Silence Is Golden (18 page)

I’ll most likely face my father and have to defend myself against his slanderous accusations. What will I even say? Aris says that I should simply tell the truth, but what does that mean? Will it be enough to tell them that my mother left me the money? How can I convince them? Should I add that my father wanted to make me his mistress—would that help my case? If I were the judge, I might think that my strong desire to escape from him would push me to steal. But like the vaccines, I can’t avoid this. I have to appear in that damn court, or Aris will get in trouble, and I’d never do anything to hurt him.

I spend the next two weeks working at Benedetto’s and hanging out with Aris, who speaks less and less as the days go by. I realize that I don’t say much either. Our everyday life doesn’t require much conversation, and since we are both trying to avoid talking about the only thing on our minds, we end up coexisting in silence. Tonight, though, as I’m curled up in the chair, attempting to read, Aris suddenly drops his drawing pencil on the desk, and the sharp noise it makes startles me. He’s normally so quiet, so I realize he must have dropped it on purpose. I look up at him.

“When my father died, I didn’t eat for a week.”

I’m almost afraid to breathe.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I just had no appetite,” he continues. “I was sixteen, and I was as scrawny then as I am now. I probably looked like a skeleton after not eating for a week. Dora kept making our meals, and we’d sit down at the table together, but I wouldn’t touch my food. Even though she always used to badger me with relentless questions, she was as silent as I was that week. She didn’t even try to get me to eat. I don’t remember the specifics, but I think the eighth day after he died, I passed out in the wood shop. She found me and put me in bed. She didn’t call the doctor, or anyone else. She just made me some soup and sat on the edge of my bed with the spoon in her hand. That day, for the first time, I saw her as a mother. The only one I’d ever had. I let her feed me the soup, and I got better. Since then, she’s learned to respect my silence, and I respect the way she’s taken care of me. I can’t leave her. I never will.”

Aris stops and looks at me. I’ve kept silent this whole time. I haven’t even noticed that two tears have made their way down my cheeks. We both stand up, then meet in the middle of the room and hold each other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Before sunrise, Aris and I drive in his pickup truck to the train station in the valley. We take the first train into Padova. We manage to find two seats together. Aris holds my hand, and his firm grasp is the only thing that keeps me from jumping off the train at every stop. We get off at Padova with all the people who commute to the city for work. We have a little time before the train to Rome leaves, but we don’t feel like exploring the city. Instead, we order some tea from an outdoor café at the station. We don’t even consider eating, as neither Aris nor I were able to keep anything down this morning. As usual, we’re silent. The looks we exchange communicate everything.

The train to Rome fills up quickly, but we manage to sit together again. I lean into Aris’s shoulder and close my eyes, still clutching his hand. The trip lasts about three hours, but I don’t move from my seat. Every once in a while, I open my eyes and look around. Aris’s gaze is fixed outside the window at the passing fields, buildings, and small towns. Other travelers are reading, listening to music with headphones, talking on the phone, or chatting with each other. People are probably staring at us. We’re two silent, motionless people about to face trouble.

We finally arrive in Rome, and we have to wait another half hour for the train to Terni. It’s a long journey, which I remember all too well from my reverse trip to Bren all those months ago. I had nothing then, but now that I feel like I have it all, I might be about to lose everything. The last train we end up on is the one that I swore I’d never take again.

When we get off the train at the Terni station, I recognize the familiar smell of my hometown, and I wish I could stop breathing. The air is frigid and much more humid than Bren. Dirty snow is piled on the ground. Walking hand in hand, we arrive at the hotel where we booked a room for the night. The hearing is set for tomorrow morning at eight. We brought only one small suitcase for both of us, and we leave it with reception while we eat in a nearby restaurant. We don’t say a word and end up leaving most of our spaghetti on our plates. Back at the hotel, we shower together in the tiny bathroom and then collapse on the bed, exhausted. I cling to Aris, resting my head on his chest. I’m in a strange room in a city I abhor, but he’s here with me, and he’s my home. I fall asleep effortlessly.

The next morning, we quickly get ready and check out of the hotel. I know exactly where I’m going, and we take a bus straight to the courthouse. Aris never lets go of my hand. I’m almost no longer afraid now that we’re here.
At least it will all be over soon,
I tell myself. Once we’re inside the courthouse, Aris shows an officer the summons, and he directs us to a room upstairs. We show the summons to another officer standing just outside the room. He scans it, checks a paper in front of him, then shakes his head.

“Is there a problem?” Aris asks.

“Your trial isn’t on the docket.”

