“What are you thinking?” David asked as they reached the door. Unlike the main house, this building had no lock.
“I’m thinking,” Alex said as he opened the door, “that we need some tools.”
The shed, while dark, was surprisingly neat. Tools covered the walls, very few of which Alex recognized. Not that he had much experience with tools, but many looked like antiques. The vines that stretched down the hill from the main house were a working vineyard—no doubt some of the tools were for tending the vines. Alex nearly tripped over a box as he reached what he’d been hoping to find: a folding ladder.
“Help me get this outside?” he asked David, who eyed him warily before picking up one end.
“What do you have in mind?”
“The windows on the upper floor of the house don’t lock, do they?”
David frowned. “You can’t intend to climb up there. If you fall—”
“I’ve climbed much higher in my day.” Alex nodded to a spot under one of the side windows. “Before I met your sister, I broke in to a few warehouses.” He’d been nearly sixteen and running from the foster-care group home where he’d been living when Rachel had quite literally saved his life. She, too, had been living on the streets when she’d found him passed out in the middle of a blizzard. They’d lived together until he’d left for college three years later, and he still thought of her as his sister.
“Broke in to?”
Alex laughed. “Not to steal anything. There wasn’t anything in them to steal even if I’d wanted to. I just needed a place to sleep. The top floors were warmer and most of the offices weren’t locked.”
“I see.” David looked extremely uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, David.” Alex offered him a reassuring smile. He wouldn’t have said it, but knowing what he did about David’s upbringing, he figured he’d had the better deal as a kid.
Alex opened the ladder and put his weight on the first step. It was old but sturdy. “Spot me, okay?” he asked.
“All right.” David appeared unconvinced. “Just be careful. The closest hospital is a good hour from here.”
“No problem.” Alex climbed up the ladder. The second-to-last step put him just shy of reaching the window frame. Not close enough.
“I really don’t think this is a good—”
Alex climbed one more step, wobbled a bit, then reached out for the windowsill. He pushed on the wood with the heel of his hand. It didn’t budge.
“Alex,” David said, sounding genuinely worried now, “I don’t think this is a good idea. Surely there must be some other way inside.”
“Don’t worry. I can do this.” Alex hit the window harder this time, and the two sides swung inward. Unfortunately, he used a bit more force than he’d intended. The ladder shook, and Alex teetered on the platform. He struggled to regain his balance, but the smooth leather soles of his dress shoes slid against the wood.
Shit. He reached for the windowsill and scrabbled for purchase on one of the rough stones of the ancient façade that stuck out a few inches, right under the sill. His feet found an indentation where the grout had deteriorated a bit. He prayed the stones were in better shape than the mortar, since he figured it was at least twenty feet down to the stone patio. There was nothing to break his fall. He needed to get a grip on the sill to steady himself.
“Alex!” David shouted from below. His voice shook with concern.
The narrow perch did not crumble. Alex used the stones to push himself upward and tried to latch on to the sill with his free hand. Again, his shoes slipped and he missed the wood. One of his shoes fell onto the flagstones below and made a tapping sound as it hit.
By now, the muscles in his right arm were protesting and his fingers were numb. Pain lanced from his forearm to his shoulder, sharp and deep. He couldn’t hold on much longer—even having his toes freed to shore up his foothold wasn’t enough to support him. He reached for the window frame with his other hand and began to haul himself up.
He ignored the splinters that dug into his hands and arms as he took a deep breath and swung first one leg over the sill, then the other. He landed unceremoniously on the floor of one of the guest bedrooms. For a moment he just sat there, trying to catch his breath. His heart pounded against his ribs. Sweat dripped into his eyes and stung. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.
David. He needed to let David know he was fine. It took him a full minute to get to his feet. His legs ached and his only thought as he flexed the muscles in his hands was to be thankful he hadn’t broken anything. He wobbled over to the window. “I’m okay,” he said as he peered outside a moment later.
David looked up at him, stone-faced. Alex knew that look. It was the look David reserved for temperamental artists in the middle of a meltdown or taxi drivers who tried to gouge him. Alex had never been on the receiving end of David’s “icy stare of doom,” as Rachel liked to put it.
Two minutes later he unbolted the front door and met David outside. “Sorry about that,” he said, hoping to head off the lecture he was pretty sure was on the tip of David’s tongue.
For a moment David just stared at him. Then, without warning, David grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him tight against his body. When David spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “Please don’t ever do that to me again. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
Alex returned the embrace and sighed. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
Second Movement:
The Littlest Things
The present
“YOUR TURN,” Antonio said with a wink in Cary’s direction after he’d finished speaking.
What else could Cary add to Antonio’s thanks for a healthy baby and a wonderful family? He chewed his lower lip as Antonio nodded his encouragement. “Does ‘ditto’ work here?” he finally managed to ask.
“Don’t think so, man,” Aiden put in with a laugh.
Cary relaxed a bit. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “I’m thankful for so many things. My family, my friends. A healthy baby. Antonio. Massi. But those are all easy. I’m thankful for them every day. I’m damn lucky.” He grinned at Antonio, who took his hand and squeezed it.
