The love I have inside for you
So hard to contain
So much pain I feel
I await the day when it is you and me
For on that day I will dance in the street
With laughter in my heart
Tears of joy in my eyes
Love in my heart
When that day comes, you will be loved
Like no one has ever loved you before
I need your love in my life
As each day goes by
I need your love in my life
I need you in my life
I want to be a part of your life
In my dreams, in my heart
You will always be there
The future right now scares me
A day without you—the night cannot come fast enough
The mornings come too soon
It seems that all I have now is a dream
The memories, the memories of you and me
Like the songwriter’s pen, the poet’s soul is my only comfort
Love will conquer all—that is what I believe—the love of you and me
No regrets do I have—for to have loved you one day
Made my life, filled my soul with happiness
Not able to read more, Sydney closed the desk drawer and silently wept. An hour had gone by. She walked in his bedroom, and found him sound asleep. She undressed and lay beside him. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered in his ear, “I love you, Paolo DeLaurentis. I love you.” They slept through the night.
CHAPTER 45
NINE DAYS LATER, Paolo awoke in a cold sweat. His heart raced as if he were on Amphetamines. The vision had been so clear—today was the day the vision of the blackened steel would come true. He reached over to the nightstand and called Dr. Colin Payne.
“Hello.”
“Colin, today is the day something is going to happen. It’s today.”
“What do you mean?”
“The vision, Colin, the vision.” Panic in his voice, Paolo said, “Oh my god, Colin, it’s going to happen today, damn it.”
“Relax, Paolo.”
“Relax, my ass. Thousands of people are going to die today.”
“Paolo, you’ve had this vision for over a year now. Go back to bed.” The phone disconnected.
Paolo called Rami. There was no answer. He left a message. He talked to himself, “Shit.” A deep dread engulfed him. “I’ll call Sydney. No, I can’t.” Paolo sat down on his couch in the study and turned the television on. He waited.
“Terrorists strike at the financial heart of the United States,” the news blared throughout the world. Headlines scrolled across the screen in fragments. Airplanes ram the World Trade Center. Thousands dead. Fire, smoke, people jumped to escape their burning fate, only to die when they hit the ground. Trade Towers collapse. Gray ash falling from the sky. Blackened steel girders in a sea of rubble. The images tore at Paolo’s heart.
He stared at the television in shock and disbelief, his paranormal vision now a reality. Paolo was angry and filled with profound grief and guilt. Why couldn’t I stop the attack? Tears streamed down his face. His private phone rang
“Hello.” He knew Colin Payne was on the other end.
“Paolo, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures.”
“You know I have,” he said tersely.
“It’s a shame you weren’t able to give us any information on the Cubans.”
“The Cubans had nothing to do with it and you damn well know it.” Watch your Italian temper—Rami’s words echoed in his head.
“They didn’t?”
“No.” You know that, you piece of crap. “I remote viewed them this morning. They were as shocked as we are. But—why are you calling me?”
“You screwed up, Paolo. If you came to work for me, we could’ve stopped this.”
“You no good son of a bit…” The line went dead.
Paolo was furious. He called Rami.
“Paolo, he’s pushing your buttons.”
“But maybe I…”
“Maybe my ass. Paolo, this is over, you have to move forward now. Keep your mind focused on Payne—he’s trying to throw you off guard. You’re a good man, my friend, don’t listen to that piece of crap. And you know what I think, Paolo?”
“What?”
“I think he kept you off track with the Cubans, so you couldn’t discover what city.”
“But why?”
“So when the time comes, he can discredit you.”
“That makes sense, Rami. That son of a bitch.”
“Be patient, my friend…like I said, he’ll slip up.”
CHAPTER 46
THE THIRD WEEKEND in September provided Paolo a respite from the agonizing thoughts of dealing with his apocalyptic visions. Something wasn’t right. His subconscious gnawed at his mind. The memories of 9/11; his inability to prevent the attack; the destruction, the death and the grief of the families ripped at his heart. He needed quiet time—time with Sydney.
Lisa, Sydney’s daughter, was away for the weekend. This provided the needed conjugal opportunity. Paolo spent the weekend at Sydney’s house. They enjoyed a quiet Saturday evening together. Paolo cooked veal scallops with lobster topped with a drizzle of Béarnaise sauce. They watched a movie and went to bed.
Paolo usually woke with the sun, but on this particular day, he stayed in bed. The warmth of Sydney’s naked body next to his gave him a sense of tranquility. A deep peace lay within his heart. He still couldn’t get over the reality that he was in love with her and she with him. He could smell the scent of her hair. The color of her eyes brought memories of when they made love. He never said he made love to her, it was always with her. As the sun rose over the trees, its glimmering rays peeked through the blinds onto the couple. Aroused and not wanting to wake Sydney, Paolo got up and took a shower.
When he exited the bathroom, Sydney was no longer in bed. Paolo hoped he hadn’t awakened her. He dressed and went downstairs. The sliding doors to the deck were open. Sydney’s sweet voice broke the silence of the morning.
