The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER NINE

NICOLAS

Richmond, Virginia

Sunday, June 6, 9:00 a.m.

“Zara, I’m not taking the old guy from you,” Nicolas said. “It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“Seriously?” Zara asked.

“Yeah.”

As Gus rubbed against him, Nicolas scratched along his spine and then Billy’s and Little Sister’s. “They look like they’re doing well.”

“We do okay.”

“Catherine and I used to take Gus for long hikes in his younger days.” He was not sure if he was proud or saddened that he had spoken his late wife’s name with only a slight hesitation. Her death had gashed his heart and left the wound open and weeping. The last time Zara had seen him, he’d been so angry that he could barely speak to anyone.

“We still do our share of hikes, though they’re a little shorter,” Zara said.

“How’s his hip?”

“I give him joint medicine for it daily, so he does well. The rain and cold make it worse, so I’ve been taking jobs farther south. Thanks for the checks to cover the vet bills. They were really generous, and I haven’t spent it all, so I opened an account, and I’m saving it in case they get sick.”

“Good. I don’t ever want him to go without.” He had never thought of Catherine as a job to Zara, but of course that was exactly what she had been. “How is the work going?”

“It’s always there.”

“Life marches on, and so does death.”

“Yeah.”

His wife’s passing had been the most devastating moment in his life, and here Zara had dealt with a series of deaths in the last two years. And though all endings came with challenges, he had seen how Catherine’s death had taken a toll on Zara.

“I’d never planned on needing Zara.” Catherine’s hair had thinned so much she wore a blue headscarf all the time now. “The plan was for me to beat this cancer and go on with my life. The plan was for it to be an unfortunate blip and then happiness.” Her blue headscarf stood in stark contrast to her pale skin, sunken eyes, and thin lips. “This is the first time I’ve ever failed.”

Nicolas wanted to point out that Catherine had lived two years longer than any of the doctors had originally imagined. He wanted to tell her she was brave and inspired anyone who met her, but Zara entered the room carrying the vase of daisies he had brought Catherine.

“Nicolas brought you some lovely flowers,” Zara said.

“He does that every couple of days. They’re always whisked away before I can see them fade. I suppose he thinks I can’t bear to see death.”

“He loves you very much.”

Catherine met his gaze. “I love him very much.” Tears welled in her eyes, and when they spilled, she carefully swiped them away. “I need your help, Zara.”

“Nicolas, could you excuse us a moment?” Zara asked.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

“As my nonna always said, a lady likes to keep a few secrets from her husband.”

He cleared his throat and stepped out of the room but paused on the other side of the door. He leaned against the wall, the grief pulling him into a crouch.

He was not sure when Catherine had made the bucket list for him or how she had come up with such random ideas, including seeing Zara again. But he was grateful she had done it. It was the last thing they’d shared.

“You’re returning to your father’s law practice?” Zara asked.

“Where else would I go?”

“You didn’t discover any other passions these last two years? Catherine had hoped her list would show you a world beyond the law.”

“Which items did you put on the list?” he asked.

“It was all Catherine. I was a sounding board for her. Making the list turned into great fun. We would brainstorm ideas.”

“She certainly picked the most challenging.”

Zara shook her head. “She knew you liked adventures.”

“Did you see the final list?”

“No. That was Catherine’s doing.”

When Zara smiled, her eyes brightened, and the constant hum of tension straining his muscles eased. She was a lovely woman. Not like Catherine’s classic beauty, which was refined and cool. Zara always reminded him of a nomad with her gusto for travel and unwillingness to put down roots.

“Then how do you know what’s on it?”

“Did you run with the bulls? Or did you climb Mount Everest? I’d have to say no on the second, because that takes too much time.”

“No, neither of those was on the list.”

“The general idea was to give you a sampling of the world.”

So why see Zara again? “Mission accomplished.”

“Then she achieved her goal.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry it’s almost over. I liked checking items off the list.”

“What was your favorite?”

“I enjoyed and hated something about them all. The people I met were interesting. We were all much the same. Searching. It was a challenge carrying a cake up Mount Kilimanjaro. I had to ration it so I had enough for each night.”

