Silence Is Golden (20 page)

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t care what other people say or think. I only care about you.”

“Then marry me,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

“I can’t,” I answer.

“Why not?”

We’re so close that I can feel his breath on my face.

“I’m not going to marry you just to get your stepmother off our backs. It still wouldn’t be enough.”

“What more can I do?”

Maybe I don’t really know, but he certainly knows me.

“I can’t marry you if you don’t trust me,” I finally tell him.

He sighs and lies back down on his side of the bed. I feel nauseous again and run toward the bathroom.

When I return to the bedroom, the bedside lamp is on. Aris is sitting propped against the headboard. I slip between the covers and try to hug him, but he resists.

“No, please. I can’t do this if you’re too close to me.”

I lie on my side, watching him. He stares straight ahead.

“I killed my father,” he says, his voice trembling. “Not directly, of course, but it feels like I did.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “I could tell that something was wrong, that something was bothering him. But when I asked him about it, he wouldn’t tell me anything. We didn’t talk much after all. As a result, I was anxious about my father, and I was awful to Dora. We fought all the time, and I was grounded all the time. One day I was especially terrible to her. I screamed that I hated her, that she’d never be my mother, that I cursed the day she came into our home. My father slapped me across the face for the first time in my life. I was sixteen.”

I can feel how exhausting it is for him to say all this, and I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to continue. But I don’t want him to think I don’t want to listen or that I’m afraid of what he’ll say. I pat his hands, clenched in his lap, and then I rest my hand reassuringly next to him, yet just far enough away so that I’m not touching him.

“My mind was clouded with anger,” he continues. “I ran into the wood shop, afraid of what I might do next, but my father followed me. Dora stayed in the house. He apologized for slapping me, but I didn’t want his pity just then. I told him that I hated him too, that it was his fault I didn’t have a mother—he’d never even told me her name. I told him that I would always hate Dora.”

I try to imagine my sweet, tender Aris in the throes of rage, but I can’t. I finally understand the reason for his caution and his silences.

“He didn’t react,” he continues, and I hear tears in his voice. “He didn’t respond, and he didn’t hit me again, though I deserved it. He didn’t even try to explain himself. He just looked at me, and I saw the defeat in his eyes. It was the end of his dream of making the three of us a real family. I wanted to take back every word, but as Benedetto says, you can’t take words back. Plus, I was too young, and I hadn’t yet learned how to apologize. I just stared at him, and he turned and walked away.”

Aris is silent for a while. I bite my tongue so I don’t rush him.

“The next morning, I didn’t see him in the wood shop as usual. I waited, but he never came. It was a Saturday, and there was a lot of work to do. Eventually I got worried, so I went to look for Dora. But she wasn’t around, because she’d left early for a church function. So I climbed the stairs to my father’s room and knocked. There was no response. I knocked again.”

Aris’s voice cracks, and he stops talking. I don’t move. At this point, it’s more for his benefit than mine that he continues to speak. He takes a deep breath and goes on.

“I opened his door. My father was still in bed. It looked like he was asleep. I went to his side, calling his name, and touched his hand. It was freezing cold. He was dead. He’d probably been lying there for hours.”

Aris suddenly looks at me. His eyes are bloodshot and full of tears, which begin to spill down his cheeks.

“It was my hate that killed him. My stupidity. My arrogance. He dedicated his life to me, and I ended it.”

Those last words are choked with sobs, and I hold him tightly. The dawn light shines through the window. Aris’s sobs finally subside, but I keep holding him.

“I’ve never told anyone that, Emi. I don’t even think that Dora knows what happened in the wood shop that night.”

“I understand,” I say. “It’s probably not going to do any good to remind you that you were only sixteen and that you were angry and alone.”

“I’ve told myself that countless times, but it’s no use. I’ll always carry that guilt with me.”

“No, you won’t.”

“How do you know that? And how can you even still look at me? Did you not hear what I just told you?”

