The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ZARA
Richmond, Virginia
Tuesday, June 8, 6:30 p.m.
“What happened to Riccardo?” Gina asked.
Nonna sat quiet for a long moment as she stared into the young man’s smiling eyes. If he were alive today, he would have been over one hundred. “He was betrayed.”
“By who?” Zara asked.
“I have chosen to forget so much,” Nonna said. “I don’t think that I could bear to speak it out loud even after all this time.”
“Okay,” Zara said. “You don’t have to talk.”
“There is a journal in that box,” she said finally. “Read it. It contains answers both you girls should know. I should have shared this with your father long ago. But I was too afraid to speak of the secrets.”
Zara dug in the box and fished through stacks of letters, old rumpled lira banknotes and coins that must have dated to the war, a small black jewelry box, and a leather-bound journal. Zara gently thumbed through the book, noting the even, precise handwriting. “It’s written in English.”
“To maintain privacy. Few read Italian in those days, let alone read English.”
The alarm on Zara’s phone rang, sending her into the kitchen. She selected three pill bottles from the counter, doled out one of each, and handed them to Gina, along with a glass of water. “Evening regimen.”
“It’s only six thirty,” Gina said.
“Making it the evening.”
“I always considered this early afternoon.”
“Instructions say evening. You’re now on Zara time.”
“You read the instructions?” Gina stared at the white and pink pills.
“Cover to cover. Have you?” Zara asked.
“I skimmed them.” Gina popped the pills in her mouth and chased them with water. “I see them as general guidelines.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“And what if I don’t want to follow all the rules? Life is short, literally, so why do I want to fill it with rules?”
“Rules are a fact of life,” Nonna said. “Some can be bent, but in your case, they must be followed.”
“You never followed any,” Gina said. “You took a pretty radical path.”
“Because I had no other choice,” Nonna said.
“And you stepped up and became very brave,” Gina half joked.
“I was not brave, Gina. I did what I had to do to survive, and that’s what you must do now. I didn’t like all the choices I made. I was young, a little desperate, and afraid.”
Gina finished the last of her water.
Nonna motioned to Zara. “I am ready for dinner. And so is Gina. If she’s going to thrive, then she must eat good food.”
“Nonna, I’m not going to thrive,” Gina said.
Nonna shrugged. “You don’t know what the future holds. None of us do. Now return these items to the box, and let us eat. I have a very strong appetite tonight. Zara, I hope you didn’t put too much pepper in the soup.”
“I never do,” Zara protested.
“You always do. In fact, get me a glass of water. I must be ready when the great fires of hell consume my mouth.”
Zara sat in the open garage with her pups, sipping a beer and staring at the sky filled with stars. She was on her third bottle, and if she had her way, she would finish the twelve-pack tonight. The hangover tomorrow was a fair trade-off for peace tonight.
The rumble of a Jeep in the distance had Gus sitting straighter. It sounded like Nicolas’s. “It can’t be him, fella,” she said. “He’s up in Washington, DC.”
The dog, however, did not relax, and so they all waited until Nicolas’s black Jeep rounded their corner and parked in front of the house. “Well, you were right.”
Nicolas rose out of the vehicle and came around, keys in hand, his hair now freshly cut.
“Don’t you have an interview tomorrow?”
“They moved it up to today. We did it via Zoom. One of the partners had to travel.”
“Well, then, how did the job interview go?” she asked.
He ran his hand over his shorn hair. “Great. They want me to start next week.”
“That’s terrific. You going to take it?”
“Yes.” He pulled up another lawn chair and sat beside her.
“Congratulations. There’s beer in the cooler,” she said. “Grab one.”
He reached in, twisted off the top, and took a swig. “Why the celebration?”
“Not a celebration,” she said before she finished off her bottle and reached for another.
“Did you find what Nonna was looking for?” he asked.
“I did. It’s a box of memories and a journal. I’ll start reading it in the morning.”
He regarded her. “Is Nonna okay?”
“She’s great, as it turns out. She has no life-threatening illness other than she’s old.”
He waited, as if sensing the other shoe dangled, ready to drop. “That’s good news.”
She twisted off the bottle top with a hard turn. “Gina is sick.”
“Gina?”
“Pancreatic cancer. The red alert from Gina wasn’t for Nonna but her.”
“Shit, Zara. I’m sorry.”
“Shit is right,” she said. “She’s forty-one years old.”
He took a long swig, as if sudden memories were clawing up from the shadows. “That cancer is pretty aggressive?”
“Her case is particularly fast moving. Her symptoms are manageable for now but not fixable.”
He released a long, stilted sigh. “I’m sorry, Zara. I really am.”
