The next day I contacted Hugo.
A little more than three years ago Cesare started teaching Matteo to call me nonno, grandfather. The honor hit me straight in the chest. Holding Matteo, I couldn’t help thinking of the child I had tried so hard to have with Christy. That night, I reached out to another contact, a former FBI agent, and he’s been looking for her too. Neither one has found her.
It was supposed to have gotten easier. It never did. There were days when I didn’t think of her at all. Days I filled with my nephews’ children who brought me such great joy by calling me Nonno, and I was happy. A time or two I even allowed myself to think of another woman. I have taken a half dozen women out, but when I tried to touch them, nothing happened. Then came the nights and the voices and the regret and emptiness closed in around me.
What got me, made me wonder if I was losing my mind were the nights when I would swear on the last part of my soul I still left, I felt Christy reaching out to me. Felt her longing and need as if she was there beside me on the bed.
I’m pulling up the number before I even think about it.
“Hey, Tony. I’m telling you, man. Every Monday for the last almost five years, I do it. I run her social through all my databases. I hit her brother’s social media pages to see if there’s a mention of her or a picture. I also hit her up on social media. Nothing. If I ever hit pay dirt, I’ll call you before the page finishes loading.” Hugo sucks deep on a cigarette.
“Thanks,” I say as I hang up.
Shaking my head, I walk out of the room and force the memories back...until tonight.
***
Christy
“Mommy?” Rosie tugs at my nightshirt, waking me up.
Groaning, I see the alarm clock glowing that it’s only a little after five in the morning. Rosie has this frustrating habit of waking up too freaking early, waking me up, then falling asleep again—usually less than a half hour later. Leaving me awake, while she gets another few hours of sleep.
Even though it’s long past time, I only started her sleeping alone in her bed in the weeks after I made the decision to go back to Tony. Well aware he wouldn’t be happy about her sleeping with us. If he allowed me back into his life and bed.
It’s been a challenge for both of us. Three or four nights a week, I found myself laying down with her to get her to sleep then leaving when she was finally asleep.
“What, baby?” I pick her up from beside the bed and tuck her close to me.
“Today is Papa’s birthday. Is today the day we get to go see him?”
Damn it, I knew I told her we were going to go see him too soon. The words came out without any plan. They had been weighing on me more and more with each day.
I blink back tears. I’m not allowed to cry in front of Rosie. It was something I told myself when she was only a year old, and saw me crying and got upset. As Rosie has grown and begun asking more questions, I haven’t been able to find the words to excuse what I did in taking her away from her father. Despite my hope...and fear, the love I have for Tony has never gone away. It hasn’t diminished—not even a little. If anything, it’s grown stronger, which made no sense to me. How could it grow without him here?
Rosie is holding the photograph of Tony I put by her bed and is talking about all the things she can’t wait to do with him when she finally sees him. The photographs of Tony were ones I had taken, stolen starting the first week. He had been standing in the kitchen making dinner, and I had my phone up and accidentally taken one. I was surprised how good it was for being taken by accident. After that, I took almost a dozen more.
I hadn’t bothered decorating my original apartment because I found out about the baby and wanted to move into this two-bedroom apartment. Growing up, I had been forced to share a room with my mother and sometimes all four of us were in one bedroom. I didn’t want Rosie to go through the same thing.
When I moved in, none of the art I used to love appealed. Instead, I had pictures of Tony made into photographs and large prints to hang on the walls. I wanted Rosie to know her father. There was also a part of me that needed to be able to see him every day.
Kissing Rosie, I study her face. She looks like me, but there is enough of Tony in her that every time I look at her, I ache. She has his blue eyes and his stubborn jaw. A few times she has tilted her head and studied me so like Tony and Dominic, I fought not to cry as she did it.
I’m lucky that she only really started asking about Tony a little more than a year ago. I told her, and anyone who asked his work kept him away in Chicago. Rosie has asked everything I know of him, and I swear she has his steel-trap mind and hasn’t forgotten a single thing I’ve told her.
I nod, as I affirm how much her daddy loves tea parties, praying I’m right. I’m such a coward even now. When I made up my mind two days ago, I should have just told Hamish and Anna I needed to quit. It didn’t matter I had signed a contract that wasn’t up for another five months; I wanted to go home. It was long past time.
I hadn’t been able to keep Rosie from telling Delia, her nanny, who was now wondering aloud if she needed to find a new job. Considering how hard it had been to find someone who spoke Italian, if she quits now, I’m screwed. Rosie’s English could be better.
For the first three years, I was the stay-at-home mom Tony wanted me to be. I lived off my retirement money without hesitation. While I was home with her, it was the mix of Latin and Italian Tony had wanted for his children. I hadn’t been able to deny his wish since I had already taken so much from him. One day, I would send Rosie to meet him. I wanted him to be proud of how I raised her. At the time, I thought it would be in her teens. But with every year, the age moved closer and closer. Until I finally stopped fighting what I’ve always known. I will never be happy without him.
There is no doubt in my mind he hates me, and that hate won’t go away easily. My hope is the hate is bound up in love, even if I understand that he probably resents it after all these years. I would never tell anyone, but as I lay awake at nigh
t, longing for him I feel his own longing reaching out to me. As painful as it was, it gave me an odd peace. Despite what I believed, what led me to walk away, I was wrong. Tony loved me. He had always loved me, and just like for me it hadn’t died—even with time and distance.
“Mommy, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to meet my Papa.” She sighs into my neck. “Are you sure he loves me? Even though he’s never met me?”
“I’m very sure. Your daddy loved you before you were born. He’s going to be so happy to meet you.” And hopefully, that love will keep him from killing me for keeping his daughter from him.