“Paolo, come to the deck.” He walked through the open doorway into the waning cool morning air. Sydney sat on a padded lawn chair made for two. She wore a heavy blue cotton robe, slightly open. The skin of her breasts showed through the opening, ever so teasing. Her eyes lured him to her.
“Soaking up some sun, are you?”
“Absolutely,” she replied with a coy smirk on her face. “Why don’t you lean over and give me a kiss?”
Paolo leaned over and kissed her. She replied with an open-mouthed kiss and placed his hand on her breast.
Taken aback, he said, “Right here, outside?”
“Who’s going to see?”
The sun crested over the trees. Their passions ignited, they made love in nature’s paradise. The scent of honeysuckle filled the air. Two became one. A memory etched in their minds—after this, whenever the smell of honeysuckle was in the air, the memory came to life.
They lay holding each other, her leg on top of his. Sydney twirled his chest hair and they shared gentle kisses. Paolo gazed into her green eyes and was at peace. The rays of the warm sun touched their naked bodies.
“Can I make you breakfast?” he asked.
“That would be nice. I’m going to take a shower.”
“Me too, can I join you?”
“No, you can use the other bathroom. Nice try, though.”
They stood and embraced. “That was fun,” Sydney said, kissing him on the cheek. “I might need a back rub later, the lawn chair was a little uncomfortable.”
“No problem. With body oils?”
“You men are all the same. Give it a rest, will you?”
“Maybe,” he smirked.
As she walked past him, her hand touched his. “I’ll start to cook breakfast when I hear you start the hair dryer. Anything in particular you’d like?”
“Surprise me.”
The warm water of the sh
ower pelted Paolo’s back. His mind began to assimilate the morning’s activities. What is the stigma of a man? Why are we always the sexual aggressors in a woman’s mind? Why can’t it be the need to love? Yes, the needs are different; or do the needs of a man and woman change as they get older? Why is it when a woman wants to make love, the man had better not say no, but when a man wants to make love, he’s simply acting like a man? The complexity of love. A man has no control when it comes to making love. Sure, he can pout and get angry, but the only thing he’ll be holding is himself. Dad often said it’s a man’s world. I think you were wrong, Dad, there is no way this is a man’s world.
CHAPTER 47
PAOLO WALKED THE NEIGHBORHOOD outside the stone walls of the Brewster Estate. The colorful leaves of late October littered lawns and sidewalks, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Children jumped into the piles of red and yellow foliage. The serenity of the cool nights, the crisp, clean air, and the sounds of fall refreshed Paolo’s troubled spirit.
Paolo was filled with excitement and apprehension as the holiday season approached. The cold and the beauty of winter would arrive in six weeks.
“What are you doing for the holidays?” Sydney said.
“Thanksgiving, Rio and I will be at my brother’s house. Christmas, I don’t know yet. Rio will be with her mother on Christmas Eve. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know if I want to spend Christmas Eve with my family.”
“But you love Christmas Eve!”
“I long for the family tradition, but everything has changed. The food, everything—it’s just not the same anymore.”
“How about you and I spend Christmas Eve together? You can cook for me.”
Paolo was stunned. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I would love to spend it with you, Paolo DeLaurentis. Maybe we can start our own tradition.”
“What about Lisa and Andrew?”
“They’ll be with their father.”
“Excellent.”
Paolo remembered the time-honored Italian family tradition of serving seven different types of fish on the festive night before Christmas, as holiday music played in the background and the padrones napped on the couch. Sometimes there was a light snowfall as the mothers and their children walked to midnight Mass, then home to open presents.
With Paolo’s mother and aunt aging, the adult children took over the preparations and the cooking. Health concerns about how and what to eat became an issue. The fish was broiled instead of fried, in margarine instead of butter. The holiday changed and felt more like a chore than a celebration. Paolo knew that life changes, but why was the family tradition so difficult to continue? He came to realize that love was missing from the holiday—not necessarily from his family so much as from the world. People complained about commercialization; Paolo agreed. Everyone forgot God and His love for us. They believed Christmas was about children and presents. How wrong they were.
Paolo sat in his library as he wrapped Sydney’s gift. The smell of simmering lobster sauce permeated the townhouse. Over the years of their friendship, Sydney had talked about wanting a diamond tennis bracelet. She clearly had the means to buy one, but she wanted the bracelet given to her as a present. Since her husband Peter never paid attention to her wants and needs, she never received what she wanted.
Paolo planned everything. He borrowed the Spode Christmas plates from his sister, the ones with a decorated pine tree painted on the front of each plate. The table was set with a red-and-green tablecloth with white snowflakes in the green squares, and a lit evergreen candle in the center. A fire crackled in the fireplace and its red and orange glow warmed the room. A sense of peace and comfort filled the air. Mistletoe hung in the doorway, waiting for the opportunity to share a kiss. In the background, Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas.” Yellow roses, Sydney’s favorite, adorned the coffee table. The setting resembled a picture taken out of Good Housekeeping magazine.
