The last thing he remembered was pulling off the road and finding a parking spot. Emotionally drained, he needed to walk and think. What better place than the beach?
His eyes continued to squint against the light as he pushed himself up to stand. He grunted against the pounding headache that knocked on his inner skull. He looked around the beach, trying to remember how far he drove. He recognized the closed boardwalk of Point Pleasant Beach in New Jersey. He had been there as a child with his father and brothers.
The brisk breeze heightened the sounds on the beach. Desperate seagulls shrieked while searching for trash cans that would provide their next meal. Carlo crossed his arms over his chest and watched the wave’s crash on the shore. Sand clung to the front of his clothes. His shirt was partially un-tucked, and his tie was no longer knotted. He felt like a teenager waking up with a hangover, but the memory of the night before had left his heart crushed.
Carlo shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. His stomach twisted in knots with the outcome of the evening. He let years of anger explode almost uncontrollably on the one person who he never meant to hurt. Confusion, shock, and the despairing grief had caused him to be blinded by his own disappointment. To his shock, he realized that the years of revenge that he wanted to take out on the thief had been replaced not by joy at recovering his father’s urn, but by misery in discovering where it had been for ten years.
When he left Mia’s apartment, he chose to drive anywhere, rather than go home. He was distraught and hurt by the way the evening unfolded. On the other hand, he could not believe he had finally found his father’s ashes. What were the odds? Before he knew it, he had traveled to the beach and decided to take off his shoes and walk on the sand. Exhausted and alone, he wallowed in his pain until he fell asleep in the sand.
Now, the quiet beach was recuperating from its daily visitors. Soon, when the sun had fully risen, people would drag their beach-gear onto the sand, using it as a deck to the sun. He watched an occasional jogger run past. Aside from the joggers, seagulls and Carlo, Point Pleasant Beach was empty.
Carlo’s inner stomach tightened against the bittersweet, emotional pain he felt. He finally had his father’s ashes back in his possession. The family could finalize his father’s last request; a burial in the Atlantic Ocean—his ashes sprinkled at sea.
Ten years of daily angst had finally ended; cruelly, it did not end with the joy he had always envisioned. Instead, his victory ended with another loss—a loss so great, so painful that a part of him wished he had not found his father’s urn—a small part of him.
He clenched his fists in the pockets of his slacks. His dress shirt flapped in the wind. His once brushed hair whipped the sand that adhered to its strands from the breeze. He was not ready to go home. For the first time in a long time, he was utterly, and emotionally, lost. He took one last look at the crashing waves, and then looked away, knowing it was time to search for his vehicle.
***
Carlo’s cell phone rang repeatedly, but he continued to ignore it. Frankie had called several times to find out if he was okay. He guessed it was because he had missed two consecutive days of work in the aftermath of Mia and the urn. He ignored his family’s attempts to call him, as well. He sent Antonio a text message telling him that he was okay and would call when he was ready. Of course, that was two days ago.
Carlo had driven around aimlessly and slept in his car for two days. He could use a hot shower and a good razor. Today, however, he stood on Liberty Island in the exact spot where he took Mia on the day they visited the Statue of Liberty. His hands rested inside his dress pant pockets while he stared at the statue that Mia had found remarkable.
When he had left her apartment two nights ago, he had been enraged. He said things that he had certainly meant—at the time. He wondered how he could love her after knowing that she was the one who had made him feel years of guilt and blame at losing his father’s ashes by leaving them in his vehicle. Over the past two days, his shock and pain had begun to dull, allowing room for common sense. And once that happened, he could not get her tears and words out of his mind.
He still had not forgiven her, at least not enough to see past the damage and let her back in to his life. He closed his eyes, opening them when he smelled her scent dancing with the breeze. He glanced around; she wasn’t there.
Carlo had not shaved in two days. His stubble grew in, thick and full, covering the entire lower half of his face. His bloodshot, swollen eyes made it difficult for him to focus on anything around him. He was hungry and thirsty, running his tongue over his cracked, dried lips. He looked like hell and felt worse.
He had been sure that Mia was the woman for him. If anger and disappointment were not still lingering near his heart, then he would have begged her to come back to him. The hardest part—the part he had been fighting himself with—is that he walked out of her life with few answers to his many questions. That did not matter anymore since he had harshly told her he never wanted to see her again.
He sighed deeply. It was time to tell his family that he had the urn. He was ready to break the news to them. First, he desperately needed to go home, take a shower, and get something to eat. Then he would have to explain everything to his family.
Carlo walked from Battery Park toward his vehicle. His thoughts were twirling in his head, so much so that he barely felt the small arms that wrapped around his legs.
He looked down into the eyes of another reminder of Mia. Jose clung to his legs, happily smiling. Carlo almost did not recognize him. His brushed hair, and clean face made him look different. He had on a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt with new shoes. Shocked, Carlo leaned over and roughed up his hair. “Where’s your mama?”
