Silence Is Golden (22 page)

“He never would have actually done that!” I exclaim. “He’s always taken care of her, even though he was never obligated to do so!”

The judge throws me a warning glance and reminds me that I may not interject, that I am only here to answer questions I am asked.

“Your Honor, you need to bring in other witnesses that also knew about Aris’s relationship with Dora! Everyone will tell you that Aris is kind and generous and that he would never have abandoned her!”

“We have already collected witness testimonies, Miss Russo. We do not need you to tell us how to do our jobs.” I am silenced. “Please continue to recount the events of that night.”

“So I went downstairs to check on Dora. Once I realized she was dead, I told Aris we had to call the police. But he was upset and wouldn’t move. So I called.”

“You are aware that Mr. Martini has refused to answer any questions?” The prosecutor asks me. “What do you think of that behavior?”

“Aris doesn’t say much to begin with, and I think that Dora’s death has been very traumatic for him. He just needs some time,” I say, lovingly glancing at Aris. But his head is still lowered.

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” states the prosecutor before returning to his bench.

Aris’s lawyer presents his argument, summarizing Aris and Dora’s living situation and essentially repeating what I said. That Aris supported himself and Dora with his carpentry work. That they got along, but that once I entered the picture, she tried to dissuade him from seeing me. That some townspeople heard her insult me at the café. In other words, the defense lawyer says their relationship had become tense, but everyone thought that eventually Dora would loosen up. The attorney ends his argument by pointing out that Aris was free to evict Dora from his home at any time, yet he had not done so, and everyone who knows him says that he wouldn’t have forced her to leave even if he married me. I can’t allow myself to hope, but after the arguments have been presented, I sigh with relief.

The coroner is then called to the stand as an expert witness. He says that the cause of death was blunt head trauma from the fall down the stairs and that the body shows no signs of a prior scuffle. He also says that there were no signs of bruising that would indicate she was pushed. Dora’s medical records are entered as evidence; she had apparently been suffering for years from osteoporosis, which causes brittle bones. The coroner concludes by saying that in his expert opinion, all these elements point to Dora’s death as being a tragic accident. Now I am seriously starting to feel hopeful. The prosecutor says that he has no further witnesses to call to the stand, nor any other arguments to make. Aris’s lawyer says the same thing. At this point, I think the court will take a short recess to deliberate, but instead, the judge speaks.

“I think that it is safe to say we are all in agreement that Mr. Aris Martini cannot be convicted of the murder of Mrs. Dora Martini, due to a substantial lack of evidence. It is the opinion of this court that Mrs. Martini’s death was, in all likelihood, a tragic accident.”

I can barely breathe.

“Mr. Martini, you are hereby found not guilty. You are free to go.”

I can’t believe it. It’s all over! I turn to Aris, and this time he’s staring right at me. He isn’t smiling, but I go hug him anyway. He doesn’t respond, but I don’t mind. I squeeze his lean frame and kiss his cold, closed lips. People are starting to leave. The inspector is headed in our direction. I am shocked by the fact that Aris still hasn’t reacted. It’s as if he’s in a trance.

“I think you’re right. He needs time,” says the inspector as he leads us out of the courtroom.

I nod, but I’m terrified. Aris, what has happened to you?

Benedetto and Emma smile and congratulate us, but Aris remains silent and expressionless. I’m almost overwhelmed with anxiety. Benedetto’s smile fades, and his face darkens. Taking Aris by the arm, he leads him out of the courthouse. Emma and I follow them.

“What’s happened to him?” she asks me. “He looks like a ghost.”

“I don’t know. It’s like he doesn’t even care that he’s been acquitted.”

“His expression . . .”

“It’s like he’s not even here,” I finish as I feel a shiver run through me in spite of the spring air.

Benedetto leaves Aris’s side and walks over to us. “I think it’s best that you and Emma go home together. I’ll take care of Aris.”

“But I want to be with him.”

Do I see pity in his eyes?

