Kitabı oku: «Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman», sayfa 8

“Best boiled eggs I ever had,” Cristiano said.

She laughed. “Sorry, I’m just not a cook. I ate out mostly in New York—everyone seems to, or order in. My mother cooked at home, but I never wanted much to learn. I bet you’re a great cook.”

“Could be said by some. Not my father, but those not in the restaurant business think I can make some fine dishes,” he agreed. Gazing into her eyes, he smiled.

Mariella felt her heart turn over, then begin to race.

“I could cook dinner for us tonight if you like,” he said softly.

“I’d love that,” she replied, still caught in the gaze of his dark eyes.

They finished breakfast and, by the time Dante woke again, white fluffy clouds dotted the sky. The chance of rain remained high, but for the short term it looked pleasant outside. Mariella fed and bathed Dante while Cristiano sat nearby to watch. They spoke of myriad things, from her favorite restaurants in New York, to his vacations skiing in the Swiss Alps.

“Come back to my place,” he said when the baby was dressed for the day and had smeared oatmeal cereal everywhere.

Mariella merely laughed as she cleaned him up again, looking over at Cristiano. “To do what?”

“You can help me make the table and chairs.”

“I know nothing about making furniture.”

“Sanding doesn’t take a lot of previous experience. Come on, it’ll get you out of the house. But I can’t bring you two on my motorcycle. You’d have to drive yourself.”

“Or we can walk there. Dante loves the stroller.”

“So I’ll see you soon.”

She smiled and nodded, glancing out the window again. “We’ll be there soon. But if it looks like rain, we’ll have to scoot for home. Maybe I can use your computer again. I want to check the status of the one I ordered. If it’s already shipped it might be in Rome when we go up.”

Cristiano waited until she had Dante bundled up and in the stroller. He took off on the motorcycle while she began to push the stroller up to the cottage. It was noticeably cooler than it had been. Tomorrow they’d zip into Rome. She’d do what she needed and he’d do what he needed and then she’d return to the lake to finish her vacation. She looked forward to spending the day with him without the baby. With just the two of them, and a carefree day, who knew what might happen?

When she reached the cottage, Dante was asleep. Poor thing, he was probably exhausted from being up all night. She went straight to the workshop in back. As she walked closer she could hear the raspy sound of sandpaper against wood. He had already started.

Parking the carriage just inside the doorway, she stepped further into the workshop. Better for Dante to be near the fresh air than one laden with sawdust. If it began to rain, he would be sheltered and she could get to him quickly.

Cristiano glanced up.

Taking a breath, she relished the scent of furniture oil and fresh-cut wood. “I love the way it smells in here.”

“Me, too. Are we set for tomorrow?”

“I checked with Signora Bertatali and she said she’d be delighted to watch Dante. I’m looking forward to our drive. She also said it did sound like Dante is teething. She said to give him something cold to chew on, like a cold damp rag or a rubber toy that’s been in the freezer.”

He nodded, beckoning her over to watch as he continued with the sanding. She stepped closer and peered at the smooth piece that would become a leg.

Reaching out a finger, she rubbed it in the direction of the grain. “It feels like velvet,” she murmured. She looked up. Her face was mere inches from Cristiano’s. She could breathe the scent of his aftershave lotion. See the crinkles near his eyes from squinting in the sunshine. Feel the heat radiating from his body. Mesmerized, she gazed into his dark eyes, seeing tiny specks of gold near the irises. For an endless moment time seemed suspended.

A moment later Cristiano leaned forward the scant inches that separated them and kissed her. Mariella closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of his mouth on hers, the excitement that rocketed around within her. The way time felt suspended and only the two of them existed. This kiss was perfect: no pulling away, no fretful baby making noise in the background. Just a man and a woman sharing a special moment.

He pulled back, gazing into her eyes for a long moment, then took a breath and looked around—almost as if he weren’t sure where he was.

She smiled and reached out to touch the wood again. Maybe she wasn’t the only one knocked off her equilibrium by that kiss. She felt almost giddy with delight. The day seemed brighter than before. The colors more vibrant everywhere she looked. Cristiano seemed happier than she’d ever seen him. She loved watching him.

“Then we’re set, we leave early in the morning,” he said with a smile, his dark eyes gazing directly into hers.