“What flavor was it?”

“I paid a local baker to make these little half cakes. They’re kind of like a doughnut.”

“Clever.”

“In your travels, did you find what you were looking for?”

As Nicolas looked at Zara, desire kicked him in the gut. He slid his hands into his pockets, realizing he was treading in dangerous waters. Catherine had sent him to Zara for a reason, but he doubted it was to get laid. “I realized it’s time to move on with life.”

“And the law firm?”

“Work is life.”

“It’s part of it,” Zara said.

“You’ve worked nonstop for a few years.”

She chuckled in a way that softened the bindings around his heart a little. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Meaning you’ll be looking for a new job soon.”

“I’ll be here for my grandmother as long as she needs me.”

“And then?”

She laughed. “I suppose I’m like you. I’ll default to work and keep trudging forward.”

“While I’m in town, would you like to grab a bite to eat?”

“I’d love to, but it’s kind of hard for me to get away. Nonna’s pretty sick, and I don’t want to stray far.”

“Sure, I get it.” The stab of disappointment surprised him. “Mind if I visit again and check in on Gus? It’s nice to see him.”

“Sure, come back anytime.”

A bell rang several times and echoed throughout the house. “Sounds like you’re being summoned.”

“That would be my grandmother. She’ll be curious to see if I’ve tossed what I pulled from the attic this morning.”

He looked around at the collection of odd, broken, and discarded items. “I’ll bet she has a story attached to every item in here.”

“I know she does.”

“You’re still not one for hanging on to much.”

“No.” For some, accumulating everyday collectibles created a sense of security. If physical items could anchor memories or keep them alive longer, he would still be in the house he’d shared with Catherine in Atlanta.

“I’ve never been a believer in hanging on. It’s all baggage for me.”

“Be careful what you toss away,” he said. “There are times I wish I’d held on to more.”

As the bell rang louder and faster, Little Sister rose and whimpered. Gus and Billy chimed in with barks. “They need a walk.”

“I’ll take them,” he said. “I remember the times I used to walk the boys. I think they kept me sane.”

She handed him the leashes. “I should return in about twenty minutes.”

He hooked the leashes on each collar, and Zara handed him a couple of plastic bags. “We’ll take our time as long as it doesn’t get too hot. Gus still hate the heat?”

“He does. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Zara found her grandmother sitting on the side of the bed, straining for the walker intentionally kept out of Nonna’s reach so she would not try to walk. “Don’t try to stand up by yourself.”

“I’ve been ringing for hours and hours. I thought you left.”

“I was in the garage. I’m still cleaning out your attic,” Zara said.

Nonna raised a brow, regarding her granddaughter. “Yes, you look like it.”

“What do you need? I don’t have time for insults right now.”

“Very cheeky of you,” Nonna said.

“What do you want?”

“I need to freshen my makeup.”

Which was code for a bathroom break. “We can do that, and then you can meet a friend of mine. He’s walking the dogs now.”

“You have a man in your life?” Her astonishment was evident.

“No, and don’t sound like it’s an impossibility.”

Nonna shrugged. “You don’t dress to attract a man, so it makes sense you would not have one.”

Zara looped a wide cloth safety belt around her grandmother’s waist and, gripping it, helped her stand. The trip to the bathroom went easily enough, and fifteen minutes later Nonna had on fresh lipstick. “Now the wheelchair.”

“No,” Nonna said.

Zara pushed the chair in the room. “Yes.”

“It’s for old women.”

“It’s for women who don’t want to fall in front of our guest.”

“Is he handsome?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, but just this once.”

Zara locked the brakes and helped Nonna into the chair. Once her feet were on the footrests, Zara unlocked the brakes and wheeled her around. “Not bad. Easier than walking.”

“No comment.”

Zara pushed the wheelchair through the door leading into the garage. “That was smooth, wasn’t it?”

“It was fine.”

The sound of her barking horde echoed down the street. Until Little Sister, the boys had been fairly quiet. No longer.

“What is all the noise?” Nonna said.

“My dogs.”

