Her amber eyes grew as large as quarters and her mouth quivered when she locked her eyes with his. She was trying to form words, Sean could tell. He wanted to say his name, finish her thought for her: Yes, it’s me. Sean Magee. But he remembered to shut up.
“Sean? Sean Magee?” Chiara finally whispered. Nearly inaudibly, as if she’d just remembered the precise location of a lost set of keys. I just set them down over there. Yes, that’s where I left them.
Sean matched her whisper. “Yes.”
“But, but, I, I . . . why? Wait. What is going on? Where is Lucia? Why are you here? Why are you in Florence?”
Sean pointed to the chair. “Would you like to sit and talk?” he said.
“I am supposed to meet my sister,” Chiara said, still not fully comprehending what she was seeing before her.
“She’s not coming, Chiara,” Sean said, his heart fluttering as he spoke her name. “I went to your apartment. She told me you would be here. I came looking for you. She went to the library to study.”
“You came from where exactly?” Chiara asked, stepping back.
“Los Angeles,” Sean said.
Chiara’s head cocked to the left and then the right. “I don’t understand.”
“Please sit down, Chiara. Let me explain.”
Sean pulled out a chair for Chiara and she fell into it. As if someone had taken a feather and tapped her. She was ready to be blown over at any moment. She stared for a long time at him as if running through an inventory.
Sean hobbled a bit and sat back down in his chair, wincing as he did.
“Your legs? Your hands? Your ear? Burns?” Chiara could only put together singular words, not quite full sentences as the shock of seeing him overtook her.
“Yes,” Sean said, self-consciously moving the hair over his ear and neck and then dropping his hands to his lap. “I was in a fire.”
“Is that why? Is that why you didn’t . . .” Chiara’s mouth opened in horror and she covered it. Tears were welling up. “My God, I am so sorry. All this time, I, I, I . . .” Chiara’s head shook.
“No, no, no, please, Chiara. Don’t apologize. No. You’re so, so good. So kind. Don’t go thinking that I am a good person. That the reason I left you was that I was injured . . . this happened later, much later, recently actually,” Sean explained.
“So you . . . you just left then,” Chiara’s head dropped. Sean noticed small gray roots protruding from the burgundy waves that had, for the most part, remained unchanged. Everything about her looked the same, except for her eyes, which were darker and more deeply set. Her cheekbones were more pronounced. Age had made her even more striking.
“Yes,” Sean said. “Yes.”
Chiara’s head popped up quickly and she clasped her hands together on the table. “So let me guess. You are here to explain,” Chiara said in an exasperated tone.
Sean nodded.
“And I bet you’re here to tell me how sorry you are,” Chiara said.
Sean nodded and tried to open his mouth to speak, but Chiara cut him off.
“Save your breath, Sean. I don’t need to hear your excuses, your reasons, your apologies. We were kids,” Chiara said dismissively. “Foolish, foolish children,” she said, raising her hand for a waiter. “I hardly ever think about you anymore. I mean, it hurt at first. But everyone hurts for a while after a breakup. It was just part of growing up. It’s all ancient history. Honestly, I have had boyfriends who I wouldn’t give a second glance to if they walked by me on the street,” Chiara said coolly.
“Oh, oh, I, I, well yes. We were just kids.” Sean tried, faintly, agreeing with her. A boyfriend she wouldn’t give a second glance to.
“Two cappuccinos, please,” Chiara said to the waiter in English as he passed, never losing eye contact with Sean.
Sean smiled.
“What? Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Lucia said you wouldn’t let me have a cappuccino.”
“I don’t let her have them. Caffeine makes the girl act like a madwoman. She has enough nervous energy as it is. Someone has to be the grown-up,” Chiara said, rolling her eyes. And Sean felt like the comment was aimed more at him than it was at Lucia.
