The Legacy

by ADAMS, J.

  My love for Adagio has grown in intensity and I treasure each moment we spend together. We are seldom apart from one another, and if we are, it usually isn't for very long. Our need to be close is very strong.

  I have a new friend in Anna, our housekeeper. We get along well and she frequently expresses her happiness that Adagio isn’t alone anymore. Anna only speaks a little English, but it is enough for us to understand one another. I also get to know Sam and the other chefs, as well as the rest of the staff at the restaurant, and it is easy to see how much they love Adagio. It seems everyone who knows him feels this way, and I am proud to be his wife.

  Treviso is beautiful with a very tranquil and peaceful elegance. Boasting canals with backdrops of the Sile and Dolamite mountains, it is unlike any place I have ever been. Many days find us packing Ingo in the stroller and touring the old churches stretching from piazza to piazza. I enjoy walking down the cobblestone streets and alleyways, having relaxing lunches at the pizzerias and trattorias.

  Adagio often takes us into Venice. We ride the train across the ocean to the beautiful city. Walking around St Marks Square, we shop at the small stands, straying off the beaten path every now and then. My favorite spot is the Rialto Bridge, where we stand watching the gondoliers steer their vessels through the canal. We've visited museums and toured the palaces along the Grand Canal, which are now mostly hotels, restaurants, and shops. I am convinced Venice is the most beautiful and romantic place in the world.

  Adagio promises to take me on a trip through the country and show me more of Italy when Ingo is older. Since we never really had a honeymoon, I am looking forward to it.

  Forty

  I smile at Ingo as I change him in the nursery. Our little bundle of joy is now three months old and definitely growing. His dark brown hair is wavy with a few blond highlights, and unusually thick dark lashes frame his honey-colored eyes. His complexion has an olive tone.

  Smiling up at me, Ingo coos softly and I sing a lullaby. The sound of my voice seems to have a calming effect and I definitely love singing to him.

  Adagio walks down the hall and is about to enter the nursery but stops when he hears Cisely's silky, soulful voice. How he loves to hear her sing! It's as if angels are singing each time a song escapes her, and to him, there isn't a more beautiful voice in the world. He often thinks back to the first time he heard her sing. It was at Brian’s funeral. As he listened to her that day, her voice took his breath away, and he was sure everyone present felt the same. She has an extraordinary gift. He listens for a moment longer before going in, wanting to be near her.

  “That was beautiful, amore,” he says moving behind her, kissing her cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he presses her back against his chest. “How old were you when you started singing?”

  She is thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I remember being five and singing to the animals through the fence bordering the backyard of the housing project we lived in. The owner had a couple of horses grazing out back. Whenever I started singing, they would come over and press their noses to the fence and let me pet them. It happened every time. I guess that was when it started. After that, my voice just kind of took off on its own.” She smiles at the memory.

  “I feel very blessed to be married to such a gifted woman–a woman who possesses much integral strength, especially having been placed in a life with so many trials for one so young.”

  “I don’t feel integrally strong, especially with all the terrible choices I’ve made in the past.”

  “Ah, bella, but look at the choices you are making now. That is what matters, not the past.”

  “I know. That’s why I was so grateful for the chance to leave the old life behind.”

  “And I am grateful for you.” He pauses, lightly touching his mouth to hers. “You are my life, Cisely.” he whispers against her lips. “You know that, don't you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers back. “And you are mine.”

  When her lips part with a breathy sigh, he deepens the kiss, warmth spreading through his whole being.

  “I should go and check on the quiche,” he breathes, parting his lips from hers slightly.

  “If you have to,” she says with a coy smile, pulling his head down again, drawing a low growl from him.

  “I guess a few more minutes won't matter,” he murmurs.

