The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Wednesday, July 7, 3:00 p.m.

Zara sat in the garage, enjoying the afternoon warmth. It was good to be in the fresh air and out of the air-conditioning, which always had an antiseptic quality to it. Both her patients were asleep, as was becoming the afternoon routine. Gina was getting worse. Despite all her best efforts to follow the drug protocols to the letter, her sister’s body was failing.

Zara stared at the garage ceiling, letting the tears slide. She was not going into any long spiel with God about unfairness or the lack of time. She had seen so many patients’ families promise the moon if only . . .

But if she were honest, if she knew what God or the universe wanted in exchange for Gina, she would have given it. But the magic words would always be a mystery.

A Jeep pulled up, and Gus stood. His deep-throated bark echoed in the open garage. She rose, and when she saw Nicolas emerge from the car, she stilled.

Nicolas was wearing khakis and a button-down, looking as preppy as he had two years before. The clock was turning back in time, and his old life was pulling on him. Instinctively, she glanced to his left hand, expecting to see a wedding band, and was surprised when she did not.

“How’s the job going?” Zara asked.

He smoothed his hand over his shorn hair, as if he were still getting used to it. “It’s not bad. I haven’t forgotten as much as I thought.”

“I have no doubt you’ll thrive. You’re one of the smartest guys I know.”

He strode toward her with purpose. “I’m sorry for being such an ass.”

She shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for, Nicolas. Seriously.”

He stopped within inches of her, slid his hands into his pockets. The scent of expensive aftershave drifted toward her. “I should have been here earlier, but I wasn’t sure I could be around death again. And then I realized I needed to man up and see you. How is it going here?”

“Not great. Gina is getting worse. She can barely get out of bed now, and we’re talking about hospice care.”

“I’m sorry as hell, Zara. I know how this sucks.”

“She’s a lot like Catherine. She’s not afraid, has maintained her sense of humor, and still insists on wearing lipstick. I wear it in solidarity.”

“I noticed,” he said. “It looks good.”

“Thanks.”

“Did she ever add more to your bucket list?”

“You mean like sleep with another guy?” When he tensed, she enjoyed a moment of satisfaction. “Nothing like that. Gina and Nonna want me to take some of their ashes to Rome. They want me to find the Biancos and give them the broach. I suppose that’s on the bucket list as well.”

“Any luck with the Biancos?”

“The jeweler who made the broach said he would reach out, but I haven’t heard back.”

“I did drop a few lines in the water regarding your grandfather. A buddy of my dad’s thinks he might be able to get his intelligence reports. They are declassified now, so it’s a matter of getting them.”

“Wow. That would be terrific.”

“The first item on the list was pretty great. Inspired,” he said. “And a trip to Italy will be nice.”

Zara could feel the pull toward him and resisted. “Yeah, so far, item number one was pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” He arched a brow.

“Great.”

He reached out and took her hands in his. “I know your life is upside down now. And this is not the time for anything other than what you have on your plate. But I want you to know I’m here if you need any help.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Anything.”

“Anything? Again, a word that means everything and nothing.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said. “But I would like to keep seeing you.”

“Why?”

“You make me feel alive. No one else has done that since Catherine. I’ve seen other women, but none ever made me feel whole, like you did.”

Her resolve to be cool disintegrated. “Kiss me.”

Without hesitation he cupped her face and kissed her on the lips. She closed her eyes, savoring the beat of her heart and the full-on sensation that she was alive. Guilt edged close, but she pushed it away. She needed this to keep going.

“That was nice,” he said.

“Nice?”

He smiled. “Great.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “I want you to know I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why are you saying all this?” she asked.

“I care a lot about you. I want to see you happy. And I missed the hell out of you.”

“I’ve tried really hard not to miss you,” she said.

“Did it work?”

“No.”

She wanted him to stay and take her in his arms. But now was not the time. She had witnessed this moment so many times in her career. Families faced with death allowed their emotions to soar high only to see them quickly crash to the ground.

“I wish I could make it all go away,” he said.

“I know.”

This transition was only hers to travel; no matter how much people wanted to help, they could not. And if anyone understood this, it was him.

“I’ll call soon,” she said.

“I’m less than two hours away. I’ll come anytime you need me.”

She would not put that burden on him. She laid her head against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. “Nice to have a friendly ear.”

He kissed her again, and they sat together for a long time before he finally rose. “I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

He left her standing in the garage with her dogs, watching him drive off.

Two weeks later, Gina passed in the early morning hours. Zara lay beside her in the bed, Little Sister tucked between them. Nonna’s face was still and stoic as she sat holding Gina’s hand. Gus and Billy slept on the floor beside the bed. They had all seen death, but when the moment came and Gina drew her last breath, it was no less painful.

