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“Let me help.” I walk to her, taking the wine opener from her when she attempts to screw it into the top of the bottle but almost stabs herself because her hands are shaking. That isn’t the first clue she’s upset. She only ever drinks when she’s angry unless she’s out to dinner.
“I’m sorry.” She sighs, leaning against the counter. “I should have known he would do something like that, but I thought?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off before she can tell me that she thought he would respect her enough to listen to her about leaving Elora alone, when even she knows she has never held even an ounce of control or sway when it comes to him. “I’m not surprised he looked into her, but he doesn’t realize she and I have had days upon days alone to talk for hours at a time and get to know each other. He can’t tell me anything about her that I don’t already know.” I pass her the bottle when it’s opened and watch her fill her glass.
After taking a sip, she walks to the small round table in the kitchen and takes a seat. I pull up one across from her.
“Diana adores her.” I know she’s talking about Elora.
“I’m not surprised.”
“And you love her.”
“Yes.”
“When I met your father…” She shakes her head. “Your real father, all I wanted was for my parents to accept him, to give him a chance.” She looks out the window that overlooks the small backyard. “They never did, and I despised them for that. I swore I would never be like them. I promised myself that no matter who my kids brought home, I would accept them regardless of their money or background.” Her eyes meet mine. “Then I treated Elora exactly as my parents treated your dad.”
“Diana and Giorgio met him?”
“Once, but my father sized him up and found him lacking before Kenneth even said a word.” Her smile is small and filled with nostalgia. “Not that your dad cared what my father thought about him.”
“You loved him?” I whisper, and tears fill her eyes.
“He’s the only man I ever truly loved.” Shaking her head, she wipes away the tears before they can fall. “I don’t want you to think I don’t love Ricardo because I do; it’s just different.”
“I understand.” My fingers itch to reach out and take her hand, but we’ve never had that kind of relationship. Even the hug she gave me at the hospital was a surprise to me. Then again, growing up, physical touch to offer comfort to someone wasn’t something her dad would have allowed. He would have taken giving or receiving a hug as an act of weakness and Ricardo is cut from the same cloth.
“I guess you probably do.” Her eyes wander over my face. “I hope you’ll give me—us—the chance to get to know her.”
“I would like that. Being here has been a lot for her, and she’s still trying to find her footing.”
“We’ll plan for dinner. Sofia likes her. Lucia is… well… Lucia. So, you’ll have to give her time, but she’ll eventually warm up.”
“She’s not going anywhere, so there’s time.” I start to stand but stop when she reaches for me.
“I’m sorry about Val.” A fresh wave of tears fills her eyes, and a crushing weight lands in the center of my chest. Val was her baby; he pushed the boundaries set up by her father and later her husband by giving her that love and comfort no one else was brave enough to. I’m sure she misses the gentle affection he would often force on her, even though she pretended it annoyed her when he was here.
“I know.”
“And I know the decision was made by the doctors in the end, but hearing them agree with you after you pushed so hard was difficult.”
“He would have hated being stuck there,” I tell her gently. The pain surrounding that decision no longer feels as heavy as it once did, and I know it’s because of Elora and the closure she gave me while searching for her own.
“I miss him every single day.” She chokes on a sob. Unable to just sit and watch her cry, I push back from the table and walk around to where she’s sitting. “I’m okay.” Ignoring her lie, I drag her out of her chair.
“I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around her and hold her as she soaks my tee with her tears.
I don’t have a child, but having Elora in my life now after years of feeling alone, I’m not sure how I would survive without her or if I even could if something suddenly took her from me.
When her tears begin to lessen, and her body goes limp against me, I move her back to her chair and help her sit before I squat in front of her.
“Have you spoken to anyone?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, wiping her cheeks before picking up her glass of wine.
“Have you talked to anyone about Val’s death, about how you’re coping with his loss, and everything that has happened with Diana?”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone.” She waves me away like the question, and the suggestion that she can’t handle the pain she’s feeling on her own is ridiculous.
