Nine Years Gone

by Shelly Cruz

  Lena is sitting with Luci and Dom along the back wall when the last of the visitors exit. Before going to them, I stop where Camila is sitting with the boys, both fast asleep. I lift Lucio into my arms, Camila carries Leandro, and together we walk out to the car. I place Lucio in his booster seat and buckle him in. Camila is about to open the driver’s side door and asks, “Is that her?”

  “Camila, don’t. Not now, please.”

  “For once, can you please respond to my question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Can you at least answer that?” she pleads.

  “No. We’ve already had this conversation.”

  She rolls her eyes, opens the door, and climbs into the Escalade. I close the door behind her and wait till she drives off before returning to the funeral home.

  Lena was long gone from my everyday life, but she was very much a part of my relationship with Camila.

  Four Months Earlier

  “Camila, I’m moving out,” I say to her as I’m entering the kitchen.

  “What? Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me? I deserve the truth.”

  “We have our boys, and we’ll always be their parents, but that’s it. We’re not a couple anymore, we haven’t been intimate in months, and I spend my days working long hours to avoid coming home, so we don’t fight.” Camila’s eyes widen because she didn’t expect to hear those words, but the truth is inevitable. A truth I’ve avoided for too long.

  “You know, you’ve always been distant, kept a part of yourself hidden away from me, and I never understood why,” she tells me.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter!” she says, her voice getting louder with each word. “To me, it matters! We’ve been together for years, we have kids, and I do everything for our family, for us! But despite this seemingly perfect life we’ve built—” she screams, throwing her arms in the air “—it’s not real! We’re missing the foundation. You won’t commit to our family, won’t marry me! It doesn’t matter how many times I ask you to!”

  Camila has tears streaming down her face, and seeing the hurt I caused her hammers home that I’m a bastard and was selfish in my actions. I know I should comfort and embrace her, but the defeat I feel over what I’ve allowed my life to become is too powerful to let me, even if I am the cause of her pain.

  My heart isn’t satisfied, hasn’t been since that fateful night Lena disappeared from my life. I can no longer pretend that everything between Camila and me is fine. The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. “I’m not in love with you, Camila; I never will be.”

  “Why can’t you love me? Why won’t you love me?!” she yells, thrashing my chest with her fist-clenched hands.

  “I can’t tell you that because I don’t know,” I say, moving away from her to stop the onslaught of her fury.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it! You do know, but you just don’t want to say it to spare my feelings! Newsflash, Massimo, you’ve already shattered me, so spare me and just tell me the truth!”

  “Please, Camila, don’t do this!”

  “If you’re gonna ruin my life, at least be a man about it and say it to my face!”

  “Why? It’s not gonna change anything!”

  “Because that bitch walked away from you and destroyed your heart! I was the one who was there for you! I’m the one who gave you the children you so desperately wanted! Yet you’re incapable of loving me, of loving anyone but her! She robbed me of your love and robbed your children of having a complete family. She’s a ghost that lives in our house and sleeps in our bed! I just don’t understand how you can still fucking love her!”

  “I can’t explain it. Not to you and not to myself. I just do,” I respond, shoulders sagging in defeat.

  “You know what, Massimo? Fuck you! I deserve so much better than this, than you!” she retorts, storming out of the kitchen.

  “You’re right, Camila, you do. I’m sorry for everything. But mostly, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  Back inside, Lena is still with Dom and Luci. I take a seat next to Dom, resting my elbows on my knees. “Thank you for being here.”

  “Of course, you’re my brother, and I’m here for you. Always! Can I do anything for you before leaving?”

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  “All right. If you need anything, just let me know. We’re taking off,” Dom says, as he and Luci stand. I look at him, then at Luci before glancing over to Lena, who purses her lips and shrugs. Lena stands and hugs Luci before sitting in the chair next to me, her hand resting on my lower back, caressing me.

  “Long day, huh?” she says, more a statement than a question needing an answer.

  “Doesn’t even begin to explain it.”

  “There were a lot of people here. I waited in line for more than an hour before I was even in the door. Your mother was loved, and tonight was a testament to that.”

  “Yeah.” I stand, extending my hand to Lena. “Let’s get out of here; I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  My car is parked to the far right of the funeral home, and when we reach it, I open the passenger side door for Lena and ask, “You want to go the South Street Diner, grab some coffee, maybe a bite?”

  She lifts her left wrist, pulling back her jacket sleeve, and looks at her watch. “It’s 10:30 p.m. I can’t have coffee now because I have a hearing at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow morning and need to stop by the office first. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. I’ll drive you home.” I close the door and walk around to get into the driver’s seat. Her rejection stings like a motherfucker.

  “Where do you live?” I ask.

  “Beacon Hill, 79 Pinckney.”

  “Oh, you fancy now, huh?” We both chuckle.

  “Just a small one-bedroom apartment on the third floor; I couldn’t resist the view,” she says, shrugging.

  Before pulling out of the parking lot, I search my phone for music to play, something Lena will like, and decide on Daughtry’s “It’s Not Over.” When the music starts, Lena glances over at me and gives me a crooked smile. I extend my hand to place it on her leg, squeezing just above her knee.

