The Last Promise (33 page)

“Eliana. What happened?”

They embraced; then she buried her head in his chest as she began to cry. He wrapped his arms around her, one arm around her back, the other around her head, and held her tightly, crushing her hair between his fingers.

“Eliana?”

She could not speak but shook with her weeping. His instinct was to fix whatever was wrong—to make everything better. He put his hands on her face and gently tilted her head back until she looked into his eyes. “What happened?”

She was breathing heavily, trying to catch the breath lost from sobbing. When she spoke, her words were strained. “The night we were together. Maurizio was home. He waited for me all night.”

The weight of her statement fell on Ross. “Eliana, it’s okay. We’ll do just as we planned. We’ll go away. You and Alessio will have a new life.”

At this she began to cry. Unable to speak, she held him until she could continue. “Ross, I don’t know if I can say this.”

Her words pressed a blade of panic into his chest. Ross stepped back from her and looked at her expectantly.

“Maurizio has taken Alessio away. I’m so frightened. He doesn’t know how dangerous his asthma is. He doesn’t know what to do if he has an attack. I’m afraid something will happen. It will be my fault.”

“No, it won’t be your fault.”

“Yes, it will. I should never have left him.”

Ross’s voice pitched with resolve. “I’ll go to Maurizio. I’ll bring Alessio back.”

“No, Ross. You don’t understand.” She was crying harder now. “Ross, I can’t have you and Alessio.” He could not speak, only stare into her eyes. Her voice was weak. “We lost. You have to leave, Ross. You have to promise to leave me and never come back.”

Her words cascaded over him like ice water, leaving him breathless. He erupted. “And what if I won’t? What if I tell you to run away with me right now and leave Maurizio and Rendola and all this behind you?”

“And Alessio?” She looked down for a moment then back at him, her eyes now gray and hard as concrete. “You would never have the woman you loved.”

Ross knew it was true. Eliana would never forgive herself for abandoning her child. She would hate herself. And someday she would hate him too. His mind reeled. This time there was no escape from circumstance, no back door. To take her was to lose her.

Filled with grief, Ross’s eyes began to moisten. He closed his eyes tightly and turned back, grasping the piazza’s steel railing, looking away from her so she wouldn’t see. But she did and his pain only added to hers. She touched him but he would not turn back. “Ross, please, no.”

“Didn’t you promise me? Didn’t you say to have hope just one last time?”

His words, her own words, stung. She laid her head against his back and sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was possible. All I wanted was to be loved. Don’t hate me, Ross. Please don’t hate me. I can’t live with that too.” She held to him. “I can’t live without you.”

After a few minutes he turned and held her. She felt warm in his embrace. Then his eyes locked on hers. His voice was dull with pain. “Remember, Eliana, love doesn’t give second chances.” He looked to the ground, swallowed. Then he said, “You better go. Alessio needs you.”

Eliana just stared at him intensely. The reality that they were parting filled her with panic.

“Where will you go? Back to America?”

“America holds nothing for me.” He paused and wiped back the tears from his face. “It’s best that you don’t know anyway.”

He drew a long breath, exhaled, then kissed her cheek. “
Addìo, amore.
I will always love you.”

Then he walked away. As Eliana watched him, each step of his drew greater pain—as if she were being torn in two, which she was.

At the bottom of the stone stairway he stopped, turned slowly and looked at her. She did not speak. She just looked at him, and a thousand colors of thought blended into a single gray image. Then, with his head bowed, he turned away from her and was gone, vanished into the crowds.

As she walked back to her car, her mind dizzy with pain, a verse came to her, words gifted from some long forgotten reading.

“Love knows not its own depth until the hour of its separation.”

—Italian Proverb

 

 

 

 

 

A
s a little girl in Saint Mark’s Sunday school in Vernal, Utah, Eliana remembered learning about hell in catechism. As an adolescent she had studied Dante’s
Inferno
and the nine levels of torment. She had wondered about it then too, if such a place really existed and what horror it must hold. She wondered what it might be like confined for an eternity to those dark places. Now she knew. She felt, as real as fire, the pain of betraying those she loved—her son and Ross—the guilt emblazoned across her heart like a brand.

Back inside her home she went to her studio and prayed. She prayed for more than an hour, begging for forgiveness and for her son’s safety. In her desperation she offered her own life in recompense for her son’s, though her offer felt moot, as her life meant nothing to her now. She prayed for Maurizio, that his heart might be softened and because she had been taught to pray for her enemies. And she prayed for Ross. His portrait was against the wall, staring at her, and she could not look at it. A part of her felt that she had wronged him most of all. For in her heart taking hope from someone was among the gravest of sins. She did not know if there could be forgiveness for such.

She felt more dizzy, more confused. Nothing made sense to her. She had lost her heart; she now wondered if she might lose her mind as well. Something had to give. She was confident something would. She was moving toward something—release or destruction, she didn’t know which. Neither did she care anymore.