“Don’t you remember what I told you on the hospital roof? That there’s nothing you could say that could make me turn on you. Don’t you understand that?” My eyes never leave his. He’s shaking so hard that it hurts. I’m tired of words, although I never thought I’d think that. And I’m tired of crying, and of pain. I take his face in my hands and kiss him, tasting the salt from his tears. I kiss his closed eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. I caress his body as I’ve done so many times before. Our tongues become entwined. Our breathing becomes labored. I guide him inside me, and all the words disappear, along with all the remorse and pain that has marred both our lives. We deserve this love. We deserve to enjoy it. We deserve to live, laugh, and be happy.

SPRING

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Spring has just arrived, and it’s Emma’s favorite season. She’s asked me to help her with some spring-cleaning at the flower shop. I head over after I get off work at the café. I’m nervous because this is the first time I’ve seen Giorgia in a while. Apparently all is forgiven, because when I arrive at the flower shop, she’s waiting for me on the doorstep with a smile. She flies at me, greeting me with a bear hug.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Never mind,” I tell her. “I’m so happy to see you.”

She leads me into the store by the hand. Emma is clearly pleased to see us together.

“All better?” she asks us. We nod. “Finally. Now let’s get to work.”

We spend the afternoon moving plants, mopping the floor, cleaning out junk, and polishing the greenhouse glass. At five o’clock we gather around the counter for a tea-and-cookie break.

“Hey, Emilia, how’s Aris?” Giorgia asks.

I freeze, shocked by her question. Is she over her crush?

“He’s good.”

“I’m glad. You guys are great together.”

I’m moved by this, and I sip my tea to hide my feelings.

“How are you, little one?”

“I’m great.”

“Why don’t you tell her?” Emma nudges her daughter.

Giorgia grins behind her hand.

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurts out.

I laugh and applaud. Finally! I don’t have to feel guilty anymore about running into her while I’m holding hands with Aris. Giorgia tells me how she’s dating a boy from school who’s a year older than her and how she realized that her fascination with Aris was nothing more than a childish crush.

“Though I still think he’s something else,” she says, making Emma laugh.

“I can’t argue with that,” I reply.

On my way home tonight, I feel a new lightness within me. Finally, it feels as though my life is headed in the right direction. The days are getting longer, and walking home through the forest is lovely. I think about all the times I’ve walked this same path with Aris and the times I’ve walked it alone while listening for his footsteps. I wonder if he’ll have dinner with me tonight. Dora seems to have calmed down after that scene in the café. Aris spends more time at my place than his now, and I think she’s afraid that she might lose him for good if she doesn’t let up. Perhaps she’s finally beginning to accept the situation.

When I go inside my house, I don’t even need to turn on the lights. The room is filled with glowing candles and the table is set. Aris emerges from the kitchen, carrying a vase full of roses.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says.

I’m speechless, which is happening more and more frequently these days. I gaze at him in awe.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, taking my purse and coat. With a quick kiss on the lips, he heads back into the kitchen. I sit down at the table, admiring his efforts. A bottle of wine, two glasses, ornately folded napkins . . . It all feels very special. He returns, triumphantly carrying a bowl full of spaghetti with tomato sauce. He probably watched me make that dish and committed the recipe to memory.

“Are we celebrating something?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. Coming home to you feels like a celebration.”

What do I say to that? I could tell him I love him, but that wouldn’t do much. He knows that. We start eating, and I tell him about Giorgia and her new boyfriend. He laughs uproariously when I explain her childish crush. I wonder if anyone else has ever seen him laugh that hard. I can’t stay away any longer. I walk around the table so I can touch him and make sure that he’s really and truly mine.

“I want to show you something at my house,” he says.

“But that—”

“I know. I haven’t really considered it my home since I’ve lived there with only Dora. But it was my house at one point, and I do have a room there. I want you to see it, look around, sit on the bed. I want you to face the same wall I did for so many years, the one where I projected all my dreams about you after first seeing you.”

Jesus. So many words. Whatever happened to my strong and silent man?

“I want to see it,” I tell him.

“Let’s go then, okay?”

I look at him, clearly asking a question.

“Dora won’t be there,” he reassures me. “She’s at Teresa’s, playing cards.”