“Good Lord,” she said. “My neighbors will complain.”

“Sorry about that, Nonna, but I’m all they have.”

Nonna lifted her gaze to her granddaughter’s, and as she stared at her, Zara had the sense she was not seeing her but seeing someone else. “Perhaps neighbors can be overrated.”

“I thought you liked your neighbors.”

“I enjoy their company, but they’re not family, and it’s wise not to trust.”

“I’ve never heard you talk like that before,” Zara said. “I thought you liked everyone but me.”

“I’ve never been dying before. And it’s not the neighbors that are forcing me into this chair and fixing my hair in the most appalling way but you.” She spoke with a flourish that would have made any actress proud.

Smiling, Zara patted her grandmother and accepted what sounded like a thank-you.

Nicolas came around the corner with the three dogs pulling. He released the chains, and the dogs ran into the garage toward Zara and Nonna.

“The crew has been returned,” Nicolas said.

“Thank you,” Zara said. “Nicolas, I would like you to meet my grandmother, Renata Mitchell. Nonna, this is Nicolas Bernard.”

Nonna looked up at him, and her eyes brightened with appreciation as she extended her hand.

Nicolas took Nonna’s hand and carefully shook. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“And you as well, Mr. Bernard,” Nonna said.

“Please call me Nicolas.”

A smile curled her lips as she nodded toward him. “And you may call me Renata.”

If Zara had not been watching, she would not have believed her grandmother could still blush.

He grinned. “Looks like Zara has been busy this morning. You have quite the collection of memorabilia here.”

Nonna pulled her gaze from him and regarded the collection of boxes and broken bits of this and that. “It’s a lifetime.”

“Amazing how it gets distilled to the simplest items,” he said.

“That’s a very wise comment for a man so young,” Nonna said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

Zara moved to a round box covered in satin. “I found this after our morning attic review. I missed it. It’s a hatbox, I think.”

“Of course,” Nonna said.

Zara lifted the top and carefully fished through the brittle tissue paper. “It’s a white hat.”

Nonna’s gaze grew distant. “I wore that on my wedding day.”

“Really? How did it end up in the attic?”

“We had to clean out many closets when we did the bathroom renovations twenty years ago. I suppose it was moved and forgotten.”

Zara handed her the delicate ivory hat, embellished with small pearls and a layer of netting that draped over the face. “It’s lovely.”

“I found it in a small shop in Assisi, Italy. When your grandfather proposed, there was no time to plan a big wedding, but a bride wants something special on her wedding day. I saw this in the shop and knew it would be perfect. He bought it for me, and I wore it that afternoon when we went to the church.”

“You were engaged and married on the same day?” Zara asked.

“It was Italy, and the war had just ended. After too many years of hardship, we were both ready to get on with the business of living our lives.”

“How did you meet Papa? You’ve never said.”

She traced the netting. “At a party.”

“You had parties during the war?” Zara asked.

“Life goes on whenever it can,” she said.

“Would you like to put the hat on again?” Zara asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Zara asked. “I’d like to see you wearing it. There are no pictures of your wedding day.”

“I’d like to see it.” Nicolas’s smile was so genuine it was touching.

“If you insist,” she said.

“Is it getting too hot out here for you, Nonna?” Zara asked.

“I am in air-conditioning all the time. It’s refreshing.”

“Let me know if it’s too much.” Zara took the hat and carefully settled it on her grandmother’s white, thinning hair.

“It feels as if it’s too low,” Nonna said. “I need a mirror.”

Zara found the broken makeup mirror that had been Gina’s in high school. She held it up, and her grandmother adjusted the hat forward and cocked it slightly to the left. Carefully, she pulled the netting, made brittle by age and heat, over her eyes.

She studied herself with a critical eye, but there were hints of appreciation as well.

“Tell me about your wedding day.” Zara realized her grandmother and her life in Italy were shrouded in too many decades and were on the verge of being lost forever. She had never thought much about Nonna’s past beyond the day she had moved into this house.

“It was a lovely day in September. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds white and plump.”

“What was Papa wearing?”

“He was wearing his uniform, of course.”

