“Anita?” Romeo murmured, peering down at me with cautious eyes. My grief had brought haggard concern to his face. Pinched tension dragged until I let out a shaky sigh.
“Did you do this?” I waved a limp hand to the grave. His head dropped, masking his hooded gaze. Paolo loitered behind us in a shadow. A sharp bird whistle cut through the quiet, reminding me even though my life had altered, it didn’t matter to anyone else. Time would breeze past me, uncaring of the heavy stone I now nursed in my stomach. My breaths were shaky shudders.
“Please understand.” Romeo chose his words haltingly. “I wanted to be sure, to be certain, before I brought the information to you.”
I lurched into him with a sob. I pressed my nose to the nook of his neck. His scent filled my lungs and anchored me. His pulse throbbed in my ear, reminding me how precious and fragile this life was.
“He lied to me,” I whispered, voice cracking.
“He loved you,” Romeo countered, his hand cradling my head. The logic was sound, but the hurt was too loud for me to agree.It clamored around my insides, leaving a blistering path. Deep down, I knew the truth. He could lie and still love me. It didn’t heal the hurt. I didn’t have to trade one for the other. In time, I would balance the betrayal. The pain would lessen.
“You lied to me.” I knitted my fingers around Romeo’s waist, wanting to transfer some of my bleeding rage. I could streak it on his skin instead.
“I love you, too.”
My anger ebbed. Weak against the pounding ache of my heart. I sagged against his hard chest. Wordlessly accepting the quiet admission. He gulped, arms clamping me to his body. Romeo’s chin caged the top of my head. Tremors traversed my body, shock taking control. The thump of his heart filled my ears. We were pillars, cracked and scarred on our own.
But together, we were solid. Strong.
That scared and soothed me at the same time.
22
Age 6
“Anita!” My mom’s voice chased my frantic heels. But I’d already slipped out the door and was running toward the greenhouse. My full skirt hindered my short legs, and the sound of sandals slapping on the ground clapped in my ears. My mom’s indignant shout was swallowed by the whip of wind buffeting my ears. The ribbon in my hair fell to the ground, unfettered. I screeched to a stop and ground my vindictive heel into the silky cream until it disappeared in the dirt. A ripple of dark satisfaction rolled through me. I stomped it one more time, a thrumming energy humming through my veins. My father leaned against the frame of the greenhouse door with a raised eyebrow.
“Anita. What are you doing out here?”
His voice was soft, concerned, and panic flared in my stomach.
“Can I come in?” Despite my efforts, there was a begging whine to my tone, and I dropped my head in frustration. He would surely send me back to the house now, to the sharp clutches of my mom. So she could brush my hair and dress me like a little doll, all lace and ribbons. I peered past my father, mesmerized by the large green leaves and scent of soil.
“You’ll be filthy in a second. This dress shouldn’t be anywhere near this dirty greenhouse.”
He held his hands out with a rueful smile, showing me the black dirt lodged underneath his nails.
“I hate this dress.” My face twisted. His eyes widened, shocked by the vehemence in my tone. How could I articulate the rampant emotion that stiffened my body? Father stepped away from the door, beckoning me to follow him.
“There are rules in the greenhouse. Can I trust you to follow them?” Hands encircled my waist, and my stomach swooped as I sailed through the air. He settled me on the bench and squeezed my knee.
“Anita?” He prompted me, but a low hanging vine distracted my focus. My fingers hovered in the air, inching toward the waxy leaf. Dad snagged them tight in his fist, unrelenting.
“Rule number one.” His eyes bored into mine, but there was a dawning understanding. I tilted my head. The sharp grating on my insides was dull, muted by the press of greenery and earthy scent that wrapped me up in a soothing blanket.
“Look with your eyes only.” He tucked my hand in my lap. “The plants here are not to be touched, not until you understand them better.”
Sunlight filtered through the bedroom window, and I blinked against the intrusion. My eyelids were gummy, and my forehead pounded. The bedspread rustled as I rolled over, the figure sprawled on the chair becoming clear.
“You slept here?” I rubbed my eyes. Romeo, seeing me sleep mussed and vulnerable, would have embarrassed me before, but now he’d seen far worse. My ribcage wrenched open, and my heart shattered into pieces. An ache pressed on my chest, a weight that made breathing a struggle. I had answers, but the revelation had sliced me into ribbons. I’d traded one long-held hurt for another, but there was someone else helping me shoulder the burden.
My husband.
“I was worried about you.” Romeo stretched his arms over his head.
My heart crashed against my bruised ribcage. I scooted over to the edge of the bed, soothed by the way he leaned forward to meet me. His fingers dug into his kneecaps like an anchor, preventing him from encroaching on me. If I crooked my finger, he would come. The bitterness I’d nurtured toward him felt hollow. I’d tried so hard to deter Romeo, but it had only emboldened him.
“Why?” I wanted to hear him say it again without the haze of grief poisoning every syllable. I needed the balm of hiswords and the solidness I hadn’t realized he’d been lending me this whole time. Romeo let out a deep sigh. Smudged shadows framed his under eyes, a fragility I hadn’t ever noticed before. My stomach quivered. Romeo was grieving in his own way. I’d seen my father’s resting place. Romeo faced the impossible future of placing his own dad deep in the ground.