“Chiara, I need to tell you—”
“Please, Sean. Please. Let’s make this pleasant. Let’s pretend you and I are old friends and we just bumped into each other. Let’s pretend things didn’t end the way they did. Okay? You’ve been through a lot. I’ve been through a lot. Come on. Don’t be melodramatic.”
“But we were more than friends,” Sean said, leaning toward her. “Right?”
Chiara shrugged. It was the same shrug from eleven years ago. The same one she had when he would come to her place drunk, slurring his words in front of all of her friends. “You’re fucking embarrassed by me, Chiara. Admit it. I am just your drunk American boyfriend.” She shrugged then, fighting back the tears, the hurt.
Sean’s stomach lurched. It was all an act. He could tell. She was fighting it all back. Just like she had back when they were a couple of kids.
“I was terrible to you, Chiara,” Sean said abruptly. “I said terrible things to you when I was drunk, and I treated you unfairly. I made you promises. I told you that I wanted to marry you. I promised to take you to America. To put you through art school. I promised you—”
The waiter dropped two cappuccinos in front of them and stood for a moment staring at Sean and the heavy layer of smooth flesh stretched taut between his ear and neck.
“Grazie,” Chiara said, taking the coffee and sipping it.
Sean became entranced while watching her drink and remembered their early days—sitting beside her in café after café, talking and talking and talking. There was no end to what they could discuss.
“I don’t drink anymore,” Sean said, trying to explain.
Chiara nodded and said, “Good for you, Sean.”
“I’m an alcoholic,” Sean said, realizing that he had in fact practiced saying that line, that exact line, every day for years.
Chiara nodded and took another sip as if to say, And what does that have to do with me?
“I said and did a lot of horrible things, Chiara, to you and to a lot of people I love, because I drank,” Sean continued.
Chiara’s eyes narrowed. Wrinkles creased around her eyes and she furrowed her brow.
Sean could see a hint of anger rising in her, but thought perhaps he was misreading her emotions and continued. “I drank because I thought it would lighten me up. I thought it would make it easier for me to talk to you, keep up with you and your friends . . .”
Chiara put her hands up to stop him. “So it was my fault? My fault you drank? That you’re an alcoholic? You came all the way to Florence to blame me for your stupidity? To blame me for your decisions, for you leaving me?” Chiara asked incredulously.
“No, no! I got it all wrong. It came out all wrong,” Sean said, wishing after all that he had actually practiced what he was going to say.
“Then what? What are you trying to say? Go on!” Chiara, waving him on, demanded. “Go on!”
“I drank before you. I drank in high school. I drank whenever I felt like I needed to feel that feeling, you know, when everything just falls into place. I was always looking for that peaceful moment when I could just feel okay in my own head. In my own skin. I always felt broken. Weak. I don’t know, less than. I thought it was because I didn’t have a dad. Then I thought it was nine/eleven. Then I thought it was my mom dying. And then I thought it was because I was just so damn useless. No good at anything. And I wanted to be. I wanted to be great. I wanted to do something with my life. Have a purpose. And then I found you, Chiara. And you actually liked me. You loved me. Me? I didn’t understand it. I hit the self-destruct button, you could say. I did. I destroyed what we had because I was an idiot. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. But I was. I could have been. By the time I figured that out, I’d already messed up your life, my life, and so many other people�
�s, too. It took me a long time, Chiara, to get sober. To see things clearly. And that’s why I am here. I am here to make amends. I am here to tell you I am sorry, truly sorry for hurting you. I know I did. I was weak and foolish.”
Chiara stared at him for a long time and said nothing. “So you alcoholics, you keep these lists? You make lists of people whose names you need to cross off when you make amends to them? Is that it? It makes you better? It heals you? I bet my name is on a list.”
Blood rushed to Sean’s face. He burned hot in embarrassment.
Chiara’s mouth spread wide in a smile. “Ah, that’s it,” she said, pointing at him. “I am a name on a list somewhere in your pocket,” she said, smiling.
“My wallet actually,” Sean admitted.
“Well, that’s a shitty thing, Sean. A very shitty thing.” Chiara’s face fell.