“US Army?” Nicolas asked.

“Yes. By then he was a major, and he moved with the confidence of a man twice his age. Of course, many of us grew up fast in those days.” She closed her eyes as she gently fingered the netting brushing her face. “He was such a handsome man. Dark hair, a thick coarse beard that required regular shaving. Not pretty but rugged. At first glance he looked Italian, but he wasn’t emotional and didn’t allow his feelings to rule him. He guarded his thoughts closely, but he possessed a directness that was very American.”

Zara listened as her grandmother’s voice grew stronger, as if she had returned to the woman she had been. “I’ve never heard you talk about him like this.”

“It’s not easy to remember now that he’s gone,” she said.

“That I understand,” Nicolas said.

“You have lost?” Nonna asked.

“My wife. Two years ago. That’s how I know Zara. She was Catherine’s nurse.”

“My Zara is a good nurse.”

“I’ll remember that,” Zara said.

“It does not mean you’re in charge of me,” Nonna said.

“Maybe not all the time,” Zara said. “But sometimes.”

Nonna shrugged. “Is it easier if I allow her to run my life and my death, Nicolas?”

“None of it’s easy,” he said carefully. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t doing it alone. That’s worth more than I can say.”

Nonna lifted the hat from her head, set it in her lap, and smoothed the white flyaway strands of her hair. The flush from her face had faded, and the underlying fatigue that was always there emerged.

“How about I get you to your room?” Zara said.

“I’m fine,” Nonna said.

“Remember, I’m the good nurse,” she said. “Rest now. And we’ll look through memories later.”

Nonna looked at Nicolas. “Was she this way with you and Catherine? Always bossing?”

He nodded solemnly. “She was quite the tyrant. I learned Zara Mitchell is not a woman to cross.”

“She was like that as a child, you know. Always controlling.”

“Not much has changed,” he said easily.

“I’ll rest for a bit, but, Nicolas, you must promise me you’ll return and have tea with us. There might have been a time when I would have left an invitation open ended, but time is not on my side. Shall we say tomorrow morning at eleven?”

“As long as Zara okays it.”

“I think tea would be lovely. Maybe we can find another hat for Nonna to wear.”

“I have a few hats,” she said to Nicolas. “It’s a weakness.”

He grinned and winked. “Secret’s safe with me.”

Zara helped Nonna to her bed, set the hat on the dresser so she could see it, and carefully tucked her under the covers. She kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep well.”

“You must wear lipstick when Nicolas comes tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Even with her eyes closed, Nonna managed to look annoyed. “Zara, there is so much I must teach you. For now, promise to wear lipstick.”

“I promise.”

Zara found Nicolas still in the garage with the dogs. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

“Glad I was here.” He scratched Billy between the ears. “I’ll be in town for a few days. If you change your mind about dinner, let me know. You taught me that the caregivers need a break too.”

“That’s nice. Thank you. But I doubt I’ll be able to get away anytime soon. Nonna is expecting you for tea tomorrow.”

If he was disappointed by her refusal, he gave no hint of it. “I’ll be here at eleven sharp. What can I bring?”

“Nothing. What I don’t have, I’ll get my sister, Gina, to scrounge up for me.” Assuming she could find and convince her to return.

“Great. See you tomorrow, Zara.”

As Zara watched him stride away, she remembered an old ache that had bottled up in her chest when she had seen Nicolas with Catherine. It was a kind of love that touched the hardest of hearts.

As “Stand by Me” played from Zara’s phone, Nicolas pulled Catherine’s fragile body from the wheelchair. The bright-blue kerchief made her head look larger and disproportionate with her rail-thin body. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he banded his arms around her body. He held her close, but Zara could see the terrified caution rippling through him. He was afraid of hurting her.

“I won’t break,” Catherine said.

“You’re the toughest person I know,” he said.

“I wish I’d been a little tougher,” she confessed.

He tightened his hold a fraction, cradled her head, and kissed her on the lips.

Catherine had died three days later. That kind of love came around once in a lifetime. No woman would take Catherine’s place.

Every woman who came after would be a pale comparison.