She had no idea what her Sicilian lover was really thinking, though.
They'd finally cleared the air about their failed attempt to marry the first time and yet Annette felt like they were further apart than ever in some ways.
Carlo was unfailingly polite, but he did not touch her. At all.
She missed his touches and wasn't ashamed to say so. To herself. Alone. In her room when she was missing them most and trying to sleep, but often failing miserably.
The night before Fantino was supposed to return home, Annette fell asleep when her head hit the pillow from pure exhaustion, only to waken in a cold sweat sometime later, the echo of nightmares she could not remember reverberating through her consciousness. She didn't remember the dreams, but she remembered the sense of loss.
Knowing she would not get back to sleep right away, she got up. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea would help. She shivered and grabbed her robe. She pulled it on over her pajamas. She'd taken to wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and flannel sleep pants the last couple of nights because she'd been cold in her bed. She missed Carlo's body radiating heat.
There was a light under the door into the kitchen when she reached it.
Pushing open the door, she was unsurprised to find Carlo sitting at the table, drinking a mug of something. The kitchen was dimly lit from the light over the stove, the overhead lights not on.
"I hope that's not coffee. You'll never get any sleep if it is."
His head jerked up like he hadn't heard her come in. "Oh, uh…no." He grimaced. "I'm embarrassed to say it is warm milk with vanilla and sugar like my mother used to make when I couldn't sleep as a boy."
"Sounds yummy, though I don't know how the sugar was supposed to help you sleep."
He shrugged. "It always worked back then."
"Maybe I should try it then."
He stood. "Sit down, I will make you some."
"You don't have to do that. I'm sure I can figure it out."
"Sit, Annette. You look as drawn out as when I first arrived. And we had good news today."
"Yes, Fantino is coming home and if this last infection stays gone, Joyce gets to come home in a few days."
"She will need help."
"Yes." And while Jo-Jo transitioned to bonding with her mother, that help needed to be Annette, but not for too long. She needed to leave so the family could find its footing together again.
Without her.
Carlo moved around the kitchen with surprising efficiency, preparing her a cup of warmed milk in a saucepan, not the microwave as she would have done. He handed her the steaming mug and then returned to his own seat and proceeded to stare at his own cup like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Is something the matter?" she asked after several seconds of silence.
He looked up, again like he was almost startled to find her there. "Drink your milk while it's warm or it won't do you any good."
"Really?" She took a sip and the flavor of vanilla slid across her tongue. "Mmm…yum. I wonder why it matters if it is warm."
"Warmth and comfort, I guess. I do not know. It is something my mother used to say to me."
"Valentina was a good mom."
"Sì. She was, but for many years I did not think so. I thought she neglected me and my brother, because she was not the one to come to our football matches, or volunteer at school like the other mothers."
"She didn't neglect you though, did she?" Valentina had always had her causes, but she loved her family.
"Not really, no." He frowned. "When I was young, I resented the time she spent on her causes, her many trips away to service them. We always had nannies, and our grandparents were active in our lives, but Fantino and I both felt badly that our mother was rarely around for the things that mattered to us."
"I am sorry. If she knew she hurt you, she would be sorry for it."