“What? To say I’m sorry? To try to make amends? Make up for what I did?” Sean asked, surprised, not at all expecting this response. Not once when he imagined saying he was sorry to her did he expect her to utter those words. No one ever had.
“No. Sorry is not shitty. Making things right is not bad. It is why you do it that is shitty. You think this will heal you. This isn’t about me. It is about you. Once again. You. This is about what you want. What will make you feel better. It has nothing to do with the other person. What the other person wants or needs. Once again it is about you—you, no doubt fulfilling some promise to yourself or God, you taking the ‘steps’ you need to stay sober, you getting what you want once again,” Chiara said sharply.
Sean inhaled and realized how right Libby had been. Be gentle. He realized how right Chiara was, too.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Sean said. “I never saw it that way. I never realized how selfish I was being.”
“Okay. Go on.”
Sean’s eyes lit up when she opened the door for him to keep talking. “I want to fix this. For you.”
“You can’t fix it, Sean. You can’t go back in time and fix what you broke. Hearts don’t just get whole again after you say I’m sorry. They stay broken. They get thick and hard from the scars.” Chiara’s voice trembled and then softened. “I . . . I . . . I . . . loved you,” she whispered into her chest and then wiped a tear from her cheek quickly, as if hoping Sean wouldn’t see.
“Chiara, I was an idiot, but you’re all I’ve ever thought about . . . when I was in the fire and I thought I might die, it was your name, Chiara, yours that I spoke. I thought of you! You,” Sean said finally, lifting his burned hands to the table and reaching for hers.
“Well, isn’t that rich. I am supposed to feel better because you didn’t think of me for over a decade, but only thought of me when you might die? What about all that time in between, Sean? Did you ever think of me? Ever? Just once? Because I thought of you. I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand it. I thought we were happy. I thought . . . we . . . I thought we’d grow old together. You made me believe that.”
“I’m sorry, Chiara. I was stupid and young.”
“I was young, too! You weren’t the only one!” Chiara snapped. “Men are so selfish. So selfish. All you think of is you. As if this just happened to you. You’ve been tormenting yourself for years, but it’s really been about you. Not me. You. Because, if you thought for one second about someone besides yourself, you would have written me a letter. Called me. Reached out and told me it wasn’t my fault. Because that’s what I thought: You left because of me. Because of something I said. Something I did. I kept playing it over and over in my head.”
“What? What did you play over and over?” Sean asked.
“The last time we saw each other. You had spent the night. I made you coffee. We read the paper. I told you I was going to paint at a vineyard nearby with my class and you were going to go to mass. That was the last time we spoke. The last time we talked. The last time we touched. I tried to remember if you kissed me good-bye. If you knew it then, that moment. I wondered for years if you knew you were going to leave me that morning. And I was so angry for so long because I couldn’t remember . . . I couldn’t remember if you kissed me. I wanted to. I wanted to think of you as Judas, kissing me and betraying me all in the same day. It would have been easier for me to hate you. But I couldn’t remember. And it killed me. I just wanted one last memory. One last kiss to hold on to and remember and you stole that from me, too. I looked for you. I went to church. I went to the library. I went to all of our places. I couldn’t find you. You didn’t answer my calls. You didn’t check your e-mails. I went to the police. And after a couple of days they said your passport had been stamped and you had left the country. And I knew right then and there: you’d left me. And so of course I thought it was something I’d said or done. What else could it have been? What?”
“I can’t imagine what I put you through. I am so sorry.”
“You keep saying that. Stop saying that, goddammit. Stop making me feel sorry for you.”
“I’m sor—” Sean stopped himself. “You’re right. You have every right to be upset with me. Go on. Let me have it.”
“You treated me like a stranger, Sean. Like someone you met on the train and swapped stories with about your hometown and talked with about the weather, and then at your next stop you went on your merry way.”
“You’re right,” Sean said, shaking his head.
