The Legacy (56 page)

As Adagio loses himself in her kiss, immersed in the
softness of her warm mouth under his, he finds it easy to push
away
memories
of
the
unsettling
feeling
he’d experienced
earlier this morning as he watched her drive away with Mali. It
had scared him and affected him so deeply, he’d had to stop
himself from shaking. It is a feeling he will never forget and he
hopes he will never experience again.

Once dinner is ready, I go upstairs to get Mali. She
hasn't come down from her room since we returned from
shopping. I have been concerned, but I thought it best to leave
her alone for a while. Now I am not so sure it was the right
thing to do.

I knock on Mali's door. When there is no answer, I open
it slightly and stick my head in. My eyes are immediately drawn
to the corner where Mali sits crying. Looking up, she quickly
dries her face and my heart aches for her all over again. Slowly
approaching, I kneel next to her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, squeezing her hand.
“Nothing,” she answers with a small sob.
I try again. “Mali, honey, please tell me what’s wrong.

You can talk to me.” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel.
Mali opens her mouth to speak, but a sob escapes,
preventing her from talking.
Grabbing a chair from the desk, I sit next to her and put
my arms around her, trying to offer what comfort I can. Mali
clings to me and continues to cry. When she finally calms down
a little, I lift her chin and dry her tears. “Tell me what’s making
you so sad, Mali.”
She raises her eyes to mine and they are full of fear. She is
afraid to share the secret she has carried inside for so long. But
she needs to tell someone. Taking a deep breath, she closes her
eyes and says, “It was my fault that my dad left my mom. It was
all my fault.”
I open my mouth to disagree but stop myself. Instead, I
remain quiet, praying that I can say the right thing. I try to keep
my voice gentle. “How was it your fault, Mali?”
Mali wipes at her face again and takes another deep
breath, her eyes taking on a far away look.
“Last year I had this teacher–Miss Sims was her name.
She was young and beautiful. She had blue eyes and blond hair,
and her skin was always perfectly tanned. All the boys in school
would stare at her when she walked through the halls, and the
boys in her classes could barely get any work done because they
were too busy looking at her. I thought she was pretty nice. She
always
tried to
make
sure
I understood everything
and
sometimes even spent extra time with me during the class
period, giving me help when I needed it. I thought she was the
perfect teacher.” Her expression hardens. “How stupid I was!”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because . . . because there was a reason she was being so
nice to me.” Her hands form fists. “I was so stupid, Aunt
Cisely! Everybody knew it but me! People hinted around but
never said anything. Everybody knew!”
“Knew what?” I press, doing my best to keep my voice
calm.
Mali drops her eyes, hesitating to answer, but there is no
disguising
the
smoldering
anger
she
has
suppressed since
arriving in Italy.
“Knew what?” I ask again.
“That my father had been cheating on my mother with
Miss Sims!”
What?
I am stunned. Paul had been unfaithful to his wife
with his daughter’s school teacher. Wendy never mentioned the
other woman was her daughter's teacher, nor did she say how
she found out. I try to keep unkind thoughts from my mind,
but it is hard. How could he hurt his family that way? I remind
myself of what I told Phillip during our first conversation. I
was never involved in their day to day life, and I have no right
to judge. But that knowledge still doesn’t stop me from being
angry on Mali's behalf.
Keeping my voice soft, I ask, “How did you find out
about it?”
When her eyes meet mine, they express a mixture of
emotions, and I can’t discern any of them. Then to my surprise,
she snorts.
“Oh, it was pretty easy. One day I went back to the
school to see Miss Sims because I knew she worked late
sometimes. Imagine my surprise to walk into the room and find
her half dressed in a lip-lock with my dad.”
I gasp, covering my mouth. I can't even imagine the
shock and hurt Mali must have felt at that moment.
“They both turned and looked at me,” Mali continues as
if in a daze. “They didn’t say anything. They stood there for a
moment, looking at me wearing shocked expressions. Then
they straightened their clothes and my dad whispered a few
words to her before taking my arm and guiding me out to his
car.”
By now, I am in tears. I want to comfort Mali, but I
hesitate, wanting her to get everything out. We are so close to
the heart of her problem and I can’t let her stop now. Holding
her close, I caress her hair, giving her a moment with her
thoughts. I can't even begin to comprehend the storm raging in
the heart of this beautiful lost soul.
I finally release her and press a hand to her tear-streaked
face. “Mali, what did your father say to you?”
She sniffs, wiping her face. “He asked me not to tell
Mom.”
“He what?” I am incredulous! Completely incredulous! I
can’t believe he would put his own child in such a position.
“He said he still cared for Mom, but he was in love with
Miss Sims. He said as long as Mom didn’t know, he would stay,
but as soon as she found out, it would be over between him
and Mom.”
I fight to keep my voice calm and my anger in check.
How
could he be so selfish? The little jerk! How could he do that to his own
child?
“What did you do, Mali?”
“At first, nothing. But then . . .”
“Then what?” I press gently. We are so close to the
source of the problem.
She looks at me, tears again welling in her eyes. “I got
more and more upset as the days passed . . . and I needed to tell
someone, so I told a friend. I told her not to tell anyone else,
but she told her mother. And somehow it got back to Mom.
Mom had no idea that . . . it all started with me. But Dad knew.
I should never have been so stupid.” She squeezes her eyes
shut as fresh tears trail down her cheeks. “It was all my fault.”
I hold her hands firmly. “Mali, it wasn’t your fault. Your
father made the choice to be unfaithful to your mother. And it
was wrong for him to ask you to hold something like that
inside.”
“No!”
she
shouts,
ripping
her
hands
from mine.
“I
shouldn’t have said anything! Because I did, my dad left her!
Now she’s all alone and it’s my fault!”
I growl inwardly.
That weaselly little scumbag!
“Mali, that’s
exactly what your father wants you to think. He doesn’t want to
accept the blame or the consequences for his actions.”
She shakes her head and stands, wringing her hands in
her hair. “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!”
“No, Mali,” I say again, my heart breaking for her. As I
reach out for her, she pulls away, running from the room.
“Mali, wait!” I cry, running after her.