“Jose, leave that man alone,” a man said, running up to the child and picking him up in his arms. He was wearing military fatigues and had a buzz haircut. “I’m sorry, mister,” the man said. Jose leaned in and whispered in the man’s ear. Carlo watched as the man smiled and looked up at him.
“My son tells me that you and your lady friend are responsible for getting my family off the streets. Is this right?” he asked kindly.
Carlo cleared his throat, “we just gave them some food and directed them to a shelter,” Carlo said, remembering the time when Mia yelled at him for grabbing Jose and threatening to put the child in jail.
“I can’t thank you enough. I just served a tour in Iraq and something went wrong with the deposits of my money. I was out of phone range for three months on an FOB—” he chuckled and apologized for the acronym—“a Forward Operating Base and I didn’t know there was a problem. When they were evicted, my wife didn’t know what to do. She doesn’t speak much English.”
Carlo stood there, shocked. When he had seen Jose dirty and stealing, he just assumed he was an out-of-control child running the streets or simply homeless with a broken, dysfunctional family. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. Which branch are you with?”
“The Marines,” he stated proudly, hugging his son. “I was a civilian for two years, which is why we lived here, but I got called back to active duty and went straight back to the sand box.”
“My brother just finished basic training for the Marines,” Carlo mentioned, suddenly feeling proud of Giovanni.
“Good for him, he should be proud; he’s one of the best,” He looked at his son and then back at Carlo. “Thanks to you, my family was only on the streets for two days. They went to the shelter and sought out the person you told them about. That person was able to get in contact with me. They sent me home on leave to get them situated.”
“It really wasn’t me; Mia spoke Spanish and conversed with your son and wife. She made sure they ate and had money in their pockets,” he said distantly, overwhelmed with the memory of that day. All he could think about was how kind her heart was when that happened. She was sincere on that day, he thought to himself.
“Well, please, do me a favor and thank her from all of us. She is one-of-a-ki
nd. Not many people would take care of perfect strangers like that. I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to my family,” he said, genuinely smiling at Carlo.
“I will let her know. I’m glad your family is safe,” Carlo mumbled. His mind felt twisted, and his heart ached to see Mia. He wished she were here to see the outcome of her kindness. Carlo shook the man’s hand and turned to leave. Before he took two steps, he had heard the man say something, and he turned back.
“Good luck to your brother. Semper Fi,” he said proudly. Jose yelled Adios as he waved his little hand.
Carlo did not look back. He inwardly smiled, but his stomach was in a knot. While Jose’s father was fighting for the country, Carlo was ready to throw the kid in the system. One mistake, out of their control, had put the family on the streets.
Carlo stopped by his home to shower and shave. His father’s urn sat on the front seat of the passenger side, just as it did ten years prior. He stood by the front door of the car and stared at the urn, an empty feeling in his heart. When he pulled up in front of his mother’s house, he inhaled deeply. He had called a family meeting, and everyone was there waiting for him.
The moment Carlo sat down in the recliner chair next to the fireplace Antonio started talking.
“Do you have Papa’s urn?” Antonio asked.
“Yes, it’s in my ca—wait, how did you know?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Mia called two days ago to explain everything,” Angelo said.
“Mia called? Did she tell you she was the person who stole the urn the day of Papa’s funeral?”
“Yep, she told us everything,” Giovanni said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You messed up on this one, Carlo. We know your temper and rage; we also know how to handle you. But someone like her doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. Did you even listen to her?” Antonio asked.
“Wait a minute, she stole our father’s ashes, and you’re condemning me?”
“You’re such a self-righteous jerk. Did you bother to ask her why? Did you stop to think there might be a reason?” Giovanni’s anger rose as his voice escalated. He took a deep breath and calmed down at his mother’s touch.
“A reason? Since when do we allow thieves to have a reason?” Carlo was sitting on the edge of the recliner with his forearms resting on his legs and his hands clenched. “What did she tell you guys? If someone is a thief, normally, they’re a liar, too,” he stated, trying to protect the decision he made.
Emilio spoke calmly to his older brother. “She told us the truth, Carlo. She explained where was born and raised and why she ran away. She did nothing but apologize to us and she asked us to tell you how sorry she was. She said you stormed out of the house without letting her explain.” Emilio took a deep breath and continued, “She was hurting because she had hurt us.”
Carlo sat there shocked at his family. They had all sided with her, not knowing the guilt he had been feeling all these years, not giving him the benefit of the doubt in his decision.
“Carlo, you are the backbone of our family. You hurt in your heart for many years, but your Papa is not in the urn. He is in here—” his mother pointed to her heart—“and here”—she pointed to her head. “You carry guilt that hurt Mia.”