“It’s better this way, Emilia. Believe me,” he replies, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I gaze at Aris, standing only a few feet away, eyes fixed on the ground. Why won’t he stay with me? Why does he refuse to look at me? I resign myself to following Emma to her car. We drive the twists and turns of the road back to Bren, with Aris and Benedetto following close behind. I keep turning around to look at Aris, praying that he’s looking at me too, but he simply sits, unmoving, his gaze blank. When we arrive in Bren, Emma stops her car in front of Benedetto’s house, and he follows suit. I can see Aris’s head in the passenger seat. Benedetto approaches our car, and Emma rolls down her window.

“Aris wants to go to his house.”

“Why not mine?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “He can’t stay in that house all by himself.”

“That’s exactly what he wants. You know him. He can’t be convinced otherwise. He says he wants to get back to work.” Benedetto glances at Aris, still in the car. “Anyway, Linda will take care of him for a while. She’ll make sure he eats, and she’ll straighten up the house.”

“Aris knows how to do all those things by himself,” I say, tears streaming down my face. “He’s a wonderful man . . . I was going to marry him. He wanted to marry me.”

I can’t help myself. I fling my door open and run to Benedetto’s car, planting myself next to the passenger-side window. I bang both my fists on the window, and Aris finally turns and looks at me. I step back, and he looks away. I don’t press the issue further. I turn and head home, with Benedetto and Emma calling after me. Neither of them tries to stop me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Night comes and goes. I sit in my chair, motionless, for hours. The woodstove is off, and it’s cold, but I’m wrapped in a blanket. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, but I’m not hungry. Linda knocked on my door last night, calling out my name, but I didn’t respond. I know that she and Benedetto care about me, but I don’t want to see anyone. The only person I do want to see doesn’t want to see me. When Aris finally looked at me from inside the car, I read in his eyes the decision he must have made in jail. Enough Emi, enough love, enough hope. It’s all over. He’s ready to hole up in his shop and die alone. There’s nothing I can do to change his mind. He tried to warn me by telling me that he can be cruel to the people who love him. And no one loves him more than I do.

I must have fallen asleep. Bright morning light is flooding the room. I slowly head to the bathroom, leaning against the walls to get there. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, and I rinse my face in the sink. I rest my forehead on the sink, but when I lift it up, my vision clouds over and everything goes dark.

A hand strokes my face. The skin is smooth; it can’t be Aris. I keep my eyes shut. Maybe they’ll leave.

“Emilia?” It’s Emma. “Honey, are you awake?”

My head hurts, and my body feels sore. How did I end up in my bed? I’m hungry. How can I be hungry if I decided not to eat anymore? I decided to die. If you want to die, you shouldn’t eat.

“Emilia, please open your eyes,” Emma says. I can hear anguish in her voice, but I don’t move. “Honey, you fainted a little while ago. How are you feeling now?” There’s a confusing sea of memories in my head, all starring Aris. Aris caressing my cheek, Aris taking my coat, Aris laughing, Aris’s blue eyes fixated on me as we make love. I groan with painful longing.

“Emilia . . . Please,” Emma repeats.

She finally leaves me be. Thank God. Just let me die.

I’m awoken by a cramp in my stomach. I’m starving. That’s okay, though. This is how it all starts. I read about it in a book. I try to go back to sleep, but the nausea is back. It’s weird that I’m both hungry and nauseous at the same time. Suddenly, my eyes pop open as if I’ve been slapped. I remember my calendar with its unmarked days . . . What if I really am pregnant? How could I have forgotten? I sit up and look around. I am alone. I have to get to the bathroom before I throw up on the floor or on the bed. I put my feet on the ground, but I already know that my legs aren’t strong enough to support me.

“Emma!” I cry, hoping she’s still here. “Emma!”

She rushes in.

“Oh, finally.” She smiles at me.

“Help me get to the bathroom please!” I ask.

Sensing the urgency in my voice, she rushes to help.

“Here, lean on me, let’s go.”

We barely reach the bathroom in time for me to throw up into the sink while Emma holds back my hair. When I’m done, I rinse my mouth and raise my head. My face is completely white against my red hair.

“You’re not trying to kill it too, are you?” she asks me.

“Kill what?” I whisper.

“Your child.”

After I take a hot bath, we sit at the table and I try to force down some soup that Emma made.