  The ride to her house is silent except for the music playing. Even though I’m with Lena and I wanted to talk with her, I’m not in the talking mood. Between my mother’s death, Camila, Lena’s return, our being intimate a few days ago, and now her rejection, I’m drained. It seems she isn’t much for conversation either. Or maybe she still reads me like a book and knows I’m in my feelings right now.

  The drive over to Beacon Hill is quick, and when I turn onto her street, I park the X6 along the fence at Louisburg Square. We exit the car, crossing the street to Lena’s place, and sit on her front stoop.

  “Thanks for driving me.”

  “No need to thank me. You know I wanted to spend some time with you.”

  “I won’t be at the service tomorrow because I have court. I’m sorry I can’t make it.”

  “I know. It’s all good. Thank you for being there tonight. It means more than you know.”

  Lena stays silent. She lifts her legs one-step, bringing her knees closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. There’s a chill in the air tonight, and she’s cold. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her into me, kissing the top of her head.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” I ask her.

  “Not tonight,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know we’re long overdue to have the conversation, but it’s late, both of us are exhausted from long days, and we both have to be up early. The conversation we need to have is one that needs more time than we can give it right now.”

  I contemplate her words, see the sincerity in her eyes. “Okay. I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

  “Thanks. I’m gonna head inside. I need to go to bed.” She stands up, and I follow.

  “Hey, after we bury my mother, I’m driving to Newport
with the boys. I need a few days to decompress, away from everything, everyone. I’ll let you know when I’m back, and we’ll meet, finally have our much-needed conversation—yeah?” I brush my knuckles across her cheeks, which are red from the chilly fall air.

  “Okay, that works.” She nods.

  My hand cups her face underneath her chin, and I brush my lips to hers. They’re warm and soft as they always are. I’m greedy and want to taste more of her, so I kiss her again, this time with more force, swiping my tongue between her lips to open her mouth, and she lets me in, her breath hot.

  “Massimo,” she says, ending our kiss. “I’m—I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Good night.” She pulls the keys from her pocket and opens the door, disappearing behind it. After the way she responded to me the other day, her rejection is another slap in the face! Yet I keep coming back for more.

  I return to my car and lean against it, watching the building to see when she gets upstairs and turns the lights on. I can’t understand what’s going through her mind. It seems like she’s hot and cold, but I can’t figure out why. It’s like she wants me to touch her but then rejects me, and it makes no fucking sense. Her indecisiveness torments me, more so than I already am, if that’s even possible.

  I had resigned myself to live a life without Lena, to be the best father for my boys, and put relationships on hold. After all the hurt I caused Camila, I just need to focus on them. But fate intervened, and Lena returned. Stella thinks I’m an idiot for even speaking to Lena. My head tends to agree. She wrecked me. But my heart shouts in joy that she’s back, hoping it’s for me.

  Am I imagining that she came back for us? And if she did, can I forgive her for abandoning me? Everything inside of me screams that Lena still loves me. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, and in the way her body still reacts to me.

  My mother’s death reminds me that life is short, and we need to live for ourselves. Do things that make us happy. Except Lena’s rejection is something fierce. So what the fuck is going on? I can’t risk being betrayed—my heart can’t handle that again.

  Once I see Lena’s light on, I climb into my car and hit shuffle on my phone. The torrents of emotions coursing through me are overwhelming, and I need the loud music to soothe and calm me.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Vault

  MARIALENA

  A Week Later

  LAST NIGHT, MASSIMO’S TEXT message asked to meet today at The Vault, the same bar we had planned on meeting at last week before his mother passed away.

  As I leave my office, I send him a text.

  Lena: On my way—see you soon.

  Massimo: At the bar—far end.

  My stomach is a bundle of nerves as I’m walking to The Vault. I’ve been rehearsing how to tell him, when I should tell him, and no matter how many times I try, it always sounds wrong. Of course it does. I should’ve never left the way I did. I shouldn’t have left at all.

  It takes a few minutes to arrive from my office to the entrance of the bar. Before entering, I take a deep breath and whisper to myself, “You can do this.”

  Inside, the tables to my left are nearly full, and the bar area to my right is standing room only. All the seats are taken, and people are crowding the space. Most of the people don suits, ties removed, top buttons loosened, suit jackets off. Everyone is here to drink away the stress of their workday. The voices are loud, and I have to force my way through the crowd to reach the far end of the bar. Nearing the back of the restaurant, I spot Massimo sitting in the second to last stool; he saved the one in the corner for me.

  He’s wearing his signature black T-shirt, snug around his biceps, his ink now covering almost the entirety of his left arm, stopping just short of his wrist.

  When I reach him, he stands to make room for me to get by and into the corner.

  “Hi,” he says, leaning down to softly press his lips to my cheek.

  “Hey, have you been here long?”

  He shakes his head. “I know Tom, the bartender, and haven’t seen him in a while. Figured I’d get here early to catch up with him and ensure us a seat.”