“Then yes.”

I’ve never been to Aris’s house before. I’ve certainly spent time in the wood shop, but never in the house attached to the back of it. The front door is painted a beautiful blue color, and inside, there’s a long hallway with a staircase to the second floor, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. The furniture is dark and traditional. I don’t see anything that Aris would have made.

“Is any of your work here?” I ask.

“No, Dora doesn’t like my work.”

I don’t comment on this, but I can’t help grimacing. The rooms seem clean to the point of being sterile. There are a few pictures on the wall, heavy curtains, and handfuls of porcelain trinkets scattered everywhere. It’s sad to think about Aris living here, in this place where nothing seems to be his. We go upstairs, where there are three closed doors. Aris beckons me to follow him up another staircase with a white handrail. There’s only one door at the top of the staircase, with another blue door. I open it and enter a room that has Aris written all over it. It’s a long, narrow room with a small skylight and a window on the far wall. There’s also the strangest-looking bed I’ve ever seen. It’s totally Aris’s style; it’s made of light polished wood, and the headboard is carved to look like a stormy sea. The bedspread is as blue as his eyes. There’s a bookshelf on the wall across from the bed that is very similar to mine, but not identical, just like Aris had assured me, each one is unique. There’s also a desk with gentle curved lines that resembles mine in front of the window and covered in pencils and drawing paper. He doesn’t have a chair, but there’s a three-legged stool that matches the desk. Even the wardrobe is clearly Aris’s creation; the image of the red cat that he often draws for me is painted on its front. Aris lets me take it all in before he enters the room.

“I’d never believe that this room could exist in this house,” I say, sitting on the bed.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Your personality is in every detail.”

“It’s always been my refuge. And you’re the first person, besides me, to ever come in.”

“Dora hasn’t—”

“No. Only once, the week after my father died, when she nursed me back to health. Otherwise, she’s never been in here. I clean and organize it myself. I have since I was six years old.” Aris sits down next to me.

“Was this the reason you brought me here? To show me the room?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, maybe? Was this it or not?”

“Maybe,” he says, but I can tell from his expression that he won’t say anything more for now. He jumps up and sits at the desk, taking out his sketchbook.

“Can you sit still for a while?”

“Are you going to draw me? But I thought you don’t draw people.”

“Do you remember everything I told you?”

“Everything,” I declare.

“Well, sometimes people change their minds.” He laughs. “It’s true, though. I don’t draw people. To draw someone, you really have to get to know them, observe them for a long time, and there’s never been anyone that I wanted to get to know like that before I met you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“If you don’t stop talking, then I can’t draw you,” he says, obviously trying to change the topic of conversation, but I’m not ready to drop it.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while.” I level my gaze at him until he lowers the sketchbook. I can make him answer me if I stare him down.

“Her name was Mara,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “I was eighteen, and she was seventeen. Dora sent me away to a summer camp near the ocean. The only nice thing about those two weeks was Mara.”

I wish I hadn’t opened up this can of worms. The image of Aris with another woman is unbearable.

“We did it in a shed, on the beach,” he continues.

“That’s enough. Please. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“We brought a blanket,” he says.

“I don’t care.”

“It was a learning experience.”

“Shut up!”

“Because, you know, she—”

I jump up and cover his mouth with one hand. When I remove it, he doesn’t speak.

“You were right,” I say, turning around so I don’t have to look at him. “You can be cruel.”

He comes up behind me and puts his arms around me.

“I’m sorry. But I want to share even the smallest detail about my past with you. Besides, you asked me.”

“I did not. I didn’t even ask the question.”

“Your eyes told me. You think you’re the only one who can read minds?”

“I didn’t think that the idea of you with someone else would make me so crazy,” I confess.

“So, after Mara . . . ,” he continues, undaunted.

I spin around. “I don’t want to know!” I cry.

“You said that I have to show you that I trust you, right? Then you have to listen to me.”

I struggle out of his arms and climb on the bed, hands over my ears. He starts talking about Mara again.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Aris joins me on the bed and removes my hands from my ears, forcing me to look at him.