“I figured it out a long time ago,” she says about my pregnancy. “There was something in your eyes, in your face. I can’t explain it, but I’ve always been able to tell if a woman’s pregnant, even before she’s found out herself.”

“I haven’t even taken a test. I’m just late,” I reply.

“How late are you? Two months? You don’t need the test, I’m telling you.”

I lower my head. Emma’s right. The test is needless. It really hits me then. I’m carrying Aris’s child.

“You should let him know,” Emma says.

There’s no need to ask her what she means. I shake my head.

“I don’t want to dump yet another burden on him. He’s already got enough of those to last him a lifetime.”

“What’re you talking about, Emilia? It’s not a burden! It’s a child, his own flesh and blood! He’ll love that child!”

“Maybe, maybe not. I honestly don’t know. If he really wanted to have children with me, he would be with me now. I love him, and I want him here, and he knows that. He’s choosing to stay away from me.”

I burst into tears again, and I feel sick. Emma rests her hand on mine but doesn’t say anything. I thank her for everything she’s done and let her know that she can go home.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’m not planning to die anymore, if that’s what you’re asking,” I reply with a bitter smile. “I have a child to bring into the world.”

“Okay then. You can come back to work for me if you’d like. Giorgia and I will take care of you.”

“I know you will. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

I am finally left alone. The thought of the baby growing inside of me isn’t enough to keep me company. Without Aris, I will be forever alone, even in the midst of a crowd.

For the next few days, I stay home and try to eat regularly. Benedetto, Linda, and Emma all take care of me, taking turns shopping for my groceries with me. One day when I’m out with Linda, I ask about Aris. She shrugs.

“He’s working. He eats to make me happy.”

“Does he talk?”

She shakes her head.

“Have you seen him smile at all these past few days?”

Linda shakes her head again. I can see that she’s grieving for him. She may as well be his mother. She’d certainly have been a better one than Dora. I don’t think about Dora anymore. I’ve shut her out of my mind as I did with my father. There’s not a drop of Christian charity in me. I believe that we are shaped by our experiences. Though we are sometimes powerless to defend ourselves, there’s a part of us that always has some kind of choice. If you make poor choices, you’ll have to pay for them. What if this happens to Aris too in a few years? What if he’s making bad choices right now? Does he deserve to be always unhappy? Anger is starting to replace my pain. Anger has always been my first reaction, my best self-defense. Anger, not courage, fuels my fire. I know it’s pathetic, but it works for me. If I could, I’d take Aris by the shoulders and shake him, forcing him to look me in the eye. I’d ask him if Dora is really worth all this unhappiness. My unhappiness, our unborn child’s unhappiness. But he probably wouldn’t answer me anyway. I get dressed and grab my coat, though I really don’t need it; this spring weather is so lovely. I told Benedetto that I’d decided to accept Emma’s job offer, and he agreed.

“You’re a flower, my dear. You should be among other flowers,” he said, patting me on the cheek.

Why couldn’t
he
have been my father?

I walk through the woods, and the sound of branches snapping under my shoes reminds me of when Aris used to follow me home in the evenings. In my mind’s eye, I can see that flash of blond hair disappearing behind the trees. Will I ever see that again? Now I only have memories left; it’s as if he were dead. I go straight to Emma’s once I emerge from the woods. I’m going to surprise her. I need to see a smiling face. I walk slowly. I’ve recovered from my three days of not eating, and my head, which I slammed on the edge of the bathroom sink when I fainted, doesn’t hurt anymore. I still feel weak, though. Nausea rears its ugly head once in a while, but for the most part, I can keep it at bay, and I’m able to go out without worrying that I’ll have to excuse myself in the middle of a conversation to throw up. Not that there are many people who will talk to me anyway. In fact, the idea of having a conversation with anyone terrifies me. I hope that Emma will be understanding and not ask me questions. I just want to stay with her and Giorgia for a while, arranging bouquets, watering plants, trying not to think.

The people I pass as I walk all stare at me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the ground. I must look like a mere shadow of my former cheerfully defiant self. I have no illusions. I know these people all blame me for Dora’s death, regardless of the court’s decision. Aris may be redeemed since they’ve known him his whole life, but there’s no hope for me. To them, I don’t truly belong here. My name was only cleared in the theft charge because my accuser passed away. I’m sure they know that too. When I turn the corner of Emma’s street, I come face-to-face with Marcello. It’s the morning; shouldn’t he be at school?

