Nine Years Gone

by Shelly Cruz

  Dr. Bova enters the living room, and both my father and I stand up. “Mr. DeLorenzo,” she says to my father. “Rosa is not well; she’s nearing the end and doesn’t have much time.”

  My father’s face goes pale, and he stumbles. I reach out and grasp his arm to help steady him.

  “How long does she have?” my father asks, his voice shaking.

  “It’s hard to say,” she says, extending her hand to hold my father’s in hers. “Sometimes it’s swift, a matter of hours or days. Other times it can be a matter of weeks. Because of the uncertainty, I recommend you let your family and loved ones know they should come to say their goodbyes. You should contact the priest; have him administer last rites.”

  My father moans at the doctor’s words, and I help him sit because he’s too shaky to continue standing.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. DeLorenzo,” Dr. Bova says, patting my father’s arm in sympathy.

  “Thank you, Marina,” I say to her. Marina and I grew up together here in the neighborhood. We went to St. John’s together, and after high school, Marina went off to Boston University for her undergrad before going to medical school at Tufts. As long as I’ve known her, she’s always talked about being a doctor, and here she is, treating my mother.

  “I’m sorry, Massimo,” she says to me. “I’ve known your mother since we were kids, and she’s a wonderful woman. She’ll be greatly missed by many,” she says. “Is it okay if I let my mother know that your mom isn’t well? I know she’d like to come say goodbye.”

  “You don’t even have to ask that.”

  “Since I’m her doctor, I just want to make sure. Massimo, again, I’m sorry. I wish there were more I could do for her.” She embraces me, her arms tight around me, offering comfort.

  “Thank you, Marina. Truly. You’ve been a great doctor, a good friend. We appreciate it more than you’ll ever know,” I tell her.

  “Thanks, Massimo. Good night.” She quietly leaves through the front door.

  My father is bawling, eyes red and swollen. “What am I gonna do without her? She’s all I know. Forty-eight years we’ve been married.”

  “I don’t know, Pa. But she’s still here. Why don’t you go sit with her? She likes it when you tell her stories.”

  “She can’t see me like this. Why don’t you go in with her, and I’ll be there in a few.”

  My mother lies in her bed, blankets tucked just below her chin. She’s frail, thin, her cheeks are sunken in, and her glasses look too big for her face. She has no hair left on her head, which is now covered in a red skully cap to keep her head warm. Classical music plays softly in the background.

  I love music because of my mother. No matter what she was doing or where we were, there was always music playing, whether classical, opera, or her favorite Italian musicians.

  “Hi, Ma.”

  “Massimo come, siediti.” She pats her hand on the bed to her right.

  I close the door behind me, settling on the bed, facing my mother.

  “Figlio, Marina, she tell me I no have too much time.”

  “I know. She told us too.”

  “You need to be strong for your father. He no doing good, that’s why he sent you in here. He no want me to see him. You see how skinny he is? He’s no eat enough.”

  “I know, Ma. I don’t want you to worry about him. We’ll all take care of him.” A tear leaks from my eye.

  “And who take care of you, eh Massimo?” She lifts her hand, resting it on my cheek. “I won’t be here no more, Mamma se ne va.” Those words from her mouth cause me to let out a sob, tears dripping from my eyes as I lie down on my left side to face her, wrapping my arms around her.

  “I saw Lena today.”

  “Lena? Where you see her?”

  “I was at DeLuca’s before coming here, and I ran into her there.” My heartbeat quickens at the mention of Lena’s name.

  “She talk with you?”

  “No, not really. She was surprised to see me and ran out before I had the chance to say anything.”

  “Massimo, you wait years to see her. No keep quiet now. You understand?” Her bony fingers pat my cheek. “You follow your heart. Camila, she’s a good mamma to my Lucio and Leandro but you no love her. I see in your eyes for long time now. La vita è corta. No waste any more time.”