Chapter Eight

CRISTIANO picked up some sandpaper and handed it to Mariella. “Rub it along the length of the leg. We want it totally smooth. No splinters for the little fella.” His fingers deliberately brushed against hers in handing her the sandpaper. She smiled and nodded, feeling that tingling awareness that sparked whenever Cristiano was around.

Mariella had never done home projects so she was thrilled to be able to assist. She perched on the stool he had vacated and began rubbing the way he showed her. There was something soothing about the long, slow strokes. She couldn’t wait to see the finished table and chairs. She’d never helped to build anything before. Glancing around, taking in everything, she would always remember the quiet time spent in this workshop.

Cristiano was focused on the piece he worked. The quiet was complete except for the sound of sandpaper and the rustling of the wind outside the door. She looked outside. It was growing overcast. She rose and checked the baby. He was fast asleep. Touching him, she knew he was warm beneath the fleecy blanket. She looked around. The beauty of autumn in the hills was evident everywhere she looked. Golden leaves, red leaves, and the occasional brown leaf looked a bit dull in the flat light beneath the clouds. She had seen them with the sun shining on them and they’d made her breathless.

Could she be happy in such a quiet setting?

“What do you do all day?” she asked, returning to the worktable.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s quiet. Not many shops in the village, no nightlife to speak of. Do you listen to music or watch television?”

He shrugged. “No television broadcast service up here. Sometimes I listen to the news on the radio. I like the silence.”

“Your family lives close enough though. How frequently do you visit them?”

“Not often. They have their lives, I have mine—”

“If I had a family who owned a restaurant, I’d eat there at least once a week. The pasta is so delicious and that sauce. Maybe you get tired of it if that’s what you’ve known your whole life.”

“I don’t get tired of eating there. It’s complicated.”

“When do you go back to work?”

“Soon.”

Dante began to fuss. Mariella dropped the chair leg she was sanding and went to pick up the baby. He rubbed his face and began to cry. She cuddled him close and walked around, rocking him gently.

“Does he need a bottle?” Cristiano asked, coming over.

“I don’t know. He should be sleeping longer than this. If you could prepare a bottle, I’ll try that. Maybe he’s hungry because of being up so late last night.”

Cristiano pushed the empty stroller to the kitchen. In only a moment, following Mariella’s instructions, he had the bottle warmed for the baby.

Dante did not want the bottle. Taking the nipple, he sucked for a moment then let out a wail. He pushed the bottle away and cried.

“Oh, honey, don’t fret.” Mariella held him up against her shoulder, walking around the stone floor. “Do you think it’s more than teething?”

“I think your guess about teething is still likely. I remember Stephano’s baby when he was teething. You could check with Signora Bertatali again, if you want. After that, if you aren’t convinced, we can try the doctor.”

She used his phone and checked with the woman again. When she hung up the phone Mariella looked at him. “She said it still sounds like teething. Give him something to chew on—soft so he won’t hurt himself, but firm so he can feel it when he bites down. She said the process could go on for weeks or months.”

“Oh, great. Do you have a rubber toy we could put in the refrigerator until it gets cold and let him chew on?”

She shook her head, jiggling him as Dante rubbed his face and cried.

“Maybe a cold washcloth?” she asked.

“That I have. I’ll be right back.”

In less then five minutes, Cristiano had a cold damp washcloth—soaked in ice water for a moment, then wrung out.

When he offered it to Dante the little boy stopped crying long enough to look at Cristiano. He lunged for him.

“Whoa.” Surprised, he took the baby. Holding him in one arm, he offered the cloth again, wrapped around his finger. When Dante clamped down on it he smiled.

“He’s got some bite. He keeps biting and releasing.”

“At least he’s stopped crying. Poor baby.” Mariella brushed his downy hair. “This goes on for months? I’ll never sleep.”

“This might calm him down.”

But as the afternoon wore on it was obvious to both adults the child had staying power. He chewed on the washcloth, then cried. They’d swap it out for another cold one, and he’d be content for a little while. Cristiano insisted on taking turns with Mariella as they walked the baby, trying to get him comfortable.

Dante drank a bottle, alternating between chewing on the nipple, crying and sucking. Finally, late in the afternoon he fell asleep.

Mariella held him close. “I think we should go home now,” she whispered.

“I don’t think the sound of our voices will wake him, he’s out,” Cristiano said. Hearing a noise, he looked at the windows. “It’s raining again. Pouring more like. You don’t want to take him out in this. Stay.”