“But I guess this is about more than everyday things. Some things you don’t realize you should be thankful for until you really think about them. And sometimes they’re the most important. The little things. Things you take for granted. Things I didn’t know I knew.” Cary looked at Massi and added, “Things people can teach me.”
Two weeks before
“SHE WANTS her papà,” Antonio said as he handed Graziella to Cary the day she was born.
His baby. Flesh and blood. Graziella Michaela Redding. He’d told Francesca they didn’t need to use his last name, but she, Marissa, and Antonio had all agreed. “Without you,” Francesca had told him after the ultrasound when he’d seen his daughter for the first time, “she wouldn’t be here.”
He knew Francesca meant that in more than just the technical sense. Ever since Massimo was born, Francesca had tried to convince Antonio they should have a second child together, but Antonio hadn’t felt ready.
“So will you be the papà this time?” Massimo’s question of two years before echoed in Cary’s mind as he held his newborn daughter. Massimo had been seven years old then, when he’d told Cary he wanted a brother or sister. Cary had never really thought of himself as a father. When he’d first moved in with Antonio and Massimo, he’d been the boyfriend, the partner who’d become part of an existing family. Now, he thought of Massimo as his son, as much his child as the baby who shared his DNA.
He and Antonio had decided on the name Graziella together with Marissa and Francesca. Massi had suggested it. That the name was the equivalent of “Grace” in English hadn’t been lost on Cary. So much of what it had taken for him to get to this place in his life had been just that.
Antonio put his arm around Ca
ry’s shoulder. “Relax. See,” he said as Graziella made a funny slurping noise, “she likes you already.” Then he leaned over and kissed Cary’s cheek. “She looks like you with all that dark hair.”
“I didn’t know they came that way,” Cary replied. “With hair, I mean.”
Antonio chuckled. “Massimo had these tiny curls stuck to his head. Francesca used to joke that someone had painted them on.” He leaned over and pulled the blanket back a bit to reveal thick tufts of black that stuck up all over Graziella’s head.
“The Redding curse.” Cary couldn’t help but laugh. “She’ll blame me for that hair someday.” For a split second, Cary imagined a fifteen-year-old Graziella glaring at him, hands on her hips.
“If that’s the only thing she blames you for,” Francesca chimed in, “you’ll be doing well.”
“Hey, Baby Stinker,” Cary told Graziella. “You’re going to be a heartbreaker. I can see it already.” The mere thought of boys chasing after her made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.
Graziella made a strange squeaking sound, scaring Cary half to death. “Is she okay?” he asked quickly.
“She’s fine.” Antonio squeezed his shoulder. “She may want to nurse.”
“Oh. Right.” He quickly handed Graziella back to Antonio. Hot potato. If he hadn’t been so nervous, he might have laughed.
By the time Antonio’s mother, Oriana, came to the hospital with Massi three hours later, Cary was overwhelmed. He’d barely slept the night before and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. So when one of the nurses told them there were too many visitors in Francesca’s room, Cary was more than ready to head to the cafeteria.
“Can I come too?” Massi asked as Antonio and Cary stood up to leave.
“Don’t you want to spend some time with your little sister?” Francesca asked.
Massi appeared to consider the question as he looked longingly at Cary. “I want Cary to stay.”
Antonio, perhaps sensing Cary’s frazzled nerves, said, “We’ll be back before you know it.”
Massi eyed Cary warily, then said, “All right. But you’ll be back, right?”
“Of course, Stinker.” Cary pulled Massi against him and kissed his head. “Promise.”
“Swear?” Massi held out his pinky and Cary wrapped his own around it. The adoring look in his bright-blue eyes made Cary’s heart ache. What had Cary done to deserve that?
“Swear.”
Milan
Four days later
CARY STARED down at the fidgeting bundle in his arms. Maybe not quite fidgeting. Smiling.
“Babies that young don’t smile,” Marissa said when he told her that Graziella smiled at him. “It’s just gas.”
Gas. Just what I need.
When Antonio had asked him to watch Graziella so he could take Massi to his grandmother’s, Cary had told Antonio he wasn’t ready to be on his own with the baby. Antonio had only smiled and kissed him on the lips. “Francesca’s in the bedroom sleeping. If something happens you can’t handle, caro mio, just simply wake her up.”
Cary wondered vaguely if Antonio shouldn’t have phrased it differently. He wasn’t sure he could handle this. Fatherhood.
You’re already a father to Massi.
He knew it wasn’t the same. He’d become Massi’s father when Massi was already walking and talking. No diapers. No bottles. No God-she’s-so-small-I’ll-break-her-if-I’m-not-careful. No wondering what he would do with a girl. He didn’t know anything about girls. Hadn’t even dated one. It had just been him and his brother, Justin.
Your mother was a girl.
As if that helped!
Graziella peered up at Cary with her big blue eyes and burped. Or was that a smile? Dirty diaper? He leaned in and sniffed. The soft smell of baby filled his nostrils. It was a nice smell.
“Hey.” What do you say to a baby?
Graziella yawned this time, then made a fussing sound.