  My mother always knows what to say. She knows me better than anyone does, and I’ll miss her, our talks, and her giving me advice. I’ll even miss her scolding me because she often reminds me that I am still her little boy despite being a grown man. I am the man I am today because of her, the love she instilled in me, and the love she has given me.

  “I love you, Ma. I’m not ready for you to leave yet. Lucio and Leandro are going to miss out on so many amazing memories with you.” The words are muffled amidst my weeping.

  “Figlio mio. I already live my life, and I’m old. You still have long life to live with my boys. Ricordati, follow your heart. Ti amo,” she tells me, her hand rubbing my arm, consoling me.

  At that moment, my father comes into the bedroom. I lift my head and see my mother attempting to raise hers. “Nino,” she says, her smile lines blending with the wrinkles across her hollow cheeks.

  I get up from the bed, kiss my mother, and give them privacy. I’m starving and go into the kitchen to grab something to eat. I find pizza from Umberto’s and warm it up. I’m at the kitchen table eating when the boys come storming through the door.

  “Daddy, look what Zia Stella got us. Cannolis and cookies from the pastry shop,” Lucio squeals.

  “And I got a lobstah tail,” Leandro chimes in.

  “Wow, they look delicious. Why don’t you get your things together, and you can have your pastries before we go home,” I tell them. They scurry out of the kitchen to go get their stuff.

  “What did Dr. Bova say?” Stella inquires. Stella is two years younger than me. We’re close, have been since we were young. I have always been fiercely protective of her and consider her my best friend. She’s my go-to person when I’m in a dilemma or making a big decision. It was Stella who put me back together after Lena left. To get me out of my funk after Lena ghosted, Stella made me start running with her. She’s an avid runner and has run the Boston Marathon several times.

  I bring Stella up to speed. When I tell her that Ma could leave us any day now, her tears break free, and I hug her.

  “I’ll call Rocco and tell him. We need to be here for Pa. Need to make sure he isn’t alone when it happens. I’m worried about him,” I say.

  When the boys finish eating their pastries, I start gathering their things to go home. Today has been a fucked-up day, and I need some peace and quiet. We say goodbye to my parents and sister and walk out to the car. I buckle them in and get into the driver’s seat.

  “Daddy, is Nonna gonna be okay?” Lucio asks.

  “I don’t know, buddy, but I hope so,” is all I can muster telling my kids tonight.

  Before I start driving, I turn the radio dial to WZLX. It’s 9:02 p.m., and I am just in time to listen to “Getting the Led Out,” the nightly installment of playing three back-to-back Led Zeppelin songs. Led Zeppelin is always good for the soul.

  It’s 9:45 p.m. when I pull into the driveway. I see Camila open the front door. She waits on the porch as I unbuckle the boys and help them out of the car. When they see her, they’re excited. “Mommy, Mommy, Zia Stella bought us pastries,” Leandro yells as they both run to her waiting arms.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mr. Gentile

  MARIALENA

  One Week Later

  “LENA, YOUR 3:00 P.M. APPOINTMENT, Mr. Gentile, is here, and he’s completed his intake sheet. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take him back,” my assistant Natalia tells me over the speakerphone.

  “Okay, thank you. Give me a minute to finish up these edits,” I tell her.

  After law school and passing the Iowa bar exam, I worked for a local firm there doing Immigration Law, working in their criminal division, h
elping clients that were facing deportation. Because my mother is an immigrant, I was drawn to Immigration Law. This practice area also allows me to work in states other than Iowa with only my Iowa bar license because it’s a federal practice. This permitted me to move back to Boston when I was ready without the necessity of taking the Massachusetts bar exam.

  Before returning, I reached out to a female attorney who was a regular at the bar at Massimo’s restaurant. I remember she had her office a few blocks away. When I spoke to her and reminded her where we had met, she instantly remembered me. I had told her of my intention to move back to Boston and that I would be looking to rent an office and start my firm. It turns out, she had an available office in her suite, which is how I ended up here on the 27th floor of 60 State Street.