“But the summons was clear,” I say.

He shows us to another room where we can ask questions. They’re not much help, though, because there’s no record of any upcoming trial under my name. They send us to yet another room, this time an attorney’s office. Of course, I don’t have an attorney; I assumed I’d get one when I showed up in court. Perhaps I should have sought legal advice before today. We find the name of the court-appointed lawyer assigned to my case and try to track him down in another room. I’m so confused. I barely slept last night, and what little sleep I had was ridden with nightmares. I wish this would all end, one way or another, and this constant shuffling from room to room is only exacerbating the tightness in my stomach. The door to my attorney’s room is closed, and the officer outside directs us to wait. I’m bewildered, but Aris looks furious. Finally, the attorney emerges, and we ask him for an explanation. As he reads the crumpled summons I hand him, I begin trembling.

“Damn, no one told you?” he exclaims.

A shiver runs through me. What is he talking about? Did they postpone the trial date and I’ll have to come back? Did I miss my trial and I’ve already been convicted? Aris can tell that I am about to pass out, and he leads me over to one of the plastic chairs lined up against the wall. The attorney follows us.

“I’m so sorry that no one told you,” he says after I sit down.

“What? Please, what are you talking about?” I ask him, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“There will be no trial,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “The complaint was withdrawn.”

For a few seconds, it’s as if he’s spoken to me in a completely different language. I repeat his words in my head, but I can’t make any sense of them. Then Aris stoops down to look me in the eye and places his hands on my shoulders.

“Did you hear that, Emi? The complaint was withdrawn.”

Finally I understand, as if he were my interpreter. I’m saved. It’s over. I can look forward to things again. I can go back to living my life. I can stay with Aris! But the attorney hasn’t smiled yet.

“She should know that her father passed away a week ago. Her brothers withdrew the complaint. I’m so sorry that no one told you.”

I freeze. It’s as if someone cut my wires. I hear the attorney whisper condolences to me, I hear Aris thank the attorney, but I’m completely devoid of emotion. Aris sits next to me, hugging me, saying nothing. I burst into tears. I haven’t cried like this since my mother died, but my feelings now couldn’t be more different from what I felt back then. Aris holds me tight and dries my tear-stained face with his fingers, but my tears just keep coming. He doesn’t try to console me or tell me to calm down or ask me to stop crying. It’s like I’m clinging to a rock as a storm rages inside me. I don’t know how long we sit on those plastic chairs, but I know that by the time he helps me up, I’m not crying anymore. I’m so exhausted and drained that Aris has to support me as I walk.

We make our way out of the courthouse one slow step at a time, and Aris leads me to a café. It’s warm and dark inside, and there are only a few customers seated at the tables. He seats me at a table against the wall and, with his eyes, asks if I’ll be okay if he leaves me for just a moment. I nod, and he orders at the counter. He comes right back and sits down next to me. The bench has an upholstered seat, and it’s comfy and welcoming. I lean on Aris like I did on the train and close my eyes. If it weren’t for the giant jumble of thoughts in my head, I could easily fall asleep. Aris doesn’t try to make me talk. When the waitress arrives with our cups of tea, I open my eyes and stare straight ahead. Aris stirs milk and sugar into my tea. We drink, and with each sip, I feel a little better.

“I don’t know what to think,” I say, setting the cup down on the table. “I’m so confused.” Aris takes my hands in his. He kisses me with lips warmed by the tea. My mind begins to clear.

“I’ve hated him almost all my life,” I say, “but finding out that he’s dead . . .”

I can’t explain, but I know that he understands what I mean.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks.

“My home is in Bren. I have no home here,” I correct him.

“Don’t you want to see your brothers? For just a few minutes?” he presses. “You might not get another chance.”

“I don’t want another chance. I don’t even want this one.” I know that it’s true as I say it. He doesn’t respond and simply presses his lips together. I kiss his carpenter’s mark.

“Take me home, Aris,” I plead. “Just take me home.”

We don’t catch the bus back to the station. Instead, we walk hand in hand along the busy streets. Occasionally something in one of the shop windows attracts our attention, and we stop to look. With each step, I feel lighter. I now have the self-confidence that comes with being able to go wherever and do whatever I please. The fact that I can do all of this with Aris makes me even happier. I relegated my father’s death to a remote corner of my mind while we were in that café. I know that I’ll have to come to terms with it sooner or later, but for now the only thing I can think about is my newfound freedom and the end of this nightmare. I spot the hospital as we’re walking.

“That’s where my mother was treated, without success,” I tell Aris.