She looked at the rain. “So you’re stuck with us.”

He brushed his fingertips down her cheek. “No problem. The worst is behind us. I’ll dash out and make sure the workshop is closed up. We can start dinner, eat a bit early and, when the rain stops, I’ll drive you back to the cottage.”

She nodded. “If this keeps up, I can’t go to Rome tomorrow. I can’t leave him when he’s not one hundred per cent all right. I wanted to visit Ariana’s grave on her birthday, but she’d understand I couldn’t leave her son.”

“Rome will be there whenever we go, no problem. Truth be told, I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Ready for what? Driving to Rome? Does your ankle hurt?”

“No, not that. I’m not sure I’m ready to face Stephano’s wife. He had so much to live for. Why was he killed and not me?”

“We don’t know why things happen. I’m sure every family who was affected by that bombing questions why it happened.”

“He saved several people before he was caught in the second blast.”

“So he’s a hero, too.”

“Small help to his family now.”

“There is comfort in knowing that, Cristiano,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. “I can only imagine how devastated his wife must feel, but she and her children can be proud of what he was doing when he was killed. And I know she would love to see you. I love visiting with friends of Ariana’s who were close to her those last months when I was still in New York. Talking about her, remembering her hurts—but it also heals. She didn’t have such a great life but she loved life. She was optimistic almost to the end.”

“At least you had time to prepare.”

“One is never prepared. Go to your friend’s wife, talk to her of Stephano. You two probably knew him best in the world. She would want that contact.”

He looked away, searched the ceiling, wondered how to truly convey the fear that flooded. “It’s not that easy.”

“No one said it was easy. It’s just important.”

“He was a good friend.”

“So was Ariana. I think special friends are rare. I wonder if I’ll ever have another that I feel as close to as I did with her.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Probably not. Another friend that’s close, I expect, but not as close. Stephano and I shared a strong bond from the training and the fires we fought together. We took holidays together. He and AnnaMaria always included me in family events.”

“She must be hurt you haven’t contacted her,” Mariella said.

“I thought she wouldn’t want to be reminded—”

“She’ll need you for the memories you share. You can tell Stephano’s children about their father. That’ll be special for them.”

Cristiano hadn’t considered that. He missed his friend, but the best way to honor his memory was to make sure he was never forgotten. He hadn’t given his friend’s wife the attention she deserved. She would have been even more devastated to lose her husband than he had been to lose a friend. How could he have ignored her pain while dealing with his own?

“Cristiano?”

He looked at Mariella. “What?”

“You looked like you were in a trance.”

“Just thinking about Stephano’s family. I do need to see them.”

“Yes. And your own.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re so lucky to have a big family to rally around when things are tough. They are there for you. I think the bombing must have been very hard on them. You need your family. You need people who know you, who love you, to support you no matter what. They are your support group that will never fail.”

“Did you know I found out a few months ago that my father had a wife and two sons before he even met my mother? Yet he never told any of his second family about them. So maybe our family isn’t as close as I once thought.”

Mariella looked astonished. “You’re kidding. What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details, it all came out when my father and aunt were arguing. Isabella said the first sons live in America, but they have visited the family here, however I’ve never met them.”

“How odd,’ Mariella murmured. “How do you feel about that? I can’t imagine learning I had siblings at this age. Is that why you aren’t spending time with your family while you recover?”

He hesitated, the urge to explain growing stronger by the second. Yet he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her expression when she realized he couldn’t control his own mind. “It’s complicated,” he repeated.

“How?”

“For one thing, I can’t believe my father never told us we had older siblings. Strangers who share our blood. Apparently he lost touch with them. Isabella didn’t give a lot of details.”

“So you have even more family than you thought. That’s so cool.”

He looked at her. “You have a most annoying habit of seeing everything through rose-colored glasses. What about my father’s lack of trust in this family, his keeping them secret? His ignoring them for many, many years?”

“Maybe you should ask him why,” she suggested. “I’d give anything to belong to a large family, to have people who loved me around to help when I need it. Or just to share good times with. What’s wrong with being happy about things? Are you a pessimist?”

“No. A realist. Bad things happen to people. Things that can’t ever change. Life is not all sunshine.”