  When I finish making edits to the document I’m working on, I place it in the work folder to give to Natalia when she comes back with the client. I pick up the phone and dial her extension. “Natalia, you can bring the client back now, thank you,” I say.

  Moments later, I hear Natalia’s knock on the door and look up. Natalia is petite and has shoulder-length, light brown hair. When I decided to move back to Boston, a friend of mine recommended her to work as my assistant. She’s been a godsend.

  My face goes slack when I see him stride into my office behind her. Massimo has a smug look of satisfaction on his face, yet anger is still prominent in his eyes.

  “Mr. Gentile, this is Ms. Lopez, the attorney. Please, have a seat,” Natalia tells him, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the chairs across from me. She hands me the client intake sheet.

  “Natalia, here—” I extend my hand and give her the work folder with the documents I was working on “—it’s ready to be filed.” She takes the folder and walks out, closing the door behind her.

  I glare at Massimo. “Mr. Gentile, huh?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him as I speak. “I should’ve known you’d show up here like this.” I crumple up the client intake sheet and toss it into the trash barrel to my right.

  “I always get what I want, but you know that already, don’t you, Attorney Lopez?” he says, leaning back into the chair, a smirk gracing his beautiful face. The stubble growing along his jawline is sprinkled with grays, his eyes rimmed with dark circles and crow’s feet in the corners.

  I stare at him for several moments before saying, “Why are you here, Massimo? This is my office. You can’t be doing this.” I rest my left elbow on the armrest of my chair and adjust the frames on my face.

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. His eyes never break away from mine, and he smirks before asking, “Why are you so nervous?”

  “I’m not.” I am trying to keep myself calm, but it’s not easy with him being in such close proximity. I can smell his unique scent, and just like it did the first time I met him, it makes my skin tingle.

  “Have you forgotten that I know everything about you, and fidgeting with your glasses is your tell?” he says more than asks and licks his lips.

  I snap my hands away from my frames and bring them down to my legs. I want to smack the smugness off his face.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Are you really asking me that question?”

  “Yes, I am. I have a business to run and work to do.” I scramble to answer, in a weak attempt to cover up the quivering in my voice.

  “Look, I know you don’t care about us. You made that quite clear when you left all hush-hush to do God knows what. But I deserve an explanation. I’ve been waiting nine years for it, and until I get it, I am not gonna leave you alone.” His words are blanketed in anger and hurt, even all these years later.

  His declaration hurts. None of what he believes is true. But he’s right; he deserves an explanation, just not right now. I can’t give it to him here in my office with my assistant right outside the door and an office full of people I barely know. This is way too emotional of a conversation to have here. I cannot have a meltdown in my office.

  “Despite what you think, Massimo, that’s not true,” I say, the words a hushed statement falling from my lips. Tears burn at my eyes, begging to be let free.

  “Well then, Lena, why don’t you enlighten me?” he quips as he scoots his chair closer to lean on the desk. “What is the truth behind your sudden and unexpected disappearance from my life?”

  “Massimo.” I shimmy forward in my chair and rest my arms on the desk, bringing my face inches away from his. I’m playing with fire, and with Massimo, I’ll get burned. I’ve never been able to resist his energy and the pull he has over me. “I know you deserve to know the truth, and I am gonna give it to you, all of it. But that cannot happen right now, for many reasons, but mostly because I have a meeting after you leave.”

  “Many reasons,” he repeats, contemplating my words. Massimo tilts his head slightly to the right, purses his lips, and runs his index and forefingers back and forth over his bottom lip. His eyes never leave mine as he searches for a response in them, studying me. He pushes his hands down onto my desk and stands, nudging the chair back with his leg.

  He steps to his right, dragging his left hand along the desk while slowly circling it until he’s standing to my left. With his right hand, he swivels my chair and lifts my chin, guiding my head up. I tremble under his touch. His hand stops when my eyes lock on his.