  We spend the afternoon stretched out on the family room floor, playing with Ingo and taking pictures. Wanting to capture as many moments of his childhood as I can, snapping photos of our son is now a habit for me. I've also started doing more scrapbooking. I learned to like the hobby while living in Utah, and since having Ingo, my love for it has grown. I already have one book full of photos of him, both alone and with Adagio.

  When Ingo falls asleep in Adagio’s arms, he takes him up to the nursery while I pick up the scattered toys and place them back in the basket. Adagio finds me in the kitchen, washing the last of the lunch dishes.

  “I can’t believe he’s really three months old now,” I tell him as I wash the plates.

  He grabs a towel and dries them. “I can't either. Time is passing so quickly. It seems like just yesterday that we brought him home from the hospital.”

  “I know. I was so glad to finally be able to hold him in my arms, but I also miss carrying him in a way. While he was still inside me he was sheltered. I didn’t have to worry about him being hurt or suffering in any way. You know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean. This world can be a scary place.”

  “It really can be,” I agree. “But I wouldn't trade bringing children into the world for anything.”

  “Neither would I.” He pulls me close. “You are a wonderful mother, Cisely.”

  “Thank you. And you are a wonderful father. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”

  He smiles and kisses me.

  After we've finished cleaning, I call Jessica to thank her for the package of new baby cloths we received from her last week. Hearing her motherly voice always lifts my spirits. I miss her so much and it's hard to say goodbye whenever we talk. Our conversations are pretty lengthy and I'm grateful to be able to talk for as long as I want. It makes being so far apart a lot easier.

  Adagio surprises me by bringing in dinner from the restaurant. We dine on ziti with roasted eggplant and ricotta cheese, Caesar salad, and stuffed mushrooms. He even prepared orange creme brulee, which is now my new favorite dessert.

  “So, did you cook all of this yourself?”

  “I did,” he answers, smiling. His chefs are used to him wandering in every now and then to prepare himself a meal, and they are really happy to see him preparing meals for two for a change. His employees are very loyal to him and love him because he is so easy to work for. He appreciates them just as much for being such good workers and often rewards them for their loyalty.

  “Well, I guess it is your kitchen.” I take a bite of the eggplant. “And you are definitely the most amazing cook in the world.”

  “Grazie, amore. I am sure there are better ones, but I feel pretty good when my dishes turn out well.”

  After dinner we are both so stuffed, we decide to take a walk around the grounds. I grab the baby monitor to listen for Ingo. We hold hands and casually stroll around the grounds.

  “I will never get tired of gazing up at this place,” I say, again taking in the large home, it's shadow looming over us, providing cooling shade from the sun.

  “You know, I actually got a good deal on it. It didn't take much to get it cleaned up and updated.”

  “It’s beautiful and the view is perfect. I feel very fortunate to be here living here.” Warmed by his gaze–an effect that will never fade–I smile shyly. “I feel like a princess.”

  “You are not just a princess, angel. You are a queen. And the home is blessed because you are here. Your presence has made everything complete, including me.”

  “The feeling is very mutual.�
� He pulls me close, kissing me warmly, and we embrace for another moment before continuing our walk.

  Coming around the side of the house, we stop and sit for a bit on the veranda. Lightly running my fingers across the surface of the glass-topped, wrought iron table, I think about how romantic it would be to have lunch or dinner here sometime, and I make a mental note to surprise Adagio one day with a meal here. Of course to me, any meal I share with him is romantic.

  Gazing out at the old buildings within our view, with their various shades of stucco and stone, I find myself imagining what life was like here when they were new. I will have to read a little more about Italy's history when I have some time.

  Taking my hand, Adagio presses a kiss to my palm and I marvel at the sweet sensation it brings. His touch in any way always has that effect on me.

  “Thank you for dinner. You are so good to me.”

  “You are welcome. I will always be good to you.”

  “Then I’m sure if our sons follow your example when they are married, their wives will be the happiest and most content women in the world.”

  He smiles and kisses me. “Then I will have to make sure I train them well.”