“You’re ready for a nap, aren’t you?”
Graziella began to cry. Cary glanced over toward the bedroom. He wondered if he was more worried about waking Francesca up or if he was hoping she would wake up so she could take the baby.
Shit. Why was he so nervous? He’d wanted this. He and Tonino had talked about this for years. They’d decided Cary would be the father. He’d gone to all the appointments with Francesca; it was his name on the birth certificate. But seeing the tiny hand reach for him from the blankets? Knowing she was his?
Graziella cried a bit louder. “Shhh. You don’t want to wake your mamma, do you?”
Get a grip. All you need to do is put her down for her nap. Nap. The extra bedroom. They’d set a bassinet in there, the same one Antonio’s mother said they’d used when he had been a baby.
“Shhh, Baby Stinker.” He rocked her in his arms as he walked into the other room. He couldn’t remember anyone showing him how to do that. Maybe he’d seen Antonio do it. Holding her like that felt natural and Graziella seemed to like it, since her crying abated a bit.
He set her down on her back in the bassinet, then arranged the blankets to cover her hands. She began to cry again. What had Marissa told him? Sing to her? He hummed a melody—a Mozart sonata he’d been working on—but she kept crying. Where’s Aiden when you need him? Not that Cary had a terrible singing voice, but it couldn’t hold a candle to Aiden’s. He tried something a little different next.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are….”
More crying.
“Shhh, piccola. Per favore.” Graziella hiccupped a few times, then began to cry again.
Cary glanced toward the door, expecting Francesca to come. It was then that the cello case in the corner of the room caught his eye. He’d brought it with him, knowing he’d probably be spending most of the day at Francesca and Marissa’s. He hadn’t really expected to find time to practice.
It took him only a minute to open the case, pull out his instrument, and tighten his bow. He sat in a chair a few feet away from Graziella, who had begun to wail loudly enough now that he was sure she’d wake Francesca, not to mention the neighbors. He didn’t even bother to tune.
Cary began to play. He figured he’d start with something simple—the same melody he’d attempted to sing a few minutes before. Graziella let out one long yowl, then two short yelps, sniffed a few times, squawked again, then became quiet. Silent? Cary stood up enough to see Graziella rub a tiny fist to her mouth; then he continued to play. This time he didn’t just play the simple melody, he played a modified version of the Mozart variations on “Twinkle, Twinkle” he’d played years ago on the piano.
Between the arpeggio passages and the scales Cary wove into the melody, Graziella made soft cooing sounds. Cary couldn’t remember the last time he’d improvised something other than “Happy Birthday,” but he decided he wasn’t half-bad at it. Not that he could compete with someone like Jules, who could improvise all day and never get tired of it, but it was passably good. Even better, he realized he was enjoying it. And most importantly, it was working.
Cary checked on Graziella again a few minutes later. She was sleeping soundly now. He played a bit longer, just to be sure she would stay asleep, then gently set down his cello and went to fix the blanket she’d dislodged with her feet.
“Bellissimo.” Antonio stood in the doorway, smiling at him.
Cary shook his head. “I’m not great at improvisation.”
“I wasn’t talking about the music,” Antonio said as he walked over to Cary and took his hand.
“Was Massi okay with going back to Oriana’s for the weekend?” Cary asked a few minutes later, when they were settled on the couch in the living room. “He didn’t sound happy about it when you left.” Cary knew that without their housekeeper, Roberta, around to help, Massi would be happier with Antonio’s mother. Still, he felt a little guilty at shipping Massi off to his grandmother, and he knew Antonio did as well.
“He was pretty angry.” Antonio
sighed. “It’s difficult for him. He understands that we’ll be spending a lot of time at Francesca and Marissa’s, and he loves staying with his Nona, but he wants to be part of things with his sister too.”
“As soon as things calm down a little, we should take him out by himself. The circus is here through the beginning of December.” Cary smiled at the memory.
“Clowns.” Antonio laughed. “He still reminds me that I was wrong when I said that clowns speak Italian.”
“Since they don’t speak at all.” Cary remembered it well—the first time he’d really connected with Massi, not long after he and Antonio met.
“Right.” Antonio opened his arms and Cary settled comfortably in his embrace. “I remember a little of what it was like when my oldest sister was born. I was old enough that I was looking forward to it. But when she came….”
“Not as fun?”
“No. All I could think about was how I’d always been able to get my parents’ attention, and suddenly I had to fight for it.” Antonio sighed wistfully. “I was younger than Massi is now, but I’m pretty sure he’s feeling some of the same things I did.”
“I’ll ask him about the circus when he gets back tomorrow night,” Cary said. “Hopefully that’ll help a little.”
“Which reminds me.” Antonio pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. “I told David I’d pick up the turkey from the butcher.”
“Shit. I forgot about Thanksgiving.” Was that next week? His stomach rumbled loudly.
“When’s the last time you ate anything?” Antonio asked with a look of fatherly concern.
“No idea.” He wasn’t too keen on Antonio feeling as though Cary was the one who needed looking after.
Symphony in Blue Page 2