“True. But for the most part, it’s an exciting adventure. There will be tough times, but happy times, as well. We need to search for the happy. Hold onto it as long as we can to balance the other times.”

“Are you happy? You lost your friend, your parents, you’re saddled with an infant, working at a job that’s not what you planned for. No prospects for change in the near future that I can see.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “Today I am happy. The baby is sleeping, you are cooking dinner for me, and I’m healthy. Just because I’m not doing what I thought I would be doing career wise right now doesn’t mean I won’t at some point in life. I’ve come to realize these last few days that I could never give Dante up. I will still look for his father so he’ll know about him, but I don’t know if I’ll approach him. I need to make sure Dante stays with me. He’s so precious.”

“Don’t you want to get married, have your own family?”

“Dante is my family. And, yes, I’d like to get married some day. But if that’s not in the cards, I’m not going to pine away. Do you want to get married?”

He shrugged. “I’ll let my brother and sister take care of future generations.”

She laughed. “There’s more to marriage than having children. I see it as a partnership of two people sharing their lives together. My parents had a great marriage. In a way, much as I wish things had been different, I’m glad they died together. I think either would have been lost without the other. That’s the kind of marriage I want if I ever find the right man.”

“Wonder if that’s what my father thought he was getting—each time. The first wife left him. My mother died young. He’s been a single dad most of his life.”

“And, what, five kids? That’s got to be sort of nice.”

Dante fussed again and she went to quiet him down before he could fully wake up. Cristiano continued preparing the meal while the rain ran down the windows. Had his dad regretted the past? Wished he were closer to the grown sons he had in America. Cristiano had never doubted his father’s love. But it seemed as if his entire world had gone topsy-turvy and he didn’t like it.

“This is a nice place,” she said when she had wheeled the stroller into the darkened living room. “Tell me some more about being a kid at the lake.”

The rest of the afternoon passed with both sharing memories of happier times when they’d been younger.

Dinner was delicious.

“If you ever decide to give up firefighting, you could get a job cooking anywhere,” Mariella commented as she complimented him on the pasta dish.

He looked at her sharply. “Why would I give up firefighting?”

“I don’t know. It’s not exactly the kind of job you do in your eighties, is it?” She licked her lips.

“No, it’s not a job for an old man. But I’ve years ahead of me before I’m eighty.”

She nodded, laughing softly. “I’ll say.”

Almost as if he knew dinner was finished, Dante began to cry again. He was not easily placated. They tried the cold washcloth for him to chew on. Tried rubbing his gums with their fingers, wincing when he bit hard. But nothing seemed to work.

Mariella fed him again, a hit or miss with him spitting out the nipple more than he drank from it. “I should be going,” she said at one point.

“Stay a bit longer. No need for you to have to handle this alone. I can help.”

“If this is like last night, you wouldn’t get any sleep.”

“We’ll trade off. If he screams all night long, I’ll take him for a while so you can sleep. I don’t need much sleep.”

“Thanks, but he’s my problem.”

“Actually, he’s your son, not a problem. This situation can be shared. Let me help, Mariella.”

She swayed from side to side trying to soothe the baby. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”

“I do. I saw him last night. And today. We’ll be fine. Let’s try another cold washcloth.”

As they took turns holding the baby and walking the floor with him, the hours slowly passed. A little after midnight Mariella gave into Cristiano’s suggestion she go lie down in one of the bedrooms and sleep for a little while.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll wake you when I need to go to sleep, unless this little guy finally gives in.”

She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m dead on my feet,” she said. “Thanks, Cristiano. Which room?”

“None of the beds are made but mine. But there are fresh sheets and blankets in the closet along the hall.”

“I’ll make do.”

It was almost three when Dante finally nodded off, tears still on his sweet face. Cristiano continued holding him in the large chair they’d been in for the last couple of hours. The child was in such discomfort nothing seemed to work. Now he would escape that by sleep. Cristiano envied him. He’d love to sleep and escape everything. But he never knew if the nightmares would rage or if the night would be restful.

The rain continued. The sound on the roof reminded him of days in the past when he and his brother and sister had to stay inside because of rain and how they’d railed against the weather.

He missed seeing them. Missed being a part of their lives. Valentino had married! He was trying to adapt to knowing his younger brother was married. And his sister, too! Mariella was right, he had a close family who would rally to his aid, if there were anything they could do.

