Silence Is Golden (17 page)

When Aris comes over, we don’t speak. I kiss him like he kissed me in front of the carpenter’s shop this morning, then take him by the hand and lead him into the bedroom. I unbutton his shirt and pull it off, caressing his bare skin while he sheds the rest of his clothes. Pushing him onto the bed, I begin to undress in front of him. I’m enjoying his quickened breathing and how his eyes grow wider and wider. I want to erase the memory of the last time we slept together, when it didn’t feel like love. I’m learning that love is not constant light, that there are shadows too. I want to learn to accept those shadows and perhaps make them less inscrutable. Aris’s embrace is the only place I can really call home. Wherever he is will always be my home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

My alarm goes off before six. I fling out my arm to turn it off but knock it to the ground instead. Aris wakes up as I hunt for it. He silently props himself up on his elbows and gives me a questioning look. It’s still dark outside, but he’s illuminated by the moonlight.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” I whisper. “I forgot to tell you yesterday that Benedetto offered me a job at the café. I start today. In less than an hour, in fact.”

Aris smiles, and his expression is clear to me. He’s thinking,
Does this girl ever give up?
He falls back onto the bed, chuckling. I tiptoe into the bathroom. When I emerge, I return to the bedroom only to find Aris gone. I can hear him moving around in the kitchen, and I join him. He’s set the table and is preparing breakfast. His hair is disheveled, and he looks sleepy. But he’s up, and he’s doing something for me. I press my cheek into his back, hugging him. I can feel his heartbeat.

“You might not be real,” I tell him. “Sooner or later I might wake up and realize that you were just a figment of my imagination.”

His back shakes as he laughs.

Even though I’m far too excited to be hungry, I sip some tea and nibble at my breakfast. I have to eat something—after all, Aris made pancakes.

“I’m definitely going to mess up,” I say dismally.

“You’re not going to mess up,” he replies quietly without glancing at me.

“I’m going to spill coffee on someone.”

“You’re not going to spill coffee on anyone.”

“I’ll be fired within two hours.”

“You’re not going to get fired.”

I don’t say anything for a few moments.

“Everything will be okay then?” I ask.

“Everything will be fine.”

Aris finally looks up at me, and we laugh together.

I give him a quick squeeze and plant a noisy kiss on his lips, then I’m off. I can’t be late to work on my first day. As I’m hurrying away, I turn and see him still standing on the doorstep, watching me go. He’s my guardian angel.

Benedetto is just going inside when I arrive at the café. He turns on the lights, and I follow him in.

“There’s my little one. Right on time.”

“Good morning.”

“Ready to get started?”

“Absolutely.”

The supply truck soon arrives, and we spend an hour unloading cans and bottles. Once the supplier and his assistant leave, Benedetto offers me a cup of tea.

“Sit down, little lady. You’re full of energy, but don’t wear yourself out. Aris wouldn’t be too pleased with me if you did.”

I decide to take advantage of the fact that the café is still closed to the public to talk with him.

“I’m so grateful for this job, Benedetto. But aren’t you worried that people won’t want me to serve them? I’m not very popular around here.”

He smiles at me.

“I’m in charge here. If people don’t appreciate the beautiful woman that I hired, they are perfectly free to leave. And they should do so quickly.”

I smile back, touched by his kind words and affectionate tone.

“Did you hear about the lies that Marcello Ferrari is spreading?” I ask.

“I told him that he’d better watch out. It’s usually the quiet ones that pack the biggest punch,” he responds, referring to Aris.

I giggle. “I can’t really see Aris beating Marcello to a pulp to defend my reputation.”

However, Benedetto doesn’t laugh.

“You still don’t know what he’s capable of, do you?”

As if the quasi-suicide attempt by way of frostbite wasn’t enough to clue me in. I wait for Benedetto to explain.

“When his father announced his engagement to Dora, Aris picked up a dresser that he’d just finished building and threw it on the ground. It was huge, and he was only thirteen and so scrawny. I still remember the look on Tommaso’s face. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, and neither could I.”

“You were there?”

“Yeah. Aris’s father and I had been friends since childhood. Aris was furious. Since he didn’t talk much even then, that was how he expressed his disapproval.”

“He didn’t want his father to marry Dora?”

“Not at all. We all knew that Tommaso didn’t love her. He just married her so his son could have a mother figure in his life. Poor Tommaso. I tried to talk him out of it, but he felt too guilty.”

“What did he have to feel guilty about?”

“Well, Aris was a strange kid. The school was always calling Tommaso in to talk about things Aris had done. Tommaso thought everything was his fault, because Aris had grown up without a mother.”

“Sometimes Aris is hard to understand.”

“You’re probably the only one who ever really has.”

“But he’s so sweet. He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” I object.

Benedetto smiles, but it almost seems ominous. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve really only seen him hurt himself. But if Marcello doesn’t stop badmouthing you, I’m sure that Aris will lose his temper and teach him a lesson. Although, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

We laugh together and get back to work. The café opens in half an hour. I remember that Aris told me everything will be fine, and I believe him.

I return home seven hours later, after having served dozens of cups of tea and coffee without spilling on anyone. Nothing went wrong, but I’m so tired. Luckily no one said much when they saw me behind the counter. Dora and her awful friend must not have spotted me. I even managed to get timid smiles from some customers.

Looking around my house, I see that Aris has cleaned the kitchen, washed the dishes, made the bed, and put a vase of fresh flowers on the table. I’m questioning why I’ve decided to never get married. At this rate, I might change my mind someday. The flowers are gentians and red roses. That can’t be a coincidence. There’s a note on the table next to the vase:

“I found these leaning against the door. I think you know who sent them . . . See you later. A.”

