Page 99 of Storm in a D Cup

Marcy reached out to kiss me in a gesture of unusual selflessness. ‘Poor Erica, what a shock for you,’ she sobbed into my coat, and my arms automatically went around her tiny little shoulders.

I shook hands with people, let them hang on to me, hold me, caress my cheek, while all the time I was wondering if Maddy had done her homework, if Warren used a condom with his new girlfriend, how Renata was doing, and if our dog Sookie missed me. My body was here in Boston, but my mind was atop my own Tuscan hill, on Colle d’Oro. And my heart was wherever Julian was.

All that really mattered to me now was the family I had created on my own, far away from the one I’d left behind, and, as awful as it sounded, I was happy to have moved away from Marcy, Judy and Vince. They so reminded me of my past, and all that I had striven to change since then.

Julian had given me the chance to believe in a fresh start. To believe in myself, and that not all was so bad. But I hadn’t come such a long way if now I couldn’t even manage to pick up the phone and tell my husband my father had died.

I detached myself from the throng and went up to my old room to make the call. There was nothing left of mine in there except for my old phone and my dear old record player, which had turned rusty, as if it would fall apart if I dared to touch it.

With a loud sigh I dialed Julian’s number and listened to three rings before his phone conked out completely.

After that I called home. Maddy answered and I could hear Sookie barking outside through the open door. It must have been yet another beautiful day in Tuscany. If I closed my eyes I could go back in time and see the green, unripe wheat gently swaying in the breeze of a summer evening, feeling its warmth on my face, and hear a chugging tractor in the distance. Home. How I so desperately wanted to be there!

‘Pronto?’ my daughter said in perfect Italian, although her voice was low and sad.

‘Maddy, it’s me.’

I heard her intake of breath before she said, ‘Mom! Finally – how are you?’ and I wanted to cry at the tenderness in her voice.

‘Fine, fine. I’m at Grandma Marcy’s.’

‘Oh, Mom, I’m so, so sorry…’ she whispered.

‘I know, thank you, sweetie…’

‘How is Grandma taking it? Please give her a hug for me, will you?’

‘I will, Maddy. Did you tell Warren yet?’

‘I did and he wants to come back but he has an exam tomorrow so I said there was no point and that I’d keep him posted about your return.’

‘That’s good, sweetie. Thank you.’

‘Renata is here. She wants to talk to you. And, Mom…? Hang in there, OK?’

‘I will,’ I whispered, feeling guilty and at the same time elated I would be going home soon.

There were muffled words and then Renata came on. ‘Hey… how are you?’

‘I’m fine.’My dad’s the dead one, I almost said, but luckily stopped myself in time. I’d already freaked the family out with my flippancy.

‘We’ve sent a telegram – everyone in Castellino has. Maddy found the address.’

‘Thank you, everybody. And thank you for taking care—’ I swallowed.Of everything that was most precious to me.

‘Stop,’ she simply whispered. ‘You take as long as you need. OK, sweetie?’

‘OK, Renata. Thank you.’ And that was all I could muster for the day.

*

The next day was the day of the funeral.

The house, although full of family members, was very quiet, as everyone found the comfort they needed in silent, passing hugs, caresses and hand squeezes. Grief was a funny thing. It seemed to cover everything like a thick blanket of snow. All the ugliness disappeared under a beautiful white coating of sympathy and togetherness.

As I put on my black dress and the pearls my real mother had left me, I could hear Vince sobbing and Sandra softly shushing him in the next room. Dad had meant different things to different members of the family, but Vince was the one who showed his feelings the most. Dad had been his hero, his rock of kindness.

Squaring my shoulders, I descended the stairs, my fingers caressing the wooden banister that had become smooth over the years. How many times had my dad’s hands touched this very banister on his way down? And then I asked myself, out of the blue, just how many times had he been happy? How many days had he been happy in his life? Because that was all that mattered, at the end of the day and at the end of your life. But I already knew the answer: very few, and it was all because he’d lost my mother. And now, the two people who had loved me the most were both gone. And when love is gone, what else is left? Absolutely nothing. Nothing else matters once you’ve lost someone’s love.

---