LitanyLane

“Okay, give me five minutes I’ll be down.” he said.

“You should” I said, “Today’s a big day.”

+++

I felt like I was working as Starbucks again as I  pulled a few shots of espresso into two cups. His a chipped white cup from his mother and a white and gold one I’d picked up in Vienna.

I jumped when I finally noticed Rose staring at me. I coculd have sworn she wasn’t there a moment ago.

It was always odd seeing someone from my past every time I looked at Rose. It used to make me sad but now I finally saw her for her.

“Want some coffee ?”, I asked her

“She’ a child”, Peter said from the stairs before she can answer

He’d changed into a Manchester United shirt and jeans. Sexy and simple

“Oh, please people in Italy drink wine at younger, we started at ten.”

“Don’t let that get around the French embassy”, He said taking his coffee.

We has to settle for cereal this morning.

Things had been easier in Rome We’d had a mid-sized apartment that was close enough to Peter’s office at the Ministry for him to walk and close enough for me to get where I need to be.

When I’d been kidnapped 12 years ago it rattled me, the reality of what happened to me and Mr. Fierro when we were locked in that house could never be known by anyone. I’d just wanted to get away so I went to Rome.

I had terrible nightmares back then.

The only person I told about my choice to move to Italy was my mother. She understood that I hadn’t been myself and hoped that leaving would get her daughter back.  I packed up my entire life intent on never spending a night in the house that I was taken from.

When I arrived at Da Vinici airport in February I was surprised that Peter was there. Our moms had clearly talked. We had walked arm and arm like a normal couple along the streets of Rome when it began to get dark I wanted to go inside but he insisted we do a little sightseeing and as a regular visitor I knew there was nothing more beautiful than Rome at night.

I overindulged and put my entire savings in a beautiful WWII refurbished apartment overlooking the Tiber, something about being near the water kept me calm. It reminded me where I was and kept me sane. I of course couldn’t afford a place like that on my own, so I asked Peter to move in with me.

Though we were both more than capable of making our own decisions, I sensed we didn’t tell our parents about our living arrangement for the same reason.

It wasn’t long before I felt the need to reciprocate the kindness he had shown me.  I cooked, cleaned and did the best I could while still being independent. At night we would sit on the couch and write music together

I didn’t want to believe I was falling in love again, but I was. Could fickle hearts be genetic? He honestly cared about me and I felt the same towards him but for some reason it was tearing me up inside.

“I can’t”, I had told him

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

“Yes you are”, I had said kissing the side of his face “and I’m asking myself for something . . . and it’s just too soon.”

“We’ve know each other for years.”

My grief then began to cause me physical pain and I felt as if I were ready to cry again. I sat at the table staring at my entwined hands. At some point he had left a glass of my favorite wine by my bedside and it made me smile.

I knew all good things would come to an end. I found out I was three months pregnant during a visit to the ER. Peter was there and the nurse made assumptions and told him.

Peter was quick with the math. It wasn’t that he thought he was the father it was that he realized when it had happened.

“Clara”, he said, “What happened to you when you were kidnapped ?”

“I don’t remember”, I said, “It’s not what you think. I knew I was pregnant before I was taken. Honestly. I’d found out the day before I was kidnapped”

 It was the first and only lie I ever told. It was what I told everyone and it made things less complicated

“who?”

“He’s dead.”, That was the truth.

Peter had held my hand when we invited my family up and told them. He’d understood when I went home to give birth to Rose. I stayed with my family for a few months but my father wasn’t thrilled by Rose.

When she was old enough I took her back to Rome to visit Peter and  . . . we never left. Peter was still there and we started to spend more time together. It felt so good to just be friends again, like we’d been in school.

A year in we saw something our mother’s had seen long ago. We loved each other.  When we got married it wasn’t because our Mother’s told us or pressure. It was because we wanted to.

We kept our wedding small just 80 people in Northern Italy by the water. At two Rose had been too young and fussy to attend the ceremony but Peter insisted. A candid picture of us trying to get her to smile during wedding photos was now one among many others in the main hall.

I knew what family secrets could do so growing up Rose always called Peter, “Peter”.  When she’d had questions about her father I told her what I could and that satisfied her. I wish he’d lived long enough to see her.

Now she would be twelve by the end of the summer and I’d have to figure out how to be okay with that. It helped that Clarence was going to be staying with us for the summer.  With Peter’s new job at the Italian Embassy in Paris this was a new adventure for all of us.