“After Mara,” he presses on, while I keep my eyes shut, as if that will help, “there wasn’t anyone else until I met you.”

I open my eyes again.

“And when you and I made love for the first time, I realized that my time with Mara was just an experiment. A rather poorly conducted one, by the way.”

I don’t respond.

“And if I could convince you to marry me by sharing every little detail of my past,” he adds, not taking his eyes from mine, “then I would make you listen to me for hours, because I’m not afraid of what you’ll think. I love you so much that I want to be with you forever.”

I sit up to escape his gaze. “I love you too. You know that,” I reply.

“But you still don’t trust me,” he says, turning my head to look at him again. “You think that if you marry me, I’ll turn into your father.”

But what if
. . .
What if that wouldn’t happen after all?
I think to myself.

“Pretty ridiculous, huh?” I ask, escaping his grip.

“Totally senseless,” he replies with a grin.

“I guess I’ll have to think about it then.”

“If you want, I can help speed up the thought process by falling asleep on your doorstep again.”

“Don’t even think about it!” I exclaim, but now I’m grinning too.

“I’d definitely do it again, if only to make you understand how much you care about me, that you couldn’t live without me, that you can’t wait to marry me . . .”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Yes.”

“Yes . . . what?” he says, kneeling in front of me.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

He flashes the smile that reminds me of a cat who’s just caught a mouse. It’s a smile of victory. He must have planned every step of this to get to this very moment. I want to smack him, but I hug him instead.

“You’re an imp.”

“And you are the most stubborn girl in the world. And I adore you.”

I kneel too, and we kiss, which turns into rolling around on the floor together. Aris eventually stands up and goes over to his desk. He takes a small box out of a drawer and sets it in front of me. Inside is a beautiful sapphire ring.

“It was my grandmother’s. I didn’t know my mother, so I don’t have anything of hers. But this is a family heirloom, and my father gave it to me a long time ago. It’s yours, if you want it.”

I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him. I’m mesmerized by the ring. Aris places it on my ring finger, and tears well up in my eyes. We don’t speak, but the looks we exchange are laden with meaning. Our silence is suddenly interrupted by a noise from the hallway, and our gazes dart to the doorway.

Dora.

“What a pretty picture!” she exclaims. “And when were you planning to tell me, huh?”

Aris slowly gets up.

“Sooner or later,” he responds.

“Ah, yes. Who cares what I think?”

“It’s my life, Dora.”

“Which I shaped! I was a mother to you!” she says.

“And I’ve put up with you,” he says, calmly and quietly. “And I’ll continue to do so. But I’m going to marry Emilia, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” she cries before turning and heading back downstairs.

Aris quickly glances at me before following her. I am rooted to the spot.

“You can’t do this to me!” I hear Dora shout.

“I most certainly will,” Aris replies. “I make my own decisions.”

I venture a few steps onto the staircase. I can see Dora standing on the top step of the main staircase below and Aris in the hallway nearby.

“I’ve always loved you,” she cries. “Even when you were awful to me, even when you threw me out of your room! I took care of you!” She pauses. “I married your father for you!”

Aris’s silence speaks volumes. From where I’m standing, I can clearly see the agitation written across his face.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“I first met your father because I was following you,” she says with tears in her eyes. “I saw you leaving the woods, and I followed you. You were so beautiful . . . I had never seen anything so beautiful. When you went into the wood shop, I went in too.”

“You said you needed a wardrobe,” Aris replies coldly.

I can hear his words distinctly. I’m frozen in shock.

“I’ve said so many things, but they were all lies,” she says.

“I don’t believe you. You were completely into my father when you first started dating.”

“I never wanted your father,” she says maliciously. “It was you that I wanted,” she adds, not caring that I can hear her.

“Don’t say another word,” Aris orders her.

“I never loved your father.”

“Shut up! Please!”

“It was you I loved!”

Aris turns and walks toward the staircase up to me. Dora’s face is riddled with pain and disgust.

“Don’t tell me you’re just going to toss me aside like a used rag for that bitch!”