That I’d left my old self behind?
“If you look inside your soul
Let go of all you think you know
You’ll find that you’re a lot like me
Just speak the word in love and be set free
“Although you may not have all that it takes
To reach your dreams alone
With open heart and open arms
You’ll feel my strength
Become your own...”
Lily stepped away from the mic and deferred to the choir as it raised its collective voice in four-part harmony.
“Lift me up, take me higher
Feel the power, feed the fire
Lift me high above the clouds
Up to a place where love is true
Lift me high enough to touch
The sun the stars the moon...”
Lily stepped back up into the spotlight, and sang alone,
“You hold the power in your hands
To touch what most don’t understand
Just trust your heart,
You’ll know just what to do...”
The choir joined in and sang with Lily on the final line of the chorus.
“Lift me up, I’m reaching out for you.”
Lily caught her breath and stepped back from the microphone as the choir again picked up their humming. She felt carried away by the power of their collective tones, and was no longer thinking about forgetting the words or missing her cues, or hitting the high note in the bridge. It was as though she had disappeared into the music; it filled her head and her heart. It ran through her veins; her lungs swelled with it. No matter where she looked, she saw, heard, and felt only the music. She was drowning in it, succumbing to it, surrendering as the weight of her fears, of her sorrow, of her life, pulled her more deeply into the song and its message. She imagined Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane and saw herself there with Him, praying with such fervor that blood burst through the pores of His skin, as He struggled to understand how He could possibly find the strength to complete the task God had set before Him. Thy will, not my will be done.
Lily was no longer singing the words for Jesus, as Jeffrey had instructed her - or for herself, even. Though she didn’t understand how, she felt as though she were now singing the words as Jesus, having slipped inside His skin, feeling His pain, understanding His sacrifice, knowing His love.
“With all my will and all my might
Got the mountaintop within my sight
I will reach the finish cross the line,
The memory forever etched in time...”
By the time Lily reached the end of the bridge, tears were rolling freely down her cheeks, and Jeffrey stood up, gently sliding the piano music out from under the choir and with a grand gesture he invited the congregation to join in the chorus. The choir swayed to and fro, slowly clapping to keep time. The entire congregation joined in, many of them with their arms stretched overhead, as if they were reaching beyond the clouds to that place they sang of - a place where love is true. They sang:
“You hold the power in your hands,
To touch what most don’t understand.
So trust your heart you’ll know just what to do...”
Instinctively, Lily knew to wait patiently, as the choir voices faded and Jeffrey resumed his place on the piano bench, slipping his accompaniment back in under Lily. She stepped up to the mic, and looked out over the congregation. People were rapt in prayer, some crying, some simply looking forward, their gazes fixed on her. She noticed the man near the back of the room, sitting at the sound board. His face was lit by a small desk lamp. All she could see were his eyes, looking straight through her, boring holes in her. She closed her eyes. She wanted nothing to distract her from this moment.
“Lift me up,” she sang, slowing the cadence of her words. “I’m reaching out .... for.... you.”
The room fell silent. Lily stood, reluctant to open her eyes, afraid of breaking the spell, refusing to fall from the wave of the Spirit upon which she had been riding. A hand on her shoulder caused her to turn and open her eyes. She felt confused, lost, not knowing exactly where she was or what she was doing there. Jeffrey led her quietly to the pew where the rest of the choir was already sitting, as Pastor Halloway cleared his throat to deliver the closing blessing.
Lily suddenly remembered Joe and the boys. She looked over her right shoulder to see Joseph’s head bobbing up and down over the heads of the adults seated in front of him, and when he caught Lily’s eye, he waved furiously and called, “Hi, Mommy! Good singing!”
Everyone burst into laughter. Lily blew Joseph a kiss, then turned back around and offered a silent prayer of thanks.
After service, Lily slipped out of the sanctuary and down the corridor to the choir rehearsal hall to hang her choir robe up so she could exit through the side door and meet Joe in the parking lot, as promised.
“That was pretty amazing,” said a voice.
Lily turned to find a man standing in the doorway. “Oh! You scared me!”
The man chuckled. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I had to come and tell you what an incredible job you did with that song.”
“I know you,” said Lily. “You’re the guy from the sound table, right?” His hair had looked blond in the light of the desk lamp under which he worked, but here it looked darker. Sandy brown, that’s what it was. But his eyes still looked the same. Blue, penetrating.
“That’s me,” he said. He extended his hand. “I’m Owen. Owen Bateman.”
Lily shook his hand. He placed his free hand over their handshake, clasping it, all the while looking Lily in the eyes. After what seemed like an excessively long time to be touching someone she’d just met a few seconds earlier, Lily pulled her hand away.
“Nice to meet you, Owen.” Lily looked out the window of the back door to see if Joe was waiting there, but more importantly, to make sure he would not be able to see her standing there talking to a man. An attractive man. With sandy brown hair and blue eyes and who thought she’d done an incredible job.
“You’re not the guy who usually does that,” said Lily.