“Good morning, Miss Russo.”

I simply nod and keep walking. He follows me.

“Apparently things haven’t been going so well for you, huh?” he says, every word dripping with barely contained glee. “I heard Aris dumped you after you killed his mother.”

I stop and stare at him, unable to believe that he actually said that. For a moment, I consider replying, telling him that I didn’t kill anyone and that Dora was never Aris’s mother, but then I realize he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. It would be foolish to indulge him. I say nothing and start walking again.

“Do you see now that you could have used a little protection?” he insists, following me again. “You’d better be careful. Everyone here hates you. If you don’t watch out, you’re going to end up getting what you deserve.”

I turn suddenly and stare him down, hoping that my eyes reflect at least a flicker of determination. Marcello returns my stare, but he doesn’t seem quite so sure of himself now.

“However, Emilia,” he says, lowering his voice, “my offer is still on the table. With me around, you wouldn’t have to worry about those nasty rumors. My name alone would protect you.”

“You just don’t get it, Marcello,” I finally reply. “I wouldn’t want your protection even if my life depended on it.”

The surprise on his face shocks me. Did he really think that I was going to seek refuge in his slimy embrace, especially after what he just said to me? I turn around and continue on my way.

“When you run away from this town with your tail between your legs, I’ll be waving good-bye, my dear,” he calls after me.

Thankfully, Emma’s shop is right there.

Giorgia isn’t around, and maybe that’s for the best. Emma immediately gives me a big hug.

“How are you feeling?”

I shrug without answering, but I make an effort to smile. Her compassion is reflected in her face.

“Do you want to sit down, and I’ll make you some tea?”

“Actually, if you have anything for me to help with, I’d rather keep my mind occupied.”

“Of course. I’m doing a wedding in two days. I would love for you to help me with that. But do you think you’re up for it?”

“Yes, sounds great.”

We work all morning, and it does me good. I can fend off the thoughts and memories that have recently become unbearable. At lunchtime, Emma says she’ll go get the sandwiches from the café, but I tell her that I’ll go and that I’d like to see Benedetto.

“People might say things. Be careful,” she says.

“Benedetto won’t let anything bad happen to me.”

However, there’s no sign of Benedetto at the café, and I feel almost palpable disappointment. I give my order to the girl working behind the counter, who I don’t think I’ve ever seen. While I’m waiting, I notice that the other customers are staring at me. I recognize almost all of them. As a matter of fact, before any of this happened, I’d exchanged pleasantries with all of them. Today, though, they merely glare at me with openly hostile expressions. The waitress returns with my sandwiches, and after paying for them, I quickly head for the door. But just then, the one person I absolutely don’t want to see enters the café. Teresa. Fortunately, Benedetto is following right behind her. As I pass her, Teresa gives me a hateful look and deliberately bumps me with her hip, knocking the wrapped sandwiches out of my hands. I don’t even react. I just bend down and pick them up. Benedetto takes me by the shoulders.

“Are you okay? Certain people should be more careful,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply. “These things happen.”

“I’ll bring you and Emma some coffee later if you’d like.”

“Sure. Thank you, Benedetto.”

As I leave the café, I hear the whispering start up.

The next few days are pretty unremarkable. I’m getting used to hostile glances and to the fact that only my tiny group of friends greets me or speaks to me. I’m totally enveloped in silence for the most part, except when I’m with Emma, who has become much more talkative, perhaps to compensate for the silence that seems to accompany me wherever I go.

“You’re becoming like Aris,” she tells me one afternoon.

I glance at her without replying.

“You never talk anymore,” she adds.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just wondering how much longer this is going to continue.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s sit down for a minute.”

Once we both have a cup of tea in front of us, she begins to talk.

“In a month or two, you’re going to start to show. Aris will hear about it. What will you do then?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that.”

“Emilia. Do you really want to raise your child here? It wouldn’t be easy, you know. It’s only going to get harder. I should know, because I raised Giorgia here by myself. I was married and my husband left me. You’ll be on your own too.”