The Last Promise (29 page)

Ross’s mind reeled with questions, but he held back. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t returned his calls. And why she had come back, when he was finally starting to accept her absence. “I . . .” He stopped himself. “Just thank you.”

The silence stretched into awkwardness and Eliana smiled to keep from crying. She had never seen him this way before.

“I was wondering if”—she looked down, gathered her courage—“well, if maybe we could talk.”

“I’ve been trying to talk with you for weeks.”

She looked down, ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry.” She suddenly felt foolish for coming to him. She had abandoned him. What kind of a reception had she expected? She exhaled and again forced a smile. “Well, you have people waiting. I just wanted you to have the painting. I left it at the front desk, where they rent the headphones.”

“How’s Alessio?”

Her lower lip began to tremble. “He’s been okay. He asks about you all the time. Yesterday he asked if you could come to dinner. He misses you.” She paused, looked into his face. “So do I.” Her eyes began to moisten. “I’m sorry, Ross. I’ve . . .” She stopped herself, no longer daring to look into his eyes. She put her hands in her pockets, brought out her leather gloves and put them on as she waited for his response or rebuke, hoping for one of them, hoping for anything but his silence. Still Ross said nothing. She looked up again. “I’m sorry I hurt you. You deserve better.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye.” Then she turned and slowly walked away. She was past the door onto the landing when Ross called after her,

“Eliana. Wait.”

She turned around and he saw that her cheeks were already wet with tears.

“I’ll be finished in about a half hour. We can meet in the café on the second floor.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Too emotional to speak, she nodded in agreement and walked off to wait. Ross watched her go, then went off to finish his tour.

—Italian Proverb

 

 

 

 

 

R
oss found Eliana sitting at a small round table near the back of the café, nervously twisting a napkin into rope, a cup of coffee in front of her. She seemed to him fragile and beautiful, like a porcelain figurine.

She saw him enter and followed him with her wet eyes until he stood by her and pulled out a chair to sit across from her. They were both unsure where to begin. Ross took a deep breath. “Maybe I should just tell you what I’m thinking.”

She nodded.

“You broke my heart,” he said. “You broke my heart and then you deserted me without an explanation. I think I could have handled anything, except not knowing if I would ever see you again.” He closed his eyes, trying to stop the emotion that was beginning to surface. “Not knowing if you still cared about me.”

She touched the corner of one of her eyes to wipe at a tear.

“And then, just when I’m starting to get used to the idea that you are really gone, you return. If you’re trying to torture me, you’re pretty damn good at it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What did you mean to do?”

“I don’t know,” she blurted. A couple at a nearby table glanced over at her. She repeated, softer, “I don’t know.”

“I must have called you twenty times.”

“I couldn’t talk to you. Maurizio is home all the time now.”

“In three weeks time you haven’t had five minutes to talk to me?”

“The thing is . . . ,” she answered, again attracting the attention of those around her. She stopped, took a deep breath, then continued in a softer voice, “The thing is, it’s not five minutes. I talk to you for a minute and I would have felt it for a week.” She looked into his eyes and her voice rose unchecked. “Do you really believe that I haven’t thought of you every minute since you left? You’re all I think about. Do you know how much it hurts every time you call? I’m a mess for the rest of the day. All twenty-three times. Yes, I counted them. I held my phone and cried and wanted to hear your voice so badly that I shook. I cry myself to sleep every night and all I want is to be held by you.”

Ross looked down, covering his eyes with his hand. When he looked back up, his voice was soft. “Why didn’t you just pick up the phone?”

“I was confused and afraid. Maurizio was threatening me. Somehow he found out about us. He told me that you were a murderer. I thought he was crazy, but he shoved these in front of me.” She reached into her coat and brought out the newspaper articles. She set them on the table in front of Ross. “Is it true?”

At first he didn’t respond; then he pushed the papers back toward her. “Why do you ask? You have it in black and white.”

“Is it true?” she repeated, looking into his eyes.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll believe whatever you tell me.”

Ross hadn’t expected this. As he looked into her eyes, his anger dissipated. It had been a long time since he’d been given the benefit of the doubt by anyone.

“No, I didn’t murder her. But I killed her.”

Ross had looked down as he said it, and when he looked back up, he expected there to be fear or shock in her eyes. There was only empathy.

“Alyssa was my fiancée. I loved her more than anyone or anything in this world. I loved her even as much as I love you. We were going to get married.” He ran his hand across the table. “The world was mine. I had just won the largest advertising account in Minneapolis. I had the girl of my dreams. I guess no happiness goes unpunished. Four days before our wedding my brother calls. He tells me that he saw Alyssa eating dinner with her ex-boyfriend. He said they were holding hands and kissing.” Ross slowly shook his head in remembrance. “Rational man that I am, I go crazy. I went to her apartment and confronted her. At first she denied it. But I kept on her until she admitted that she had been with him. She begged me to let her explain. She said that she and her ex-fiancé had parted without finality and that she wasn’t sure whether she still had feelings for him or not. She wanted to give all of herself to me and didn’t think it was fair to marry me without knowing for sure.”

Ross rubbed his forehead. “She said that after they talked she realized that there were no feelings—that she wanted only me.” He looked up into Eliana’s eyes. “It should have been enough.