“No - you’re right, I’m not. I own the studio that leases the equipment and the sound guys, but this is Easter weekend - one of our busiest, so all hands on deck.” Owen shoved his hands into his pockets. “Where did you get that song, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Um - you’d have to ask Jeffrey, really... a friend of his wrote it - Jack someone, I think he said.”
“Beautiful tune.”
Lily took her jacket from the closet and slipped her right hand in, shortly thereafter realizing she had slipped it into the left sleeve.
“Here, let me help you with that,” said Owen. He flashed a smile as he helped her out of the coat.
“I am such an idiot,” said Lily. She felt her face flush with embarrassment.
“You shouldn’t talk like that about yourself.” Owen repositioned the jacket as Lily slipped her arms into their proper holes, all the while continuing to watch out the window. “Or I won’t invite you to come to my studio and record sometime.”
A set of headlights appeared outside the window. “Shit!” said Lily.
“That’s not a very gracious response,” said Owen, tracing Lily’s gaze out to the car.
“What?” said Lily. She flung her purse over her shoulder and closed the closet door. “I’m sorry - I gotta go.”
“Tell me you’ll think about it,” said Owen. He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his khakis and extracted a business card.
“Think about what?” A car horn sounded. “I really gotta go,” said Lily.
Owen tucked the card into the pocket of Lily’s purse as she opened the door and rushed out.
“Hey you guys!” said Lily to the boys as she buckled her seat belt.
“Yay for Mommy!” cheered Joseph.
“Yeah!” echoed Pierce. “Yay Mommy!”
“You boys were so good
in church,” Lily said. “I bet the Easter bunny is going to bring you lots and lots of candy in the morning.”
“Yay!” they both cried.
Joe’s silence as they drove made Lily uneasy. She would love it if he said she did a good job. She could understand it if he said she was awful. But she couldn’t bear that he said nothing at all. At last they pulled into the driveway, and the boys scrambled out of their restraints and ran toward the house. Lily opened her car door and gathered her purse, her church program, and her vigil candle. Joe reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, holding her from getting out of the car.
“Hey - Lil,” he said.
“What?”
“You were pretty amazing,” he said. “I was really impressed.”
“Really?” said Lily. Something registered on his face. Lily couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t look impressed; he didn’t bear the expression of one who was amazed.
“Really.” Joe looked at her and this time she recognized it - he had the look on his face that he had when he’d told her about the time his parents left him at the amusement park. A chill ran up her spine.
“Let’s go inside,” she said. “You can start a fire, I’ll make some popcorn...”
“You go ahead,” he told her. “I’m gonna go see if I can catch the last few races at OTB.”
“Really, Joe? Tonight? It’s been such a lovely family time. I know the boys would love to have a fire - it might be our last chance to have one now that spring is here.”
“Goddammit, Lil,” Joe pounded his hands against the steering wheel. “Why are you laying this guilt trip on me? I just spent two hours babysitting and sitting through a whole Mass and now I want a little time to myself. Is that so hard for you to understand?!”
Lily’s throat burned as she choked back tears, watching her fantasy of an evening at home, basking in the warmth of the vigil and the magic it inspired in her, drive away into the night. She fell asleep waiting for Joe’s return, her tears dampening the pillow sham.
Lily was awakened at sunrise by a familiar sound outside the window. It was coming from the back yard, and in her sleepy stupor, Lily struggled to place it. She stumbled downstairs in her flannel nightgown and discovered that Joe was furiously clipping back the branches of her tree.
She slid the patio doors open. “Joe, what are you doing?”
“Son of a bitch! No matter what I do to this tree, it keeps growing back,” he said. “No matter what I do. Pisses me off.”
Alarmed by his behavior, but still groggy from sleep, Lily attempted to reason with him. “I thought we agreed that I would take care of doing the pruning from now on - remember?”
“Well, you’re not taking care of shit,” said Joe. “It never grows higher, it just gets wilder.”
“That’s what trees do, Joe,” said Lily. “Just leave it.”
“What kind of tree is it, anyway?” he asked.
“I don’t know, exactly,” said Lily, folding her arms across her chest against the morning chill. “Some kind of a willow, I think. But that’s how they are - you know - willowy. Free spirited. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a pain in my ass, that’s what it is,” said Joe.
Donna’s back door opened and she peeked her head out.
“Joe, c’mon,” Lily said. “It’s Easter - the boys will be up soon. Let’s just deal with this another time, OK?”
“Just give me five more minutes,” said Joe.
Lily closed the door, unwilling to challenge him at such a delicate time of day, when an argument outside would surely draw the attention of the neighbors - more so than it had already. She switched on the coffee maker and placed a teaspoon of sugar into the bottoms of two mugs. Half an hour later, Joe came in from the backyard, his face red and sweaty, his demeanor one of exhilaration.
Lily peered outside to see huge mounds of branches lying under the tree, her bird feeders entangled in them. She reached back and pulled the elastic out of her ponytail, letting her hair fall down across her shoulders. It will grow back, she reminded herself as she fought tears.
“What - are you going to cry now?” Joe said. “It had to be done. Don’t go getting all emotional; you’ll ruin Easter for the boys.” Joe took a gulp of coffee. “I’ll have someone come out and clean up the mess tomorrow. I need a shower.”