Paolo placed the silver foil-wrapped present under the tree. The Christ child absent from the manger sat atop the fireplace mantle, waiting for the midnight hour. Five stockings hung on the maple wood—for Sydney, Giacomo, Rio, Andrew, and Lisa. For Paolo, his present would be his desire for his children and her children to witness the true love of a man and a woman.
Paolo received a call from the guardhouse informing him that Sydney had turned the corner from Whitney Avenue to Cliff Street. Her license plate and face were scanned by a computerized optical system, which matched her face with the database. By the time the Audi 8 reached the gate, the computer had approved her credentials. Paolo gave the guard the final okay to let her into the estate.
Paolo watched the security monitor as Sydney drove along the evergreen-lined road with its cobblestone sidewalks to his house. A group of carolers sang by the pergola next to the frozen lake. Paolo opened the front door. He could hear them singing, “Noel, noel….” The song drifted off into the chilly night air. The aromatic evergreen wreath, with its bright red bow, filled his senses with the holiday spirit. Sydney’s car turned into the driveway. The sight of her on Christmas Eve enveloped his heart.
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine.” She walked up the two steps where Paolo met her. Sydney was bundled up in a beautiful gray cashmere scarf. Her green eyes sparkled. Paolo was taken aback by her beauty. He stood, speechless.
“Are we going inside?” she quipped.
“Of course.”
Sydney pointed to the mistletoe overhead. “Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to kiss me?”
Paolo surrounded her with his arms like wrapping paper around a Christmas present and kissed her. The passionate kissing of the two lovers warmed the chilly winter night. They broke apart when they realized the carolers were now singing behind them. Embarrassed, they thanked the singers and entered the house.
As Paolo warmed his hands in front of the fireplace, Sydney took her bag of presents, placed them under the eight-foot spruce, and stood next to him.
“The fire feels great. Nice and toasty.” Sydney stood by his side.
“Toasty?”
“Yeah, toasty, like bread in a toaster.”
“Oh, okay. That’s a new one for me.”
“Come on, Paolo, you never heard that before?”
“Nope.”
Sydney wrapped her arms around his neck. “So, what have you cooked me for dinner? I’m starving.”
“A vast assortment of fish, cooked with the love that I have for you,” he said with a capricious grin.
“Sounds a little fishy to me.”
“Ha ha, funny. I’m serving the traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner—seven fish.”
“I’m hungry but…you understand I can’t eat all that.”
“Yep, I know. I’m bringing the leftovers to my brother’s house, tomorrow.”
“Honey, I’m so impressed. The dinner table is absolutely beautiful. Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you.” Paolo pulled a chair out. “Signora.” He motioned for her to sit.
“Why, thank you.”
“Prego—you’re welcome. Would you like Chianti or Barolo?”
“Chianti, please.”
Paolo left the dining room and returned with their plates filled with the ocean’s delicacies.
“Paolo, I loved the lobster tails in the red sauce and the fried shrimp. God, they were good. I’m so stuffed.”
“Me, too.”
Paolo took his red cloth napkin and folded it lengthwise. He placed the cloth on the table underneath his arms. He leaned and stared at Sydney.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Because I love your eyes, they’re spectacular. Tonight when you walked into the house, your eyes were like sparkling emeralds.”
“You love just my eyes?”
“No, other parts of your body as well.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said with a snicker.
“How would you like to go for a walk? Then
we can come back and have some hot chocolate.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Could I have whipped cream on mine?”
“Absolutely.”
“What time is it?”
“Why, do you have someplace to go?”
“No, smart ass, I just wanted to know, so I can open up my presents.”
“Eight-thirty. Another three-and-a-half hours till Christmas.”
“Damn, can we open them now?”
“No. Christmas isn’t here yet.”
“Please,” Sydney whined.
“Maybe when we come back. I’ll go get our coats.”
“Okay,” she pouted.
The Southern New England winter night was not too cold, but cold enough for snow. The two lovers strolled along the brick walkway. The light of the lampposts glimmered in the darkness. The faint distant laughter of the neighbors traveled through the still, cool air. Hand in hand, they enjoyed the quietness.
A bright orange fire glowed in the fireplace by the pergola. The flames licked the cold night air, releasing red embers into the evening sky. The warmth of the burning wood radiated heat as the two walked to the railing overlooking the frozen lake. A spotlight aimed at one of the large evergreen trees showed fluffy white snow just beginning to fall. The stillness of the night was broken by the sound of a deer stepping on pine needles. Paolo’s arm was around Sydney, her head nestled on his shoulder.
“You can almost hear the snowflakes hit the ground,” Paolo said. “Tomorrow morning the estate will look absolutely gorgeous. We should probably get back before the snow starts to stick.”
“But it’s so peaceful here.” Sydney snuggled closer.
“I know. Isn’t it?”
Arm and arm, they walked back to the townhouse, saying little and enjoying the walk. By the time they arrived, the ground was already covered in pristine white snow, not yet victimized by the imprints of nature.
With joy in her voice, she whispered to him, “I guess I’m spending the night.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Me, either.”
“How about some hot chocolate with whipped cream on top?”
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 21