“But I was so blinded by jealousy that I didn’t hear what Alyssa was really saying. She started to cry and ran out. I followed her to the park near her apartment. Then she turned and asked me to just leave her alone. I knew I was wrong, I wanted to apologize. I was so afraid of losing her I didn’t know what to do. So I did as she asked and walked away.”

Ross’s eyes began to moisten. “It was the last thing she would ever say to me. A half hour later she was found in the park by some joggers, bleeding to death.”

Eliana raised a hand to her mouth. “Dear Lord.”

“I drove around Minneapolis for almost three hours. Finally I just decided to go home. By the time I got back, the police were waiting for me. I was charged with her murder.”

“But why?”

“We were pretty loud. There were at least a dozen people who heard our fight, and some of them saw me follow her into the park. I had no alibi. When the joggers asked Alyssa who had done this, all she could say was my name. She died with my name on her lips. I was given fifteen to life for criminal homicide.

“My brother blamed himself for what had happened. He had been clean for nearly three years. He was holding the first steady job of his life. After I was convicted, he just disappeared.

“I was carrying the pain of Alyssa’s loss, the guilt and the loneliness, and then prison. I realized my first day in prison that I wasn’t going to make it. That’s when I did this.” He slightly rotated his wrist to expose the scar. Eliana began to tear up. “A guard discovered me before I bled to death. Ironically, my attempted suicide is what saved my life.

“The prison counselor recommended that, for my own safety, I be put in prison industries. I was a big shot in the Minnesota advertising scene. I had won a lot of awards, both regional and national. The man in charge of prison industries knew of my work. I started an advertising agency in the prison. We started making money. The system takes care of itself. I was put in honor block, given my own cell and special privileges.

“Some men turn to God in prison. I suppose I did too, but through a form I could understand—art. It was the same thing that got me through my parents’ death. I began filling my cell with pictures. Most of the inmates had pictures of women ripped from porn magazines. My nudes were seven-hundred-year-old statues and plump women in oil paintings.”

“And the Uffizi?”

“It started with a wrinkled
National Geographic
article showing the works of Botticelli. I would stare at his pictures and the prison walls just melted away. You can’t be confined where there’s art. It became my hobby. I started collecting pictures of the Uffizi’s masterpieces and filled my cell with them, until I had constructed the entire Uffizi in my cell.

“Up to that point I had just been waiting for the right time to take my life. I changed. I decided that I would live and that they would steal as few years from my life as possible. I started lifting weights, taking vitamins, anything that would prolong my life. And I promised myself that I would leave America and move to Italy the day I was released.”

“So you learned Italian.”

Ross smiled. “All it takes to learn a language is time. I had plenty of that. Fifteen to life.” Ross exhaled. “Then one fine day, three and a half years after I was incarcerated, a guard knocks on my cell. ‘Hey, Story, your attorney’s here to see you.’ My attorney’s sitting behind the glass. I haven’t heard from him in three years. I spent more than a hundred thousand dollars in legal fees and not even a Christmas card.

“He tells me that the day before the police had picked up a guy in lower St. Paul, some petty drug dealer. It was his third offense and he was scared and begging for leniency. He told the police that one of his users had killed a woman in Como Park that some businessman had taken the fall for. He said he could prove it because the guy carries the woman’s driver’s license around like a souvenir and had given him her engagement ring to pay off a debt. The dealer liked it, and his girlfriend was still wearing it.

“My attorney tells me that they’ve picked up the guy and everything checks out. The D.A.’s office is all over this and it looks like I’ll be out on the streets by tomorrow afternoon. Just like that. Next day a judge signs a release. ‘Clean your cell, Story, and get out.’ Three years in hell and not so much as a ‘Sorry, pal.’ I tried to find my brother but he was gone. So I bought a one-way ticket to Rome.”

Eliana stared at him, struck by the horror of his tale. It had been a long while since Ross had told the story, and it left him weary. Eliana wanted to hold him. She put her hand on his. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry for ever doubting you.”

Ross just sat there. “I once believed that art was the only evidence that we are more than animals. I believe differently now. I believe love is that evidence. Art is just an outward expression of love.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I want to be alone with you.”

He stood up and took her hand. They walked to the front counter of the Uffizi, where they retrieved Ross’s portrait. It leaned against the wall, and he stared at it for a moment while Eliana awaited his verdict.

“What do you think?”

“We should hang it in here right now.”

“Seriously.”

“I am being serious. We could move one of Rembrandt’s self-portraits into the corridor. He did eighty of them; no one would miss one. ”

She smiled. “Do you really like it?”

“I really do. Notwithstanding the subject, it’s beautiful.”

She took his arm and laid her head against his shoulder. “It’s the subject that makes it beautiful to me.”

Ross put his arm around her. Then he carried the portrait with him out into the Uffizi courtyard.

“How did you get here?”

“I drove. I’m parked a couple blocks away.”

“Let’s take the painting back to your car; then I’ll take you to dinner.”

She smiled. “That sounds nice.”

They walked down a one-way street from Piazza della Signoria until they came to Eliana’s car parked on a corner, the wheels up on the sidewalk without apology.

The restaurant was only a few minutes walk away. It was eight o’clock, still early for dining in Tuscany, and their dinner was brought out quickly.

“You know, some of the women in that last tour group were talking about you,” Eliana said.

Ross was twirling spaghetti on his fork. “Anything interesting?”

“One compared your physique to the
David
; then she said, and I quote,
I’d like to take him back to my hotel and sink my teeth into him like a Sicilian pizza.
”