“Do you think I’m a lesbian or bisexual?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I got horny when the other model touched me, fingered and licked me.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sure I’d get horny if a man decided to play with my cock. That doesn’t make me gay. It’s quite natural to become heated if someone, no matter who, plays with you in an erotic way.”
I didn’t tell him about the experience with Shannon. That was private, something sweet and tender that happened between two women who loved each other like sisters. And hell, it had gotten me through what could have been a horrendous night of wallowing in self-pity. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. “Let’s go for another swim before I get dressed?”
Chapter Eleven
Kalem drove in silence as we headed toward the facility housing his mother. I didn’t dare say anything. All I could do was place my hand on his leg and squeeze every now and then. I knew this had to be one of the hardest things he’d done in many years. Not just the hardest, but also the most soul-wrenching. I could hardly imagine what he was going through. My mother and her siblings finding out about my porn pictures was going to be nothing compared to this.
He pulled up before a very nice building. The grounds were immaculate and beautifully landscaped. Here and there, I saw people walking or a nurse pushing a wheelchair.
“Kalem, how long has it been since you saw your mother?”
“Not since I was a teenager.”
“What were the latest reports?”
“She’s not responding at all. She’s still a zombie.”
“I hate that word. Don’t call her that.”
“I don’t think of her as such, but she’s left this world. What else do I call her?”
“Just, Mother.”
I followed him into the building, listened to him talk to the staff then followed him to his mother’s room. We entered. The woman in the easy chair didn’t move. Kalem approached slowly and knelt in front of her. I could only see the back of her. Her hair was silver-gray and the thick braid hung down her back. She looked very small and frail.
“Mother? It’s me, Francesco.”
That surprised me. I wondered how he acquired the name Kalem. My heart bled for him when she didn’t respond.
“Mother?” Louder then.
“Mamma,” he said in desperation.
Her head moved suddenly and she seemed to look down at him. I barely heard it, but she whispered, “Giovanni?”
“Francesco, Mamma.”
His eyes filled and a tear trickled down his cheek.
“She spoke,” I said softly.
“Yes, she hasn’t spoken a word since my father died. She thinks I’m him.”
“You must look like him.”
“I think so. I don’t remember him clearly. All our personal belongings were sold. I don’t know what happened to the photos. Maybe the FBI has them. I stopped contacting them a long time ago. Maybe I’ll try again soon.”
“Giovanni,” his mother said again, her voice a whisper. She reached out to him and touched his cheek.
Kalem gathered the small woman into his arms. His tears ran unheeded down his cheeks then, escaping from beneath the closed lids. I watched him try to hold in a sob and my heart ached for him. I stood silently, not knowing what to do. He rocked his mother back and forth, his head buried in her shoulder. Her arms were around him, her small frail hands stroked his back.
He pulled back and spoke in Italian. She nodded and touched his face, then stroked his hair. She responded, her voice was still very soft, hesitant, almost as if searching for the words. I heard the word bambino. I knew it meant baby.
“She’s asking about me,” Kalem said. “She still thinks I’m my father.”
“If she’s been catatonic all these years, she won’t realize how much time has passed.”
“True, although the specialist didn’t diagnose her as catatonic. He said she just simply withdrew from life and no one has been able to pull her out of it. If only I’d gone to see her regularly, maybe I—”
“Kalem, don’t beat yourself up. You were very young when it happened. You had a tough time dealing with what you witnessed and your mother’s withdrawal.”
He nodded and continued speaking to his mother in Italian. At times, he halted, thought for a moment before continuing. He more than probably hadn’t spoken the language for years. His mother answered him several times. He looked at me. “Can you go and fetch her nurse?”
“Yes, right away. Kalem, the healing process has started. I’m so happy for you.” I hurried to the reception area and asked for Mrs. Ostarizo’s nurse. I had to wait a little while because she was busy with another resident.
“Can I help you?” A stout woman with red hair and kind gray eyes approached me. “I’m Sally, Mrs. Ostarizo’s nurse.”
“My name is Danea Fitzgerald. I’m here with Mr. Ostarizo, her son. He’d like you to go to her room. She spoke.”
“She does tend to babble a bit in Italian at times. According to the translator we brought in to see her, she doesn’t make any sense.”
“Apparently she’s making sense now.”
“Let’s go and see.”
I followed the nurse. Kalem was still on his knees, his arms around his mother, her head on his shoulder. Her cheeks were soaked from her tears. She spoke fluently in Italian, softly, but consistently, with Kalem answering her every now and then.
“I’ll be damned,” Sally said. “Mr. Ostarizo, is she making sense?”
“Yes, she is. These are the first tears she’s shed since my father’s death.”
“I’m going to get our chief of staff in here and I’ll phone her doctor.” She left the room but returned speedily accompanied by a short, bald-headed man.
“Mr. Ostarizo? We’ve only spoken on the phone. Nice to finally meet you.” He shook Kalem’s hand.
I detected a hint of sarcasm behind the greeting. I guess he was right in a way. If Kalem had visited his mother regularly or much sooner, she might have snapped out of her silence. They probably didn’t realize the trauma he’d gone through, the rejection he’d felt. I was afraid that now he’d be burdened with guilt at not having visited her regularly.