  As I hang my jacket and pockabook over the back of the stool, I hear Massimo say, “Grey Goose and soda, with two limes for Lena, and another Jack for me, thanks.” He slides his stool closer to mine and sits on the side of it; his face is just inches away—his scent intoxicating, his nearness dizzying.

  “How are you?” I ask, looking into the depths of his dark brown gaze.

  “Better, now.” He grins, showing those smile lines on each side of his face. His hand lifts to grab one of the locks of curls framing my face, twisting it around his fingers.

  “How have you been since burying your mom?”

  “Okay, I guess. I don’t think it’s hit me yet, ya know?

  “Death is hard. Take it one day at a time. It’s really all we can do.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Look at that sleeve tatt. It’s impressive. Let me see it.” My fingers trace the ink, and Massimo lifts his arm so I can get a better view of it. When I met him, he had just a laurel wreath with a large rose in the middle of it. He had told me the laurel wreath was related to his family’s name back in Italy and that the rose in the middle was for his mother, whose name is Rosa. Said he placed it in the middle of the wreath because she’s the center of the family, the rock that holds them all together. Now, he’s added to the lower part of his arm. A Roman gladiator with his two boys’ names inscribed on the shield and along the underside of his forearm the Roman Colosseum. I lift my eyes to his and say, “It’s incredible. Why a gladiator?”

  “You know Rome is my favorite city, and I’m a lover of history.” His eyes flit down away from mine to his ink. “Besides, I’ve lived through a lot; gladiators are a symbol of strength. After my boys were born, I had their names added along the shield, at the forefront of everything.”

  I cringe at his words about being through a lot, knowing I played a massive role in causing him so much pain. “I have no doubt,” I say, raising my eyes to meet his gaze, where pride glows he speaks of his boys.

  “How was work?” he asks.

  “It was work, nothing exciting.” I shrug.

  “Law school, huh? You finally did it. I always knew you were destined for great things.”

  I grin at his words. “When I was in Des Moines, I was in bad shape, emotionally and mentally. I was self-sabotaging myself and felt like I was drowning in my own despair. I failed myself, my family, my friends—” I pause to exhale because my emotions are churning “—you.” I break my eyes away from his, the intensity of his gaze right now is too much for me, and I push my glasses back up to sit on the bridge of my nose.

  With my eyes hidden from his, I continue, “Nothing was satisfying me anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I loved bartending, but I was in a rut, and honestly, being behind the bar reminded me of you and of our plans to have various restaurants. I needed a change and something challenging, something to keep my mind focused. I had a conversation with Luci about how I was feeling, and in typical Luci style, she whipped me back into shape. Gave me the pep talk I needed to snap out of the funk I was in. That’s how I ended up in law school.”

  “Do you like it, being a lawyer?”

  “Most days, yes. I work for myself, so that’s important to me because I can choose the cases I take and the schedule I work.”

  The bartender had left our drinks on the bar, and I sip from mine. The burning feeling of the vodka soothes the ache constricting my heart. I begin peeling back the layers for Massimo to see, exposing my vulnerabilities, and need my drink to give me the courage to continue. I push the ice around with the small plastic straw floating in my glass.

  “Self-sabotaging, huh? Tell me about that.” Massimo pushes the hair back from over my eye, and with his index finger at my chin, turns my face to him. His eyes search mine, telling me he’s listening.

 
I’ve buried my feelings and emotions over abandoning Massimo and my subsequent regret for years that it takes me a moment to gather the courage to speak up, to give him what he deserves.

  “I was miserable and bitter and tried to drown those feelings by having meaningless sex. The sex made me feel worse about myself. It was a vicious cycle.”

  Massimo recoils at my words. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The betrayal reflects in the pool of his eyes, and questions churn in their depths, but he doesn’t ask them and instead lets me continue.

  “Anyway, I became good friends with the girl who worked the bar with me, Stevie. When I trusted her enough, I shared most of my story with her. She was my only friend in Des Moines for a while. When I found myself in a rut, she and Luci were the ones holding me up, encouraging me to do better.”

  “Those are good friends to have.”

  “Yeah, Stevie is one of the good ones. When Luci visited me the first time, they hit it off and bonded over their love for calling me out on my bullshit.” I smile at the thought of my friends.

  Massimo’s eyes turn up at my words. “I like doing that too.”

  He leans in just inches from my face and whispers, “Lena, you have no idea how much I missed you. No fucking clue.” His left hand moves up. I again notice the absence of a wedding ring.

  I want to ask him about it. Need to know whether he’s married, especially since we were intimate last week. Thoughts of him and the mother of his boys have haunted me all week—wondering if I am intruding on a relationship, taking what isn’t mine, stealing from another woman. Last week at the wake, I saw her with their boys, and she’s gorgeous. When I recognized who she was, my heart twisted, and jealousy erupted inside of me.

  I know if I ask him now, he’ll think I’m deflecting and doing everything I can to avoid having the one conversation he’s been waiting nine years to have. I swallow my need to ask until I tell him why I left. He brushes the back of his fingers across my cheek, my eyes fluttering at his touch.