used the word
team
. And wait, a “lovely addition”?

I raise my eyebrows, but Valerio can’t interpret my facial expression the way Aris does. “What do you mean?”

“A real estate agent, someone to do my kind of work. You’d scout out homes for sale or rent and show them to clients.”