Adagio blesses the food so the children can start eating.
He wonders how Cisely’s conversation with Mali is going. He is
pretty sure that is why they haven’t come down yet, and he
hopes she is successful in getting Mali to open up. If anyone
can get through to the young girl, she can. He smiles.
My Cisely
can do anything.

Looking back over his life, Adagio wonders what he’d
done to be worthy of having Cisely as his wife. There are no
words to describe how happy she makes him. Through the
years, they have faced trials, both separately, and then together,
and they have made it through them, becoming stronger with
each one. He can handle anything life throws at him as long as
Cisely is by his side.

He is startled by the sound of Cisely’s frantic voice calling
Mali’s name, and he jumps up just as the girl runs past the
entrance of the dining room. Cisely passes a few seconds
behind her.

“Cisely!” he calls, running to the door. He turns to the
children. “Ingo, watch your brothers and sister,” he says before
going after her. Phillip jumps up from the table.

“No, Phillip!” Adagio says, panic seizing his insides. “I
need you to stay here.” He squeezes his son's shoulder firmly.
“Everything will be all right.”

The rain is coming down in sheets. I continue to run,
trying to catch up with Mali. The large drops beat down hard,
making it difficult for me to see, but somehow I am still able to
make out her green blouse in the distance.

Mali is in agony as guilt continues to eat away at her heart.
Somehow she'd felt that running would help her escape the
pain, but it only follows her, and there is nothing she can do to
stop it. She repeatedly tries to drown out Cisely’s pleas, but this
time the fatigue in Cisely's voice catches her attention. Forcing
herself to slow down, she crosses the street a little ways and
stops. As weariness takes over, she sinks to the ground and
sobs as the cool rain mingles with her tears.

I sigh with relief as Mali sits on the ground in the
distance. I am tired, but now that she has stopped, I am able
slow my step. As I get closer and hear her rain-muffled wails,
my heart aches anew for her and I again quicken my pace.
Thinking of nothing except making it to the trembling form in
the rain, I continue running down the small embankment, then
across the street.