  As I again scan the land surrounding us, I begin to picture future generations of our family. I can’t help thinking of the unique heritage they will claim from us, and I am determined to make sure they know where they come from on both sides. Little Ingo will also know his biological heritage in addition to ours.

  “Our children will have good lives here,” Adagio says, seeming to read my thoughts. “And they will know they are loved.”

  I look at him in amazement, unable to believe how perceptive he has become to my feelings. Sometimes I feel like he knows me better than I know myself. “They will.”

  We sit for a few more moments, watching the sunset before going back into the house through the veranda entrance to check on Ingo before getting settled for the night.

  Securely wrapped in Adagio’s arms, I ponder his birthday coming up in October and wonder what I can give him. He has given me so much happiness, I want the gift to be something special, something that will let him know just how much he means to me.

  Adagio has become everything to me, and the love we share sometimes overwhelms me to tears. After Ingo, I never imagined I could love someone so much, but I do. As I lay contemplating my dilemma, the words of a song by one of my favorite recording artist comes to mind. Letting the soft ballad flow through my head, I realize it describes my feelings for Adagio perfectly. No other song even comes close. Making a final decision of what I will give him, my fingers suddenly itch to touch the piano keys.

  Before we married, Adagio purchased a black Fazzioli grand piano for me as a wedding present and had it delivered a week after we arrived. I cried the first time I sat down to play it, and at Adagio’s insistence I play a little each day.

  Smiling, I contemplate learning the love song for him. Snuggling closer, I send up a silent prayer of thanks for the contentment I feel in my life. I am so happy.

  That final thought drifts through my mind as I fall asleep. But in the next moment, the peaceful picture of my life changes, the places and faces altering to one I recognize and instantly recoil from.

  I am back in my old childhood bedroom. My father’s form is hovering over me in the dark, forcing himself upon me. I try to awaken, but I am trapped in the nightmare. I continue to struggle, trying to fight him off, but he is too strong. I scream, but nothing comes out. I hear him saying, “Stop it, girl. You know you ain't good for anything else. You never will be.”

  “Nooo! Stop it! Please stop. Get away from me!”

  “Cisely,” Adagio whispers, touching her and she jerks awake. He sits up and turns on the lamp.

  Her eyes are wild and disoriented. When Adagio reaches for her, she cringes, jerking back.

  “Cisely, it is okay. It is just me, amore.” He keeps his voice soft, reaching for her a second time, and again she moves back.

  “Cisely, please. I won't hurt you.” There are tears in his eyes now. He has never seen her this way before. “I would never hurt you.” Doing his best not to frighten her, he slowly leans closer, whispering again, “I won't hurt you.”

  Slowly emerging from the shadow of my nightmare, my emotions cave and I crumble.

  Hesitantly, Adagio reaches for me and I fight the urge to flinch as he takes me in his arms. Leaning back against the pillow, he pulls the covers over us. My whole body is trembling and I can't seem to stop.

  “It is all right, baby,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead, rocking me gently.

  Clinging to him tightly, my cries turn into sobs. This dream seemed so real, I feel like I've just relived the abuse. Every second of it came back to me in that single dream.

  Needing to get control of my emotions, I tell myself over and over it wasn't real and I am safe. That part of my childhood is over, never to return. I try to soak in Adagio's warmth and comfort.

  Cisely's trembling eases and her sobs lessen, but it does not stop Adagio's own tears from falling. He now clings to her as desperately as she holds onto him. His next whispered words are not in English but Italian.

  There is no need for him to ask about the nightmare. He already knows. This is not the first time he has awakened to her tortured pleas for her father to stop the sickening act. The pleas usually fade after a few seconds, but this is the worst it has ever been. This is the first time she has awakened completely terrified.

  He continues to whisper in Italian of his love and vows to never let anyone hurt her again. He promises that she will always be safe with him.