  He bends down, bringing his lips to my left ear, and whispers, “Lena.” My eyes close, memories of all the times he whispered words of love or sexual desire in my ear flashback through my mind. He pauses, his breath tickling my ear. “You want more time—” he gently skims his lips along my earlobe “—I’ll give you time, even if you don’t deserve it.”

  His breath is hot as he speaks, and my eyes flutter closed again in response. I squeeze my legs together to quell the tingling sensation. His lips graze the skin below my ear, and he drags them along my jawline until he’s hovering over my mouth.

  He rests his forehead against mine—eye to eye, nose to nose, breath to breath. We’re still for several seconds, and it’s slow, fucking torture.

  My heart is bursting.

  Racing.

  Palpitating.

  My breath is short and fast.

  Massimo stokes the fire within me by bringing his lips to mine and resting them there, his breath searing me.

  “Lena,” he mutters.

  “Massimo,” I whisper back.

  As quickly as his lips brushed mine, they’re gone, and suddenly I feel cold.

  And just like that, Massimo has pushed all my buttons. I am drunk on desire and need. I cannot think straight after feeling him close to me. My heart races and my mind is a flurry of thoughts, thoughts clouded by the yearning need for him.

  “Lena,” he says again, pulling away from me, a glint in his eyes and an arrogant grin sprawled across his face. “You have until tomorrow after work. We can meet wherever you like, but I’m done waiting,” he commands as he lifts up and away from me.

  “Oh…okay,” I stutter, still coming down from my Massimo-induced high.

  “Six o’clock at The Vault over on Water Street,” he says as he starts walking away.

  Massimo stops and glances back at me. “Don’t be late,” he says and struts out of my office.

  After work, I drive to Newton to visit my parents. I haven’t seen them in a week, and my father called me this morning to invite me to dinner. The drive westbound on the Pike is stacked with traffic. It never used to be this bad.

  My iPod is on shuffle, and the music is keeping me company. Although it does very little to silence the thoughts of Massimo. When “Sad” by Maroon 5 starts playing, I turn up the volume. As usual, the song makes me question whether I chose the right path or not, and whether I will ever find another man like Massimo. Tears slide down my cheeks, the lyrics echoing my emotions.

  Seeing him today was unexpected, and again, he got me all worked up. I need to get my act together to have a normal conversation with him without getting all flustered. I did noti
ce he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, though. Was he wearing one the other day at the market? I don’t remember and will have to pay attention when I see him tomorrow. Does him not wearing one mean he isn’t married? Everything I remember about him tells me he’s the type of guy who’d wear a band. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but hope is all I have left right now.

  When I arrive at my parents’ house in Newton Corner, I sit in their driveway for a few minutes to gain my composure. I don’t want them to know I was crying on my way here. They always have a slew of questions. I don’t need to give them any more ammunition.

  My parents moved to Newton in the early 1970s after moving to Boston from Puerto Rico. They had wanted to move to a neighborhood with good schools where they could raise their kids. Until he retired a few years ago, my father worked in a weapons manufacturing plant in the next town. My mother was a housekeeper for several families in Newton and neighboring towns.

  I’m the youngest of six, and there are two or three years’ age difference from one to the next. Newton Corner, my father told me, was the only part of Newton they could afford to buy a house since Newton was considered a more affluent city. But this part of the city was working class, yet would permit us to attend public schools here, which were amongst the best in the nation. Our Latino family was only one of a handful of Latino families in the city, which was predominantly Jewish and Italian when I was growing up.

  I still remember starting pre-K, and on the first day of school, I didn’t speak English. When my mother picked me up that day, the teacher told her, “Mrs. Lopez, you must speak English to your daughter because she doesn’t understand anything we’re doing. She speaks no English.” My parents ignored the teacher’s instruction and insisted that we only speak Spanish at home. Despite that, I learned English within a few weeks.