(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (32 page)

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered against Antonio’s hair. “Whatever happens. You’ll be there for Massi.”

And I’ll be here for you. I swear it.

Chapter 28

W
ISDOM
OF
O
UR
F
ATHERS

Milan, January

“
M
ASSI,” Cary called from the kitchen, “you need to finish cleaning your room before you can watch TV.”

“Just ten more minutes and then I’ll finish it!”

“Five minutes more, and if you don’t get it done, no batting practice at the park.”

“Okay.”

Cary finished drying the remaining breakfast dishes and wiped down the counters. Roberta was visiting her son and his family in Rome, and with Antonio in Korea to wrap up a book deal for one of his clients, Cary had volunteered to do the housekeeping.

He had returned from a trip to the States only a week before. This time, Cary had gone alone and stopped in New York for two days to see John. Cary had stayed at John’s apartment, and they had spent much of their time together, just talking. As always, John had been vague about his progress with AA. Cary had not pressed the issue. In the intervening weeks, Cary had found an Al-Anon meeting in Milan with Antonio’s encouragement. He’d come to the uneasy conclusion that he wanted to stay in touch with John, but that until John fully came to terms with his addiction, he wouldn’t invite John to Milan again. He knew the visit might never happen, and although it angered him to see John struggle, he knew he couldn’t change his father.

“How’s it coming?” He peered into Massimo’s room and watched Massimo make his bed.

“I can’t wait for Roberta to come home.”

“No kidding.” Cary chuckled and shook his head. “At least you haven’t forgotten how to make your own bed.”

Massimo turned around and stuck his tongue out at Cary, who promptly returned the gesture. “Roberta does it better.”

“You do it pretty well too.” He put his hand on Massimo’s head and rocked him back and forth.
He’s a good kid
, thought Cary, realizing Massimo had grown another two inches in the past few months. Sure, Massimo still ended up in their bed when he had a bad dream, and he had begun to talk back to Cary more than at first. Cary considered both of these behaviors an indication that Massimo had really come to see him as a father, and not just his father’s boyfriend.

“Am I ever going to get a little brother or sister?” Massimo had asked the night before, as they ate dinner in front of the TV and watched a cheesy Disney movie about a family with ten children.

Cary hadn’t known how to answer. “I don’t know, Stinker,” he said at last, trying to make his response sound offhanded. The truth was that he had wondered the same thing himself, in a vague, alternative-universe sort of way.

“Mamma and Marissa talk about it sometimes.”

“They do?” Cary didn’t let on that he remembered Francesca mentioning wanting another child and saying something about Antonio being unsure about it. But that was a long time ago. None of them were thinking about that now, not with the real possibility that Francesca might leave Milan.

“Yeah.” A few more minutes passed, and Massimo added, “I think
you
should be the papà this time, Cary Papà.”

Cary nearly choked on his pizza, and Massimo giggled.

“I know how they
did
it.”

“How they…
did
it?” Cary coughed.

“Mamma told me all about artificial insemination.” He grinned and added, “I know how babies are made, silly.”

“Right,” Cary managed as he took a long drink from his glass. His face grew hot, and he realized he was completely and utterly embarrassed. “That’s good.”

“So will you be the papà this time?”

“Wait a minute, Stinker! I never even said you were getting a little brother or sister.”

“That’s okay.” Massimo’s blue eyes met Cary’s. “I can wait. But not too long, okay?”

“I don’t…,” he began. Then, realizing he had no hope of neatly extricating himself from this conversation, he finished, “Okay.”

They hadn’t discussed the topic again that night, but Cary had thought about it a few times since then. He had finally concluded he was deluding himself to think he could be a parent. Antonio was the only real father here.
And what the hell do you know about kids, anyhow?

He brushed the thought away once more as he helped Massimo pull the bag with the baseball equipment down from the top shelf of his closet. In the end it was enough, he thought, just to focus on Massimo. More than enough. Especially now.

T
HE bat struck the ball, and Cary yelled, “Way to go, Massi!” in English at the top of his lungs. It flew over his head, high enough that it escaped his glove, and he chased down the hill after it at full speed. He climbed back up the hill a moment later and gave Massimo a bear hug.

“That was great! Best yet, Stinker. You’re good at this.”
All we need now is for baseball to become popular in Europe.
He laughed and clapped his hand on Massi’s back. “All that practicing has been helping.”

“Papà still can’t catch.”

Cary knew Massimo was a little embarrassed at the compliment. He had started to become more self-conscious.
More like an adult
, Cary thought wistfully.

“At least he can run fast.” This had Massimo laughing and nodding his head.

The phone in Cary’s pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out and tapped it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Redding?” The woman spoke in English, but he did not recognize her voice.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Redding, I’m afraid I have some very sad news….”

“
C
ARY?”

“Marissa, I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just that Tonino is out of town until Friday, and it’s the middle of the night in Korea, and Roberta is in Rome, and—”
You’re babbling.
He couldn’t help it. His mind was running on overdrive, and he didn’t want to slow down enough to think about things.