  I feel, more than understand his soft croons. Burrowing deeper in his embrace, I fuze against him, absorbing all he gives of himself. I don’t know why the dreams come. They started again before I married Ingo. Afterward, the dreams eased up a bit. I had felt safe, like nothing could ever harm me. Then Ingo was gone, and after a while they became frequent again.

  Maybe they are the result of a fear seated deep within me, a fear of being left alone, of being a victim again. I feel so secure with Adagio now, safer and more secure than I've felt in a long time. Maybe some part of me is afraid of losing him, too, of being left alone yet again.

  Maybe I love him too much.

  “Please don’t ever leave me,” she whispers against his chest, holding him tighter. “Please don’t ever let me go.”

  Renewed emotion washes over Adagio as he listens to her desperate pleas. Burying his face in her hair, he whispers fervently, “I will never leave you, baby.” He lifts her face, whispering against her mouth, “And I will never let you go.” Her response is immediate and he deepens the kiss, wishing he could pull her into himself and absorb all her pain. As the passion rises between them, he realizes he is doing just that, and she takes everything he gives.

  With the subsiding of passion comes the quiet calm at the end of the storm. Adagio waits until Cisely’s breathing has become deep again before drifting to sleep himself, still clinging to her, praying that God would give her peace, and keeping his promise to never let her go.

  He will never mention this night to her.

  Forty-one

  I practice the song for Adagio using the hour he spends at the restaurant each day. I have the sheet music, but I hardly use it. I am able to play by ear and I learn the music quickly. Though my voice will never compare to Laura Fabian’s, the lyrics stir my feelings for Adagio, and I hope I can sing it well enough.

  When the day finally arrives, Anna agrees to watch Ingo at her home for a while to allow us some time alone. Since Adagio is getting dressed in the bedroom, I change in the bathroom, taking a little more time than normal, wanting to look as close to perfect as I can. I don't ever want him to forget this day.

  A few minutes later, I exit the bathroom wearing a slimfitting red dress with matching strappy high heel sandals. My hair hangs in loose spiraled curls, giving me a sultry look that even surprises me.

  Adagio's smi
les and whistles. “Wow, bella!” he says, looking up at me from where he sits on the bed. “Beautiful is not a strong enough word.”

  “Really?” I say, smiling coyly. “Then what would be a strong enough word?”

  “Well, let me see. You are a wondrously beautiful, breathtaking goddess! How is that?”

  “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”

  “Grazie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Taking his hand, I lead him downstairs. The living room is lit by a dozen votive candles in crystal holders and a table covered in lace is set for two near the piano.

  “Happy Birthday, Adagio.”

  “Thank you!”

  He takes a seat at the table. Standing next to the piano, my stomach is quickly consumed with butterflies. His smile is loving, his warmth leaving me freshly amazed that just a look from him affects me so.

  “I love you very much,” I tell him.

  “I love you too, angel.”

  “I wanted to give you something special for your birthday and I hope you like my choice. I’ve been working on this for a while now and I hope that through this song, you will know how much you mean to me.”

  Adagio turns his chair, his face full of anticipation.

  Taking a deep breath, I begin. As my fingers begin caressing the keys, my voice softly rises. Closing my eyes, I sing from my heart. Other than singing to our son, I've never felt as much emotion as I do at this moment singing to Adagio.

  As Adagio listens to the words of the song, they stir his very soul. To have her singing to him is indescribable, and it touches him deeply. He can hear her love in every word and feels blessed to have her as his wife. The last line, “Just a touch of yours, and I fly,” actually describes perfectly how Cisely's touch affects him.

  When Cisely is finished, she moves into Adagio’s waiting arms. “Happy Birthday,” she says once more before pressing a kiss to his lips.

  “Thank you, amore,” he breathes. Holding her tightly, he passionately ravages her mouth for another moment before drawing back slightly and pressing a hand to her cheek. “I have never received such a wonderful present. And nothing makes me happier than listening to you sing.”