Time and again he returned to wondering about the newly learned-of brothers. Dante lay across his chest. Cristiano brought up the baby blanket to cover him. He’d leave him right where he was for a while. He knew his father must have held those early babies—twins. Had his father planned a future for his sons? How devastated he must have felt when the boys had to go to America.

Had their mother had family to help out? Or had she been a single mother like Mariella? He’d want to share in all his child’s growing—seeing him learn to walk, hear the cute sayings he’d come up with, watch as the amazement of learning blossomed on his face. If he ever married, ever had a child.

“What of you, little man? What will you become? Anything you want. A doctor? Maybe an artist.’ He felt a pang when he thought of not seeing the baby again after Mariella left.

What of when Mariella left? He hadn’t known her for long, but the feelings that had exploded had nothing to do with length of time knowing her. If things had been different, he’d make sure she didn’t disappear back in Rome. He’d court her the old-fashioned way—flowers, dancing, long walks where they could talk about their hopes and dreams and fall in love.

Unfortunately, his future was on hold. Maybe gone.

He reached out and turned the lamp to the lowest setting, dimming the light. He’d see if he could doze a bit while Dante slept. Who knew how long he had?

Mariella woke in daylight. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was, then she remembered. Jumping out from beneath the duvet she’d drawn over herself last night, she hurried out to the living room. The house was silent. Where were Cristiano and Dante?

She stopped at the doorway. One lamp was on, giving little illumination. Cristiano was stretched out on the comfortable chair, his long legs straight out, his head resting on the back. Cradled against his chest, the baby was sound asleep, covered by one of his little blankets. Just like yesterday. She could get used to this.

For a long moment Mariella stared, imprinting the image on her mind for all time. She let herself dream for an instant that this was a usual occurrence. She’d be asleep and then awake to find Cristiano with the baby. She’d waken them and they’d spend their days together. And their nights. Dante would not always need extra care. He was good about sleeping through the nights normally.

She went into the kitchen to clean up from dinner and get something started for breakfast. If only coffee.

Then she needed to make plans to return home. Not for a brief trip, but back to their normal lives. She was falling in love with her firefighter and he was not falling for her. She blinked back tears, feeling the pain of disappointment deep inside. She wished he would, but there was an intangible barrier. Every time she thought they were drawing closer, he’d pull back.

What she felt for him went far deeper than any emotions she’d had before. From time to time growing up, she’d thought she was in love. A boy in high school. A young man in New York. But soon the feelings had faded. Knowing Cristiano showed her how pale the emotions before were compared to her feelings for him now. He was strong, generous, helpful. He saved people’s lives. He was a hero several times over. And he made her feel so very special.

Which reminded her of the medal ceremony. He should attend. If not for himself, then for the others he spoke about who were heroes but couldn’t be there. She wanted the world to know what a true hero he was.

She wondered how she could convince him to attend. Could his family help? She wasn’t even sure they knew. To come right out and tell them seemed a breach of confidence, though Cristiano had never told her not to tell anyone.

She still had the letter. From what she’d read, the award was being made—whether Cristiano accepted it in person or not.

The cottage was quiet. Cristiano’s computer sat on the table from before. Mariella turned on the computer, surrounded by the warmth of the cottage kitchen, redolent with the fragrance of coffee brewing. She checked messages, contacted her clients to let them know she was on top of things. Then she looked up the award ceremony. There was quite a bit of press about the event, honoring those who had responded to the bombing, both living and dead.

It would be held at the Parlamento addressing both the Senato della Repubblica and the Camera dei Deputati. The Prime Minister himself was presenting the awards.

The ceremony was given by a still-grieving nation doing what it could to honor those who had first responded at great personal risk and sacrifice.

The rain finally ended. She closed the laptop and rose to go to the doorway, opening it a crack and breathing in the fresh air, cool and damp. It raised her spirits. She had been on a fool’s errand, trying to locate a man who had never wanted to know he had a son. If he’d left Ariana, she should have taken that as a sign. Longing for family of her own should not have had her going against her friend’s wishes, however much Mariella wanted Dante to have an extended family. Her limited attempts to locate anyone who had known Ariana in this area had proved totally futile. Another sign?

She did not regret coming, however. If she hadn’t, she never would have met Cristiano.

“Be happy, my love, whatever the future brings you,” she whispered to the wind, wishing she dared whisper it to him face to face.

Time to go home.