“Before I found out you left the country, I thought you were dead, Sean. I thought that could have been the only thing to keep you from me. Death. But no, you just up and left me. Like a half-sipped cappuccino left on a table. Up and gone. You’d had your fill.”
“No. No. No. It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what? What, Sean? It’s been eleven years. What did you expect? Did you want me to jump into your arms and hug you? Say, hey, ol’ pal, where ya been hidin’?” Chiara said with a mock American accent.
“No, I don’t know.” Sean trembled and started to sweat.
“I can’t understand this, Sean. I can’t.”
“I was so weak, Chiara. I was weak then and I am getting stronger. It took me years to see that. I spent the past decade in a haze. You deserve an explanation. You deserve so much.” Sean reached across the table and with his burned hand tried to touch Chiara’s.
Chiara looked down at his thick scars and recoiled a bit, then looked up at him.
“This is too much, Sean, it’s too much. I can’t,” she said, standing up suddenly and turning, and then dashed toward the door to leave.
Chapter 30
A SUDDEN SURGE WENT THROUGH SEAN’S BODY. Now that he had Chiara so close, he felt the distance all the more acutely as she stood to leave. He felt a tear at his heart. As if their two hearts were connected by a web of chains, holding and reinforcing him, and when she stood to leave she pulled and broke it, and with that break he felt his entire structure, including the tiniest shard of light that came through it, about to collapse and envelop him in darkness. It unraveled him with every step she took toward the door. Sean hopped up quickly and shouted across the café, “Wait! Wait! Don’t go! Chiara! Stop! Don’t leave! Please, give me another chance!”
Every patron in the café turned and looked at Sean and then at Chiara. Chiara’s face reddened. No doubt everyone in the café was thinking that she was leaving an invalid.
Sean tried to walk, but when he moved his leg forward he kicked his cane and it fell to the ground. Unable to bend and get it, he stood, motionless, staring at Chiara, knowing there was no way for him to catch her, to keep up with her.
Chiara turned and saw Sean struggle to move forward and put up her hand to tell him to stop. “Don’t move, Sean, I’ve got it,” she said, walking over and bending to pick up the cane. “Here,” she said, putting the cane in his hand with hers and their hands touched.
Sean took her hand and held it. “I’m sorry, Chiara. I am so sorry. I wish I could do it all over. I wish I could take it all away—all the pain and sadness I caused,” he whispered.
“It is okay, Sean, we all suffer,” Chiara said earnestly. “Some more than others, yes. But we all suffer,” she said, squeezing his hand a little tighter and guiding him back into the chair before sitting down herself. “I am sorry I was so harsh. I’ve been holding it all in for a long time and I guess I didn’t realize how much it still hurt.”
“Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done. I didn’t want to. But I thought you would be better off without me. I thought I would just bring you down with me,” Sean said quietly.
“It’s dangerous to think you know what is best for someone else. To make a decision for two people without the other’s consent. To decide another’s life for them.” Chiara did not look away from Sean.
Sean nodded. “A good friend told me a similar thing not so long ago.”
“He is a good friend. It is good advice,” Chiara said.
“So you never married?” Sean asked, pretending to not know.
“No.”
“Ever come close?”
“Not really,” Chiara said. “It’s not so easy when you have kids to care for.”
Sean nodded. “I understand.”
“Oh? You have children?”
“No, I don’t. My sister was a single mom for a long time and I helped her. Her boy was like a son to me.”
“Was? So she is married now?”
“Yes.”
“So no more son?” Chiara clarified.
Sean shook his head. “No.”
“That must be difficult. To love someone so much and then have to let someone else do the loving.”
Sean nodded and said nothing. The story was too hard to tell. He was so sick. So very sick. His body. His heart. None of it worked. You have no idea how hard it was. But he couldn’t form the words. Every emotion within him brimmed. He had lost so much, he could not bear, at this moment, to lose her. Not now. Not after everything he had done to get here.
Proof of Angels Page 20