When his mother spoke, he could see the pain in her eyes. Her simple words made him think that maybe he needed to listen to Mia. Maybe, he didn’t give her a chance to explain.
Angelo tilted his head, “She carried Papa’s ashes around for ten years, Carlo. She kept the urn safe and hoped to, one day, find a relative of his. How do you condemn someone with such deep compassion for a family she didn’t even know?”
Carlo stared at his mother and then each one of his brothers. “What do you all know that I don’t?”
“We know. We listened to her, and to what she told us, and then we forgave her,” Angelo calmly stated.
Carlo was speechless. His lingering anger had turned to anxiety. He put his head in his hands and thought about what they had said. He knew they were right. Mia loved deeply. He wanted to hate someone. He had hated someone for ten years; he just did not know who that someone was. But how could he hate the woman he loved. The thought of hating her made his stomach churn.
“She belongs with you, Carlo, and she belongs in our family,” Angelo said.
“I was responsible for Papa’s ashes on the day of his funeral. Most of you were too young, but I was seventeen. Before he died, he had asked to talk with me alone. Besides telling me to take care of my siblings and Mother, he asked me to take his ashes and spread them out to sea.”
“You never told us that,” Giovanni said, shocked.
“I wanted to, and I was going to, once I got home from the funeral. Can you imagine how angry and disappointed I was to walk back to my car and see father’s ashes were gone? I let all of you down. I let him down.”
“You have never let us down, Carlo. Mama is right. Papa is not in the jar. He lives in each of our hearts and our memories. You should have never carried around such guilt and pain with you all these years,” Emilio said with compassion.
“But why would she do that? Who does such a thing? Who steals an urn?” he asked finally ready to listen. Problem was, he was asking the wrong people.
“Listen man, you have to talk to her. Stop being a jerk and talk to her.” Giovanni snickered, “Let’s face it, you’re never going to get anyone better than Mia. You stubborn prideful ass.”
Carlo laughed for the first time in two days. He threw a couch pillow at Giovanni and dodged it when Giovanni threw it back. Then he got serious, “I don’t know if she will talk with me, but I’m going to try.”
Chapter Thirteen
Carlo’s hands were sweaty and the nerves in his stomach were doing somersaults. He had tried to call Mia several times, only to hear her voicemail. He went to her apartment, but she did not come to the door. He waited impatiently for her to return his calls, but she never did.
He knew she would be at the restaurant, where they had their first drink, on Thursday nights. She got together with her friends on that night. He sat at the bar and waited, watching for her. Mia’s friends sat at their usual table, but Mia never showed up. After an hour, he grabbed his beer and left his seat. Long strides brought him to their table in seconds.
“Look ladies, the Neanderthal’s here,” Fredrick spewed in disgust.
Tania sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Antonio had told her what Carlo did to Mia, and like everyone else, Tania had tried to call her, but Mia did not respond.
Carlo excused himself for interrupting their night. “Miesha, can I have a word with you?”
“What is it, Carlo?” she asked, not looking away from her friends around the table.
Carlo stood to the right of Miesha with his arms across his chest. He knew Mia’s friends were angry with him, but right now he did not care—he needed to know if she was okay.
“Have you talked to her? Is she okay? I’m worried about her,” he stated plainly.
“Interesting. You didn’t worry about her a week ago when you tore her apart,” she spouted, eyeing him with hostility.
“I deserve that. Just tell me someone has talked with her and I’ll leave.”
Miesha leaned over and pulled out a chair for him to sit down. The offering was her way of telling him they were all in the same boat. No one had heard from Mia.
He sat down and looked at each of her friends, “I’m sorry. I lost my temper when I found out Mia stole my father’s urn ten years ago.”
“Do you know why she took the urn?” Miesha asked.
He shook his head and waited for her to tell him.
“She was sixteen, homeless and hungry. She had just run away from the only world she had ever known. She left her family and friends in order to avoid marrying a man she did not love, a man who was more than three times her age and already had nine wives. The pawnshop offered her $500 for your father’s urn. She would have had
enough money to get a hotel room with a warm bed and hot shower—something she desperately needed after eight weeks of being on the streets. However, when the pawnshop owner told her it was a jar filled with human remains, she turned down the warm bed and hot shower to get the urn back to its rightful owner.”
“How did she try to find the owner?”
“She’s been searching for years, trying to find out who it belonged to. She even placed repeated classified ads in New York Times, and paid for those with her waitress tips. For years, she existed on one free meal a day at the restaurant where she works, in order to be able to pay for all of those ads.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Shit. I wasn’t aware.”
“There are a lot of things she wanted to tell you, and she was going to, the night you stormed out on her. You broke her heart,” Tania whispered.
The Mancini Saga (Book #1) I.O.U. Page 14
