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“She never came back.”
Michela’s eyelids drop, and her face softens into what I perceive is pity. I wish I’d never shared that piece of my past with her, but now I have, and I’ll have to deal with it.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Corrado.”
“It was a long time ago.”
I pick up a framed picture from the side table on my left. Two kids stand against a dated rainbow background, holding a sign that reads: First Grade. Even though Michela’s brother is a head taller than her and wider in the shoulders, which means he’s taking up most of the frame, Michela’s smile can’t be missed because of the single front tooth she’s proudly showing.
I pick up another photo. It’s a teenager on a motorcycle. Leather cut. Tattoos. Looks like he’ll murder someone for taking this picture. The boy in the pictures has a birthmark near the corner of his mouth. Her brother Gordon, the one serving time for nearly killing a man with his bare hands.
During the deposition, which I made a point of reading last night, Gordon said he’d kill any man who got his hands on his sister without her wanting their hands on her. Then he’d leaned in and said, “My baby sister is a fucking angel, and I’m the devil born with her.”
Well, the devil wears many faces, and when it comes to Michela, he favors mine.
27
ON THE WAY HOME
CORRADO
It’s difficult to think about how to best handle the situation with her mother when Michela’s pacing instead of packing.
I hand her the two frames. “Pack these with you in a small backpack so we can take the bike.”
Michela sits next to me. “Please understand that I cannot leave my mother.”
“I understand.”
“Okay,” she says, seemingly excited. “Great. This is great.”
“I have a question for you. What do you think will happen to her if you leave?”
“I think the worst.”
“Me too,” I say. “What can you do about preventing the worst from happening to your mother, and by worst, I mean she has an accident and dies?”
Michela nods, confirming that she’s thinking along the same lines. “I can be here with her. Make sure she sobers up.”
“That makes me think that when you signed our arrangement, you knew you’d stay here.”
Michela’s shoulders droop. “Not all the time like before, but yes. After I signed, I came to pack some of my stuff. I would’ve moved between Manhattan and here. You know, make this work fluidly.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
She uses her hand to make waves, I think. “Like the river. Fluid. Take it day by day, live in both places.”
“You must’ve known I wouldn’t have accepted this fluidity.” A fancy way of telling me no. She’s creative about it.
“I thought you might after I explained. Like now. You’re accepting now.” She bites her lip. “Aren’t you?”
“Your mother needs care.” And I want my wife as she was promised to me. On a silver fucking platter.
She throws up her hands. “Yes, I agree she needs it. I’m the caregiver, which is why I can’t leave.”
“What if I told you you could?”
“This isn’t one of those cannot or will not situations, Corrado. I really can’t.”