“Thanks.” She had heard these words spoken to her patients so many times. Usually, the words were awkward and rushed, but in rare times, like now, they carried the heaviness of understanding.
“What can I do? And I mean that. It’s not just words.”
“No, there’s nothing. But thank you for asking.” She pressed the cold bottle to her temple. “Tell me about your job interview.”
He took a long pull on his beer. “It doesn’t seem that important.”
“Don’t underestimate the ordinary.”
“Seriously? Because I never wanted to hear anyone else’s good news when Catherine was sick.”
“I do. It would be nice. You deserve all the good news you can grab.”
“I get the corner office that has a view of the Potomac.”
“You sound underwhelmed.”
“I’m not. I’m grateful my old life was willing to wait for me. There was a time when I really loved it.”
“But . . .”
He dug his thumbnail into the label. “No buts. It’s all good.”
“But?”
“It doesn’t fit anymore. Like an old shirt that’s shrunk.”
“Because . . .”
A half smile tipped the edges of his lips. “Because I’m not the same guy, Dr. Zara.”
“My parents’ and grandfather’s deaths changed me,” she said. “I’m stronger than I was. So are you.”
“Could you go back to your old life?”
“I’ve lived this one so long I don’t remember what it was like before. And I rarely look back.”
“Do you look forward?” he asked.
She smiled. “Not like I should. My parents’ and grandfather’s deaths made me a little afraid of living. Loving. I thought keeping Gina and Nonna at arm’s distance would save me from that kind of pain again, but it didn’t work. When they die, it’s going to hurt like hell.” She was already starting to question if she could keep doing hospice work.
“I know how much it sucks to be the one left behind.”
“I thought I was suitably armored up so it wouldn’t really hurt again. But the plain truth is hurting is a part of living. No risk, no reward.”
He stared into his bottle. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me? You always said it was good to take care of the caregiver.”
“I have said that.”
“Did you know Catherine put you on the bucket list? She wanted us to have dinner.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” Zara was surprised and a little disappointed the list had brought him here.
“Dinner with you was the last item.”
“You’re here because of Catherine’s bucket list.”
“I am. But it’s more than that. This is the first item on the list that doesn’t feel like a chore.”
“It was a chore for you to go to Hawaii and Key West?”
“It was lonely, to be frank. Dinner with you feels natural. Like reconnecting with an old friend.”
She took another long swig, really wishing she did not like this guy so much. “In full disclosure, Gina has started a bucket list for me.”
“That so? What’s top of the list?” He raised the bottle to his lips.
“Sex with you.”
He coughed. “Really?”
Zara shrugged, enjoying his discomfort. “She says I need to live a little. Or maybe she needs to live a little through me.”
He arched a brow. “That so?”
“I’m not saying we will, of course.”
His thumb dug into the label on the bottle. “Of course.”
“But I’m all about honesty. If this is too much information, just say so.”
Gus rose and put his head on Nicolas’s lap. He leaned forward and scratched the dog between the ears. “How about we start with dinner?”
“Dinner sounds good.” She was not sure why Catherine had put her on the list. Maybe it was because Zara and Nicolas had cared for Catherine, and this was his final act of closure. Whatever the reason, she wanted to spend time with him. “A little fun is very appealing.”
“Have fun? That’s a novel concept.”
She laughed. She had been working nonstop since her grandfather’s death and realized she was suddenly very tired. “I know.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“I haven’t been out on a date in this town for a decade. I couldn’t even tell you what’s still open. But I want a hearty meal. No salad or vegetables.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He drank from his beer. “You’ll come out on the other side of all this,” he said.
“I told you that when Catherine was sick.”
“And I didn’t believe you. I thought it was a stupid platitude. But you were right. I’m here. I’m breathing. And you will be too.”
“We need to promise each other right now that we can’t talk about death or dying on this date.”
“Fair enough.”
She was not sure what they would talk about, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Should I meet you?”
“No, we’ll do this old school. I’ll pick you up at six. Can you dress up in something fancy?”
“I live with two style icons. They’ll take great pleasure remaking me.”
He nodded slowly as he rose and tossed his beer bottle in the trash bin. “Good, I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
“It’s a date.” She stood, sliding her hands in her pockets because she was not sure what to do with them.
“Okay.” He grinned, patted all the pups on their heads, and headed toward his Jeep. He walked with an easy confidence, but his demeanor had changed. Before Catherine had died, he had been arrogant, believing he could will anything into happening. He’d been the captain of the ship. Period.
He remained the captain, but he seemed to understand that even the best seaman was no match for Mother Nature’s gale-force winds. And like any good sailor after a storm, he had gathered the fragments of his ship and forged them into a new vessel that was not as sleek or perfect but was more resilient.
And a hell of a lot sexier.