“What is she telling you, Mr. Ostarizo?”
“She wants to go home.”
“Does she realize her husband is gone? Has she accepted his death? Does she know how many years have passed?”
“Yes. That’s why she’s crying.”
“It’s a miracle, to say the least,” Nurse Sally said, smiling broadly.
Kalem spoke rapidly, his Italian more fluent then. He looked at the chief of staff. “She knows the house we had before this happened is gone. I’m taking her home. She can live with me.”
“Sir, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. The doctor—”
“We’ll wait for the doctor, but as of today, her residency here is terminated. I placed her in this facility. I can take her out.”
I smiled. At times, Kalem’s overbearing attitude put fear into many of his employees. They all knew to disobey him was playing with their jobs.
“As you wish. I still don’t think it’s wise.”
“You need to remember, she’s not sick, she doesn’t have a mental illness,” Kalem said. “Now that she’s awake, so to speak, she’ll be fine. I bet she can’t wait to get into my kitchen. She’ll probably fire my cook. My mother is a tiny woman, but she has a will of iron. Nobody messes with her, or her kitchen.”
I giggled. I imagined that tiny woman opposing Kalem. She spoke rapidly, more tears, stroked Kalem’s face and kissed him on both cheeks.
“My mother is very upset at the many years she’s missed with me.”
I still hovered in the background. This was such a private, tender moment. I almost resented the two strangers standing so close to Kalem and his mother.
“Danea, there’s a suitcase in her closet. Can you pack her clothes and toiletries?”
I nodded. “Su
re.” I found the suitcase and packed the clothes. I noticed quite a few Ostarizo pieces. Kalem must have had them made especially for her. Her toiletries were of the most expensive brands. It was obvious, even if he hadn’t visited her, that he wanted her to have the very best of everything. There was a pile of unopened letters, all from Kalem. He hadn’t told me he’d written her. Rifling through the large stack, I noticed some dated back a lot of years. I also found photos, all of an older Kalem. So in a way, he had tried, and hoped the letters and photos would wake her.
I listened to Kalem’s voice continually speaking to his mother. Her responses were rapid now. Boy Italians spoke fast. I wondered if she remembered any English. “Kalem, does she remember the English language?”
“We’d only lived in the USA for two years when it happened. We spoke nothing but Italian at home and my mother shopped in the Italian sector. She didn’t learn much except thank you, hello, please and how are you.”
“Mm, I guess I’ll have to take a crash course in Italian.”
He smiled. I suddenly noticed how much softer his eyes had become. Gone was the hardness, the steely expression. He looked relaxed, he looked happy.
The chief of staff left the room followed by Sally. I was almost finished packing when a tall man entered.
“Dr. Moretti, I’m glad you could come so fast.”
“Nurse Sally said it was urgent. What’s wrong? I just saw your mother—” He stopped abruptly and listened to her chatter. He crouched beside the chair and spoke to her in Italian. “Isabella…”
I couldn’t understand, of course, what he said. He spoke to her for a while, at times interrupted by her or by Kalem. I knew then that her name was Isabella. I checked all the drawers one more time, the bathroom, the closet, and her nightstand. I’d left one pair of shoes for her to wear. I’d noticed she wore slippers. The doctor finally rose to his feet and so did Kalem. I noticed Isabella’s fingers trying to get a grip on Kalem’s pants. Didn’t work, so she hooked them into a pocket and hung on for dear life. Poor lady. Did she think he was getting ready to leave? Kalem obviously felt it and gently disengaged her fingers and spoke to her. Isabella nodded but her gaze never left him as he walked a few feet away and spoke with the doctor.
“I hear you’re going to take her home with you,” Moretti said.
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Good. She won’t need any extra care. Basically, she’s very strong and healthy. She’s not on any medication except at night we’ve given her something to help her sleep. She tends to have nightmares and she’ll get out of bed and sit up all night. I’ll write a prescription for you.”
“Maybe the nightmares will disappear now,” Kalem said.
“Perhaps. Have yours disappeared?”
“Yes. They did some years ago. And now that I have my mother back, all’s good.”
“I agree, taking her home with you will be good for her.”
“The chief of staff seems to think differently.”
“Ignore him. I’ll talk to him. He can’t stop you from taking your mother home.” In a softer voice he said, “I suspect you pay a hefty price for her care. That’s probably why.”
Kalem grimaced. “There’s no contract. He’s been paid for this month. It’s not as if I’m breaking a lease. To appease him, I’ll make a substantial donation to the home.”
“If you give me your address, I’d like to come and check on Isabella and you occasionally.”
Kalem took a card out of his wallet and wrote his address on the back. “Please keep it confidential. Only close friends know where I live. If I ever have a major gathering, I prefer to hold it outside of my home.”
“Of course.” He spoke to Isabella who responded and shook his hand. He nodded to me as he left the room.
“Here are her shoes, Kalem.”