Zara and Nonna both kissed Gina’s forehead, and then Zara called the police and then the mortuary to collect her sister’s body. There were no tears, no words as she spoke to the police officer about her sister. He filled out a form, she signed it, and then the mortuary team, a man and woman dressed in black suits, arrived, and she escorted them to Gina. They moved Gina’s body to a stretcher, but when they readied to cover her with a quilt, Zara said, “Wait.”

She grabbed a satin blanket that had been Gina’s favorite for years. “Use this. She never liked quilts and would be appalled to be seen in one.”

“We can’t return it,” the woman said.

“That’s fine.”

Zara kissed her sister on the head and then helped Nonna up from her wheelchair. Her grandmother kissed her and whispered soft words in Italian. “I’ll see you soon.”

Zara escorted Nonna out of the room, and the two waited in the living room. The team took Gina away, and Zara and her grandmother sat in the silence, listening to a clock tick.

“I could use a whiskey,” Zara said.

“Get the fifty-year-old Scotch whisky from your grandfather’s study. And pour me a glass.”

Minutes later they both stared into empty glasses. “Thank you,” Nonna said.

Zara refilled her glass and downed it, knowing her grandfather would understand why she had guzzled and not sipped. Experience told her the gut punch of emotions was coming—maybe not today or tomorrow, but it was a matter of time. For now, she was blissfully numb. “Thank me for what?”

“For escorting your sister to the light. I could not have done it alone again. And for helping me speak the truth. I will go to my grave with a clear mind.”

“You should never have had to do it alone.” She considered refilling her tumbler. “We are family, Nonna.”

“Do you forgive me for my lies?”

Zara squeezed her hand. “We would not be here now if not for you.”

“Your father might have been a better father if I had been honest.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “We all make choices, including him.”

Zara had imagined the funeral would be a small, private, and, of course, tasteful affair, as Gina had requested. But her sister’s life had touched the lives of so many the small graveside service commanded a circle of mourners that numbered at least one hundred people.

Nonna, dressed in all black, was silent through most of the ceremony. Stoic, she shook hands for over an hour as each of the well-wishers spoke to her.

Finally, when the last person left and the funeral director told Zara it was time to lower the casket into the ground, she pushed Nonna’s wheelchair to her van. She opened the front door and ducked so Nonna could put her hand on her shoulder and shift her body inside.

“You did good for your sister,” Nonna said.

“We did it together.”

“No, it was you.”

Zara clicked her grandmother’s seat belt in place, and as she stood, she saw Nicolas walking toward them. He was dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, his hair was brushed back, and dark aviator sunglasses covered his eyes. He moved with a steady confidence, filled with the strength she needed. She had not seen him during the service and had done her best not to search for him.

“Your man is here,” Nonna said.

“He’s not my man,” Zara replied.

Nonna chuckled. “Sometimes, Zara, you’re very smart and sometimes not.”

She had not seen Nicolas since the afternoon in the garage, but they had spoken on the phone many times, and last week, she had texted him and told him about the funeral.

“Hey,” she said.

“I’m sorry I was late. Traffic on I-95.” He leaned past Zara to Nonna. “My sincere condolences.”

“That means something coming from you,” Nonna said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He reached into his breast pocket and removed a piece of white paper neatly creased. “I have information for you ladies,” he said. “About the Biancos.”

Nonna regarded him with sharp curiosity. “How did you know about them?”

“Zara told me what her jeweler friend said about the shop in Rome.”

“I haven’t had time to follow up,” Zara said.

“I did. I took it a step forward and tracked down Edoardo Bianco’s grandson, Roberto. Edoardo’s been ill the last month, and Roberto had not had a chance to tell his grandfather about the broach.” He handed the slip of paper to Nonna, and she regarded his neat, precise handwriting. “I remember this area.”

“It’s not far from the Via Veneto.” He grinned. “I had to look it up on Google Maps to be sure.”

“Good,” Nonna said. “This is good. You two will return the broach for me. And I’ll write a note for you to deliver to Signor and Signora Bianco. I would take it myself, but my days of long-distance travel have ended.”

“Nonna, I said I would take care of it. It’s not exactly fair to ask Nicolas. He’s just restarted his job.”

“Put it on my bucket list,” Nonna said.

Nicolas looked at Zara. “I’m in if you want me.”

“I would love for you to come,” Zara said.

“Good, then, Nonna, you may consider it done.”

“Excellent. Now we must return home. The caterers will be waiting for us, and Amanda will need us to greet Gina’s friends. Gina would be quite disappointed if her party was not a success.”