“Isn’t there anyplace in this town that holds a happy memory for you?” he asks.

“Actually, yes. Want to see it?”

We go into the hospital, and Aris looks at me, waiting for an explanation. Smiling, I simply press the elevator button for the top floor in response. As the elevator slowly rises, I’m not sure I want to tell Aris everything. He might get really upset, or worse, he might not even care. I tell myself that he’ll understand. Once we’re on the top floor, I glance around to see if anyone is watching and then lead Aris by the hand up the stairs leading to the roof. The door is ajar, and we walk onto the terrace. I lean against the railing while Aris takes in the view. There’s a chilly breeze, the kind that freezes your face, but I want to stay. I turn toward him, and the entire story tumbled out of how I spent every week in this hospital with my mother. I tell him about the chemotherapy, about how my mother would stagger out of the ward. I tell him about how awful it was, and all about Francesco. He listens, and his lips curl into one of his familiar smiles that I love so much.

“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Don’t you think it was awful that while my mother was fighting for her life, I left her alone to make out with some guy up here?”

He shakes his head again.

“Don’t you think I should have been too ashamed to even look her in the eye on the way home?”

He shakes his head once more.

“So what
do
you think? Please tell me.”

He places a hand on the nape of my neck and touches his forehead to mine.

“I think that I’m a little disappointed you brought me here, because I’m afraid that after this, your memories of Francesco will never be the same. And that would be a shame.”

I stare at him, mouth agape. Impulsively, I hug him so hard that I can feel his ribcage. Once again I find myself in tears, despite my best efforts not to cry.

“You see?” I mumble. “You can’t be real. Sooner or later I’ll wake up and find out that you are an angel and that God wants you back.”

He pushes me away in response, surprising me.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says in a harsh tone that I’ve never heard him use before. “I’m not an angel. In fact, I can be quite cruel.” He’s silent for a minute, then turns back to the railing. “Sometimes even to the people I care most about.”

The wind dries the tears on my face as I try to understand what he’s said.

“You mean Dora?” I ask.

“Sure. But also my father.”

“I don’t believe you,” I declare. “You loved him. You still do. You might accidentally end up hurting people, but it doesn’t mean you’re cruel.”

Aris presses his lips together and swallows hard. I hug him again. I don’t care if he pushes me away again. Resting my hand on his cheek, I make him look at me. When our eyes meet, I see that steely gaze that I fear. I start to caress him with my hand, but he stops me, grabbing my wrist. He doesn’t squeeze my wrist, but I know that I couldn’t free myself if I wanted to.

“I could hurt you.”

His voice is muted, but even with the wind howling around us, I hear every word.

“Is that a threat?” My voice quivers.

He finally seems to realize he’s scaring me, and he lets go of my wrist. “Of course not.” He lowers his head, and I’m afraid that he’s not going to say any more. “There are things about me you don’t know,” he quietly adds. “Things that you can’t even imagine. I’m not perfect, Emilia. Not at all.”

“Tell me what I don’t know,” I plead.

He shakes his head. “Sooner or later, I will. I want you to know. But I can’t. Not yet.”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that you’ll leave me,” he responds.

“There’s nothing you could ever say that would make me want to leave you,” I say without taking my eyes off him. “There’s nothing you could do, say, or even think to make that happen.”

“Will you promise me that?”

The expression on his face is new to me. It looks almost . . . challenging.

“Of course,” I say, sure of that vow.

He places a hand over my mouth and the other gently behind my neck to prevent me from talking.

“No. Please don’t make that promise.”

I communicate with a glance that he can take away his hand, that I won’t promise after all, and he drops his hands.

“Why won’t you let me promise?” I wait patiently for him to answer me. To rush him would be ridiculous, now that I know him so well.

“For your sake,” he finally says, refusing to look at me. “I don’t want you to promise anything that you’ll later regret.”

We go downstairs without saying another word. All my mood swings today have left me exhausted. Once we’ve left the hospital, Aris holds my hand again, but his eyes are cold. I worry that if he keeps acting this way, I may end up believing that he can be cruel after all. We head back to the train station and buy tickets to Rome. Thankfully, our train soon arrives, and we climb on. We sit next to each other, and it’s as if all my bad feelings have suddenly left me. I lean against Aris’s shoulder, and he finally hugs me. We gaze at each other, and I notice that his eyes have returned to their usual warm, deep-blue color. I close my eyes and melt into his embrace. A few minutes after the train pulls out of the station, he whispers in my ear.

“I’m sorry, Emi. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.”

“I know,” I say without opening my eyes.