—Italian Proverb

 

 

 

 

 

I
n the unwatched hours of early morning the phone rang. It took Eliana a moment to figure out where she was and what had woken her. She reached over for the telephone, knocking it out of its cradle as she tried to lift it.

“Chi e? Sei tu, Eliana?” Who is this? Is this you, Eliana?
The caller did not recognize her voice.

“
Sì.
Manuela?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

Sleep left her. “Manuela, where are you? Where’s Alessio?”

Anna stirred. “Who is it?”

“I’m with Alessio. You must come to Ospedale Santa Maria.”

The words chilled her. “What’s happened? Is Alessio all right?”

“He is all right now. He had a serious attack.”

“I’m coming now.”

Eliana dropped the phone in its cradle.

Anna had slept at Eliana’s side to watch over her, but now she was sitting up. “Eliana, what is it?”

“Alessio’s at the hospital.”

The dark roads were empty, and it only took them fifteen minutes to make the usual twenty-minute drive.

Manuela was standing in the front lobby of the Santa Maria Hospital, waiting. The women embraced. “I’ve been so worried for you,” Manuela said. “I’m so sorry, Eliana. I had to go along with Maurizio. It was the only way to protect Alessio.”

“I know, Manuela, I know. I’m not angry at you.”

“Alessio’s been so upset since Maurizio took him. He had several attacks. This one was his worst. We thought we lost him.”

Eliana turned pale. “Lost him?”

“The line on the machine went flat.”

“Oh,
Dio . . .
”

“He’s okay now, Eliana. He’s sleeping.”

“Who’s with him?”

“The
dottore
just left. Only Maurizio.”

“Maurizio?” Eliana asked. Knowing where Alessio was, she was no longer fearful. Anna had bristled at the mention of his name but Eliana didn’t want Alessio any more upset than he already was. “Not in front of Alessio, Anna.”

Anna replied, “I will control myself.” She thought a moment then said, “I’ll wait outside the door.”

The hospital was dark and the corridor echoed with their footsteps. Near the center of the second-floor corridor a single door was ajar. Eliana looked inside. The room light was off and only a table lamp illuminated the wall behind the bed. She could see Alessio’s small form beneath the covers. An oxygen mask covered his face and an IV needle ran into his arm. She ran to his side. She took his hand and fell to her knees next to him. His eyes opened, and he looked at her as tears ran down her cheeks. She rubbed his hand with hers then pressed it against her wet cheek. “I didn’t know where you were. I’m so sorry, Alessio, I didn’t know. I would never leave you alone. I would never.”

Alessio gazed at her; then he glanced fearfully past her, over her shoulder.

Eliana followed his gaze. Maurizio stood in the corner of the room, in the shadows. For a moment they stared at each other. He didn’t look terrible anymore. He looked small and impotent, whereas she was filled with strength—the innate ferocity of a mother guarding her young. He could no longer threaten her. He would have to kill her to take Alessio away from her again.

Manuela noticed their exchange and left the room.

Maurizio cleared his throat. “He has cried for you ever since I took him. He had an attack almost immediately. A small one. He has had several. Last night the inhaler didn’t help. We brought him here.” He paused; then his voice became frail and laced with emotion. “We thought he was going to die.”

Eliana saw that he was trembling. Other than the afternoon of the
Vendemmia
feast, in which he had only marginally been involved, he had been present only once during an attack, and then he had panicked while Eliana ministered to Alessio. She remembered it clearly because she was surprised at how distressed it had left him. Even then, that seizure was mild compared to most others—nothing compared to this attack. Eliana turned away from him, nuzzling back up against her son.

“He’s not really my son, is he, Eliana?”

Maurizio’s question enraged her. She turned back, her eyes fierce. “Of course he’s your son. How dare you say that in front of—”

Maurizio held up a hand to stop her, then said calmly, “That’s not what I meant.” He swallowed. “He doesn’t call me father.” Then he said softer, “He hates me.”

Eliana suddenly understood why Maurizio had called for her. Maurizio was more than frightened at the prospect of losing his son; he had come to the realization that he already had. She suddenly felt pity for him.

“Being a father takes time. He never sees you. Even when you’re home, you’re not really there. You’re not a part of his life.”

Maurizio looked down for a long time, nervously rolling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. The room was quiet except for the strained wheeze of Alessio’s breathing.

“I almost killed my own son.” Maurizio was silent again. The time stretched into what seemed minutes. Then he spoke without looking at her. “You may go, Eliana. You may take Alessio back to America with you.”

She looked at him in disbelief. He did not look at her.
“Mi dispiace per tutto.” I am sorry about everything.
“I am so sorry I hit you.” His eyes were wet. She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, something miraculous had happened. Eliana saw the man she had fallen in love with. She looked at him softly.

“I’m sorry for what I have done,” she said. “It wasn’t to hurt you. I was only lonely.”

“I know.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Do you want to try again?” she asked.

He looked at her and his eyes moistened. He nodded his head slowly. “No. It is who I am, Eliana. I would only hurt you again.”