He drew a sleeping red cat right below his initial. These flowers are from Emma. They’re just like the very first bouquet I invented. I really want to see her, but I know that now is not the time. I’ll leave the ball in her court for now. In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy the scent of fresh flowers and the joy of knowing that she’s my friend again.

Aris gets to my house at six o’clock that evening. I can tell he has news to share, and it’s making me anxious. He hugs me and kisses me lightly on the lips. For a few minutes, he simply gazes at me, and then he kisses me on the forehead.

“Tell me,” I demand.

He smiles briefly, still unused to my ability to read his mind. He pulls out a letter and hands it to me. It’s the summons. Two weeks from now, I have to appear in court in my hometown. I scan the paper quickly, then suddenly feel weak and sit in the chair. Aris sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me, resting his hands on his knees.

“How did it go today?” he asks.

“Okay.”

“You didn’t spill hot liquid on anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Did you mess up at all?”

“Nope.”

“So everything went well?”

“Yup.”

He flashes me an I-told-you-so smile, which momentarily distracts me. But I can’t ignore the letter sitting on my lap. It suddenly feels very hot in here.

“You’ll be fine. Trust me,” Aris says.

“How can you say that? You and Benedetto both. Can you guys see the future or something?” I blurt out, abruptly standing up. “How is it going to be fine? It’s my word against his.”

“It’s going to be fine because you didn’t do anything wrong. That’s how,” Aris replies, still seated on the floor.

“Oh, okay.” I’m on the verge of tears. “So if I’m innocent, is that why Helga fired me? Is that why everywhere I go, people give me accusing looks? Is that why Dora hates me so much?”

“Dora doesn’t hate you.”

“Oh, yes she does! You weren’t conscious when she came here and accused me of stealing you from her. She’d love it if she could just snap her fingers and then—poof!—I’d disappear. She’d love to get rid of me. And I’m sick and tired of it, damn it. All my life, I’ve only done what’s been asked of me, and now that I’m happy, no one else wants me to be.”

Aris doesn’t respond. He’s still sitting on the floor, but his head is bowed and his eyes are closed. I’m such an idiot. I rush over to sit next to him and hug him.

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” I mutter. “I had no right to lash out at you like that. You’re so wonderful. I adore you. Aris, please. Look at me.” He finally lifts his head. He seems tired. I’m such a selfish jerk. I hardly know anything about him. I’m sure he has his problems too, but he doesn’t unload on me all the time like I do to him.

“Please forgive me,” I ask.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re worried. I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, but you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“Except the fact that I live with Dora,” he replies. That surprises me. He never talks like this.

“I’m sure it’s better now than it used to be.” I try to keep my tone playful.

“You know what I mean. You always do.”

“You’re right. I do know. But I also know that you have no other choice.”

Aris sighs and rests his back against the chair. He opens his arms, and I settle between his legs. He holds me in my little nest. I wait for him to speak.

“On my thirteenth birthday, my father told me that he had decided to marry Dora,” he begins. “In response, I destroyed a piece of furniture that I’d made. The next morning, I packed some clothes and ran away. I thought I’d never come back.”

I keep quiet, stroking his hand, listening. I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. I know his expressions by heart, and I know that steely gaze.

“I came down to the stream, and I sat on that same stone where I took you. Remember that place?”

I nod silently.

“I sat there, furious and crying, like the boy I was. I mistakenly thought that my father and I made a good team, just the two of us. There wasn’t really a need for words with my father either. But then Dora came. She was so . . . intrusive and suffocating. She was always asking me questions, trying to get me to talk to her. I hated it.”

I raise my head and our eyes meet.

“I do talk to you, though, more than to anyone else,” he says with a half smile. “I’m finding that I like talking, but only to you.”

I lower my head again so he can continue his story. “That morning, as I was sitting on the stone by the stream, my father suddenly appeared. He sat next to me, but didn’t say anything. I understood what he was trying to tell me without hearing him speak.”

“What did he want to tell you?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

“That he was marrying Dora for me. He didn’t love her, but he thought I needed a mother. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that she was the polar opposite of what I’d want in a mother.”

“So what happened?”

“When he stood up, I did too. I went home with him.”

We both remain silent. I take his hand and bring it to my lips. I want to hear more about what happened after his father died. He and Dora continued to live together, and he must have made a commitment to provide for her. But I don’t dare ask him now. I want to give him all the time he needs.

Aris left to have dinner with Dora, but he’s back home with me now. We’re in my bed—or should I say,
our
bed—gazing out the window at the stars. It’s very late, but neither of us can sleep. I wish life could go on like this forever: Aris and I, together, every day and every night. Unfortunately, my blissful reverie is interrupted by my anxiety about the trial. Aris must have guessed what I was thinking.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, Emi. You’ll be exonerated, and I’ll be able to take you home.”

“But what if—”

“No what ifs.”

“I can’t help it, Aris. I can’t possibly go to jail, because then we’d be apart. I don’t want to live without you.”

“And you won’t have to. I promise,” he says, cupping my face in his hands.

I don’t know how he can be so sure that everything will be fine, but right now, I feel infused with a sense of absolute peace and confidence. I cling to him and close my eyes. Finally, we sleep.

There are two weeks until the trial. I wish I could slow down time, but when you’re dreading something, your head likes to play games. That’s always been the case for me anyway. When I was little and my mother told me I’d have to go to the doctor’s for a vaccine, I couldn’t think about anything else. I hated shots more than anything. My mind would constantly replay the image of a needle breaking skin, accompanied by the feeling of pain. I considered vaccines to be an invasion of my body, an attack on my virtue, even though I was too young to really know what that meant. I feel the same way now, like I’m suffering a brutal attack by being forced back to my hometown when I swore to myself that I’d never go back.