“Cary,” Francesca interrupted as she came to the door, “come on in. Massi, why don’t you go help Marissa with dinner, okay?” Massimo nodded silently and followed Marissa into the kitchen.

Francesca put her hand on Cary’s elbow and led him into the living room. “Are you all right? You look terrible. Have a seat.”

Cary nodded and sat down on the couch. “I’m… we’re fine. I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just that Antonio’s in Seoul. I left him a message, but he’s probably sleeping, and….” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“What’s the matter, Cary? What’s wrong?”

“My father… he….”
Crap. Get it together!
He took a deep breath and then said in a tight voice, “He’s dead.”

“Oh, carino,” Francesca said as she took him in her arms. “How terrible.”

“There’s no one to… take care of… you know… his… body. And with Antonio gone, I….”
Breathe. Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

“We’ll take care of Massi. Can you get a flight out tonight?”

Cary nodded.

“I’ll get in touch with Tonino. He’ll want to meet you there, I’m sure, and—”

“No. I can’t ask him to do that. Just tell him to call me and not to worry.”

“Okay. I’ll let him know. We’ll be fine here—you do what you need to do.”

Cary stood up. “I haven’t told Massi yet. I just… I just couldn’t do it.”

“We’ll take care of it,” she told him. “Please don’t worry about us. Is there anything else I can do?”

“I’m fine. I’ll pack a few things and call the travel agent about the flight. I can’t thank you enough, Francesca.”

“It’s nothing, carino. It’s what family is for, right?”

He managed a weak smile, and she hugged him. “Thanks. I’m really sorry I’m so… I don’t know….”

“Don’t apologize. Just do what you need to do. We’ll take care of the rest, all right?”

“Okay.”

Chapter 29

E
VER
A
FTERS

T
HE sun was high in the sky, and the smell of exhaust from the cars on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway mingled with the scent of freshly dug earth. It was unseasonably warm for early January, and the sounds of birds could be heard over the din of the traffic.

Half a dozen folding chairs were lined up on the grass in front of the gaping hole in the ground. Brass poles strung together with red velvet ties marked the four corners of the grave. It reminded Cary of a movie theater. It was a silly thought, but he imagined a popcorn machine and a pimply teenager chewing gum, waiting on patrons.

There hadn’t been many people at John Redding’s funeral: Tom and a few other men from AA; Silvia, the housekeeper Cary had hired; and a neighbor. They had all left more than an hour before, but Cary had stayed. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” the attendant said in a low voice. “Someone will be by later on to finish up.”

Cary nodded in reply.

Finish up.
Dump the dirt over the coffin, smooth the ground. Plant some grass on the dirt, perhaps?
Another one bites the dust.
Another father gone. Another son left behind.

No. It’s not like that. You got to know him, didn’t you?
He thought of Justin. It wasn’t better to be left with what-ifs. He had called Justin, of course, but Justin had told him his father had died when he was a kid and that he didn’t know John Redding. Cary understood and accepted his brother’s perspective. Lord knew, it had taken him enough to come to terms with John himself; he could hardly sit in judgment.

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a faded photograph he had found in John’s wallet. It was the only photograph he had ever seen that showed his entire family. In the foreground sat his mother, holding him on her lap, wrapped in a yellow blanket. Behind her stood John, smiling, happy, his hand resting on Justin’s shoulder. Ironic, he thought, that John had given him back his past. His pathetic dreamer of a father, who was incapable of even taking care of himself. His father, so flawed and damaged, much like the past he held in his hand.

He replaced the photograph and stood up, scooped up a handful of dirt, and walked over to the grave. The dirt was slightly damp in his palm as he squeezed it. Reaching out, he let it fall through his fingers, then brushed the remainder off with his other hand.

“Goodbye, Dad.” Tears fell down his cheeks, and for once, he wasn’t surprised he was crying. John had given him that, as well. Funny, he thought, that anyone would consider tears a gift. He sat back down again and allowed the tears to flow unimpeded as he rested his head in his hands.

Time passed, and he realized he must have dozed off. He awoke to the feel of a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. That, and a smaller hand, gripping his own.

“You… you came? Both of you?” He got up out of the chair and was immediately surrounded by Antonio’s arms, and a second set of smaller ones around his waist.

“I wanted to be here for you. And Massi… he insisted on coming too. I would have called to let you know, but there was barely enough time for me to pick Massimo up and get back to the airport before our flight last night.”

“Is John down there?” Massimo asked, peering down into the hole.

Cary thought of all the things people said at a time like this.
No, he’s in our hearts
, or
No, he’s with God now
, or even,
He’s in a better place.
And maybe those things were true. Right now, though, they all felt like bullshit. “Yes,” he said.

“Are you sad your papà’s dead?” Massimo asked.

Antonio looked taken aback at Massimo’s words, but Cary smiled back at him reassuringly. “It’s all right,” he mouthed, then squatted down next to Massimo and said, “Yes. I am sad.”