He took them and crouched to take off her slippers. I laughed when she tapped him on the hands and promptly took them off herself. The slippers were very old and worn. Kalem picked them up and chucked them in a small garbage can. That caused another Isabella rant. She was apparently, very attached to the slippers and fished them out. Clutching them to her chest, she stood up. She was at least a head shorter than I was and noticed me for the first time. Kalem spoke to her. I heard my name mentioned. Her eyes were as dark as Kalem’s. She was still very pretty and looked quite young to have a son Kalem’s age. I imagined her with a rinse through her hair and a bit of makeup, her hair styled. No one would believe she was Kalem’s mother. She gazed at me. It felt as if she was looking right through me.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you’re my girlfriend but you don’t speak Italian.”
“What was her reaction?”
“That you need to learn the language.”
I laughed. “What’s with the slippers?”
“She was wearing those when my father died. They’re probably the only thing left from those days. Her clothing was so covered in blood, they probably trashed everything. You know how much a head wound bleeds. Are we ready to go? Did you get all her things?”
“I believe so. I did an extra check, but maybe you should do another sweep to make sure.”
“I’ll ask my mother.”
Isabella nodded and looked in everything. She seemed satisfied that I’d packed all her belongings and spoke to Kalem.
“She says thank you for packing her things.”
“Tell her she’s very welcome,” I said, feeling teary again.
Isabella held on to her son’s arm for dear life as he carried the suitcase. I followed them out of the room. In the hallway, I walked next to them. I was by no means that tall and I weighed less than a hundred pounds, but next to Isabella I felt like a giant. “Your mother’s so tiny.”
“Yes. She always was.”
“Was your father tall, like you?”
“Yup. But don’t let my mother’s size fool you. She can be as bossy, if not bossier, than me.”
Isabella exclaimed when she saw Kalem’s car and rattled on a mile a minute. Kalem laughed. “She wants to know how I can afford such an expensive beautiful vehicle. Wait until she sees the house. She’ll really flip.”
I sat quietly in the back on the way back to Kalem’s house. Isabella didn’t stop talking all the way there. Kalem took a detour through Little Italy. It had been eighteen years since Isabella had set foot on those streets, but she seemed to recognize many of the stores and houses.
“She wants to know why I don’t live here,” Kalem said.
“Did you tell her about your house?”
“A little. She thinks I should sell it and move back to the old neighborhood.”
“Probably because that’s where she first lived and a lot of people speak the language.”
“Once she’s lived with me for a while, if she still wants to live in Little Italy, I’ll see if I can buy a house for her there. I don’t like the idea of her living alone though. And she does need to learn English. I’m sure she’ll love Long Island, once she’s seen it. It’s the language that’s the main problem.”
“I agree with you on that one. My mother has lived alone since I left, but it’s a small town and her circumstances were different.”
“Mamma used to ride a bike. Maybe I should get her one. My home isn’t that far from stores. When she’s learned to speak English, she can go to Little Italy and do her shopping there. My chauffeur can take her wherever she wants to go.”
“Do you remember much about Italy?”
“A little. We lived in a small town near the sea. I remember my parents taking me to the beach, playing on the sand, swimming in the ocean. The house was nice, but not that big. My parents were considered quite well-off but Mamma always did her own cleaning and cooking even though my father often argued with her and wanted to hire help.”
“Do you know why she only had you? One child?”
“Yes. She would have loved more children, but it never happened. She never knew why.”
&nbs
p; “Kalem, your name is really Francesco. Where did Kalem come from?”
“Oh, I don’t know. When I was young, it got shortened to Frank or Frankie and I didn’t like it. I saw the name Kalem in a book and I decided to adopt it.”
“You’d better explain to your mother. She’ll wonder why I, or others, call you Kalem.”
“I will, all in good time.”
“I like the name Francesco, and—”
Isabella interrupted us and I kept my mouth shut. After all, she had eighteen years to catch up on with her son. When Kalem pulled into the driveway of his estate, Isabella’s hands flew up to her face. Her voice, which had remained quite soft until now, suddenly became high-pitched.
“What is she saying?”
“That it’s scandalous. Too much money. I told her I’m rich. I can afford it.”
“That’s funny.”
“Mamma stems from simple folks. She’s always remained frugal even if my father could afford a lot more than most.”
We got out of the car. Kalem opened the door for his mother and held his hand out. Chattering away, she walked up the steps with him, pointing, shaking her head. When she stepped through the doors, she stopped and continued shaking her head.
“I take it she’s not believing any of this?”
“She wants to know how I got so rich.” He spoke to Isabella then to me. “I told her there’s plenty of time to tell her everything later. We have all the time in the world now.”
“Maybe you should have the chauffeur drive me home so you can be alone with your mother.”
“Honey, I want her to get to know you. I hope you can come here often and spend lots of time with her.”
I smiled, my heart filled with sheer joy. “I will, but this is her first day after so many years. I think you need to spend it with her.”
“I think I’ll give her the yellow room. Yellow was always her favorite color,” he said while walking up the stairs.
I don’t think Isabella had removed her hands from her face once since entering the house. She kept exclaiming from behind her fingers, her gaze darting all over the place trying to take it all in. When she saw what was to be her room, she walked around it, stroked the bed, the furniture, the curtains, and the mantle.
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