Two days later, a truck pulled into Lily’s driveway and three men got out. They retrieved a chainsaw and some rope from the back of the truck. One of the men slung a coil of rope crosswise over his shoulder and climbed the tree.
Frantic, Lily punched in Joe’s work number on the telephone.
“La Casa Bella, where your beautiful home is our business. This is Joe Diotallevi speaking.”
“Joe - what’s going on? There are two guys up in the tree.”
“Oh, good - I was hoping they’d show up early. Yeah, they’re going to start taking it down.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“Well, I was talking to the guys here at work and they said that a tree like that seeks water and having it close to the house is asking for trouble, so I decided to cut it down.”
“But it’s not causing any trouble. There’s plenty of room for it to grow.”
“I don’t want it to keep growing. Anyways, I already paid those guys, Lil. I won’t be able to get my money back now.”
In the background, Lily heard the switchboard operator over the house speakers. “Joe - sales call on line two ... Joe - sales call on line two.”
“Gotta go.” Joe hung up, as the deafening grinding of metal against wood drowned out Lily’s sobs.
Lily placed a carafe of fresh coffee and a set of mugs on a tray, and brought it out to the men. They stopped for five minutes to pour themselves a cup. One of them lit up a cigarette while the other one sat on the ground, leaning his back against the tree’s trunk, wiping the sweat from his brow with a red and white bandana.
The men stacked the remains of the tree at the curb. Lily steeled herself as she looked out the kitchen window. All that was left of her tree was the stump. She slid the patio doors open, and stepped out into the fresh April air. At least it was a place to sit and recall the cardinals that came to feed there, and the mourning doves that groaned in the cool sunrise. All was not lost.
“Excuse me - I’m gonna need to get at that.” Lily looked up to find a white-haired man toting a huge mechanical steel rod. Lily got up from the stump and backed away. The man positioned the rod at the base of the trunk. His body convulsed as he bored the machine into the dark soil, grinding the stump into mulch. When he was finished, he hoisted his pants, got in his truck, and drove away.
15. Iris
“Perfetto! Now turn around and walk back toward me. Take it real slow this time, OK?”
Iris pivoted on her heels and reversed her course, concentrating on moving in slow motion without looking stiff. She had always been more of a sprinter than a stroller, and felt awkward walking at such a slow pace.
“Like this?” she asked, making an effort to control the impatient twitching in her long limbs as she walked across the hotel terrace in the soft light of the early evening.
“Shhh. Don’t talk! Just walk, that’s it, keep it fluid! Great. Got it!”
The man behind the camera stopped recording, stood up straight, one hand on the small of his back, and stretched. When he finished working the kinks out of his joints, he crossed his arms and stared point-blank at Iris. Seeing his eyes focused directly on her without the camera lens between them made feel her uncomfortable, as if her blouse had unbuttoned itself, her skirt unzipped itself, and both had fallen from her body, landing in a puddle of fabric at her feet. She was annoyed at the blush she could feel coloring her cheeks, especially since it apparently amused the man. He grinned at her and said, “Signora Capotosti, you’re a natural.”
“Really? Did I do all right?” Iris said, more flustered than flattered.
“Better than all right. Come and take a look.” The man
touched a command on his video camera and bent close to her, sharing a view of the playback on the display screen. He was several inches taller than Iris, and had to crouch to lower his head to the same level as hers. Leaning toward him, she noticed that his thick, shoulder-length hair smelled of the citrus shampoo she had selected for the hotel bathrooms. She could also detect a hint of musk, probably the remnants of a cologne he had splashed on his face after shaving early that morning before the sunrise shoot down at the marina in Portofino. Tufts of whiskers scattered randomly on his throat and jaw like cacti in the desert suggested he had performed the task hastily. By this hour, those subtle, fresh scents were challenged by the acrid aroma of a man who had been working under the sun all day. There was something both familiar and foreign in the odor, something overwhelmingly masculine, something that made her want to stay close enough long enough to decide whether it repulsed her or attracted her.
“See?” he said, enlarging the view of a miniature Iris moving across the display. “I caught it.”
“Caught what?” Iris moved a few inches closer to look, to sniff.
“The contrast.”
“What do you mean? What contrast?”
“I mean, when I looked through the lens at you, I was knocked flat on my ass by the insecure wild child I saw trapped under the Direttrice’s veneer of sophistication.” He looked down as he spoke, his attention focused on the camera.
“You saw that?” Iris wanted him to look at her, to tell her more about what he saw, to replay the video and point out what gestures or expressions were still giving her away after so many years of practice. Despite her intimacy with Claudio Olona, she had never felt herself scrutinized with such intensity. Like most Italians, Claudio was a xenophile, and his interest in her background had been limited to the fact that she was American. In a way, she had been relieved at his lack of curiosity, as she would have felt uncomfortable talking about her upbringing in the chaotic Capotosti family to a man of such privileged provenance, and she certainly had never had any desire to talk to him about her marriage. And now, here was this guy who barely knew her, prying her open like a can of sweet corn.
The Complete Series Page 93
