The Legacy

by ADAMS, J.

  “Thank you so much.” He hugs us both.

  “Adagio is right,” I say. “Helping each other really is what this life is all about.”

  We say goodbye to the families and wish them all a Merry Christmas. I blink away tears as each child hugs us. Signor Giovanni thanks us again, sending us off with a basket of fruit and some homemade biscotti.

  Except for an occasional sniffle, the ride home is mostly quiet as we each contemplate the wonder of the evening.

  Jessica tells us that she can’t remember having a more special or meaningful Christmas, and she will remember this one forever. She is grateful to have been able to be a part of such a special opportunity.

  Adagio takes my hand and smiles. We have both experienced something truly amazing and neither of us can ever remember feeling so at peace. I am blessed to even be in the position to help others this way. I definitely remember what it is like to have to go without, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to give back.

  Before we go to bed, Adagio and I discuss how the service has affected us and decide this will be a tradition in our family from now on.

  The feelings from the night before linger in our hearts and Christmas morning is filled with joy as presents are exchanged and opened. We all laugh as Ingo goes after the wrapping paper each time a gift is opened. He isn’t old enough to crawl yet, but he can roll and scoot to get where he wants to go. Grabbing the camera, Adagio takes lots of pictures, promising to send Jessica copies.

  We enjoy a wonderful Christmas dinner and stay up until late talking about the special time we shared last night.

  Jessica tells us how grateful she is to have been able to spend Christmas with us and we feel the same. Adagio promises her we will try to return to the states for a visit before I am too far along to travel.

  Before going to bed I receive a phone call from Gloria and Patrick. They are traveling to Rome for an after Christmas vacation and want to stop and see us on the way. We eagerly say yes and anticipate their visit. Though it is late, I knock on Jessica's bedroom door to tell her the news and she is ecstatic!

  Gloria and Patrick arrive the following day and we are all tearfully reunited. I hadn't realized how much I missed them until now. They cuddle little Ingo and marvel over how much he looks like their son while catching up with Jessica, and we open the gifts they brought for us. They spend the night and head out the following morning, expressing their gratitude and happiness for the opportunity to visit us and see Ingo. We embrace them both, assuring them they are always welcome.

  When we finally have to say goodbye to Jessica, she and I are in tears. I will miss her so much, and I wish she could stay longer, but she needs to get back to the boutique. Adagio again tells her we will try to come back and visit.

  I give her a final hug and a kiss before Adagio takes her to the airport. I tearfully wave goodbye until the car is out of sight, and look forward to the time we will see each other again.

  Forty-five

  I am now well past the days of morning sickness. At seven months along I feel huge, but Adagio continually tells me there is no one more beautiful, and his longing and desire for me never wavers. Our nights are full of passion, and every day our love for each other deepens.

  Adagio gazes across the room at Cisely as she rocks Ingo and softly sings to him. A little over ten months old, Ingo is starting to walk and venture through the house. They'd quickly had to install extra safety gates to keep him out of trouble. Their son's antics never cease to make them smile. As he continues to watch her, he is more content than he has ever been. At times like this, he sometimes ponders his life before Cisely.

  Adagio will always miss Ingo, and he never feels guilty whenever he thinks of Cisely once being his friend’s wife. He will forever treasure the memories of the time he shared with them when Ingo was alive. But as he gazes at Cisely now, his love for her again overwhelms him to tears. She means everything to him, is everything to him. She is the very air he breathes and he loves her more than his own life.

  He sometimes wonders how this can be, especially knowing she had been the love of his best friend's life. And what if something happened to her and death separated them? Or if death took them both? Would she meet Ingo again on the other side and choose to be with him again? Would Adagio be able to cope with losing her to Ingo after loving her so desperately and completely?

  He has no answers, and he doesn’t want to think about it right now because it is physically painful and too unsettling. He only knows she truly and completely owns his heart.

  When Cisely looks over at Adagio and smiles, he again glimpses forever in her eyes and it startles him. The feelings that just a look from her stirs inside him . . . it just amazes him.

  “Ti amo, Cisely,” he says, smiling at her.

  “I love you, too,” I say back, blissfully happy with my life. Everything is so good with us, I sometimes have to push away nagging fears that things won’t always be this way. Sure, our life isn't perfect and I know we will still have trials, and I pray that I can handle them when they come. But I only have to look into Adagio’s eyes and I know that as long as he is by my side, I can face anything.

  The ringing of the phone breaks into the quiet stillness of the house. Adagio answers it and I continue to rock Ingo.

  “It is for you,” he says, sounding surprised. He brings me the phone. “It is your cousin, Velma.”

  I am surprised as well. I hand Ingo to him and he leans down to kiss me before taking him outside to play, giving me some privacy.

  I haven’t talked to Velma in a long time. The last time was about a month after Ingo died to let her know what happened. Velma had been so sorry to hear the news. She said she really liked Ingo and thought he was a great guy. During that same call, Velma told me she had gotten a job as a nanny and would be moving to Florida. I was so happy for her. We've been keeping in touch with one another through letters. When I wrote Velma about Adagio and told her of our plans to be married, she was happy for us and very supportive.

  Right now, she is still in Florida. This is the first time she has called since moving and I pray she is doing well and everything is okay.

  “Velma, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. It’s so good to talk to you.”

  “It’s good to talk to you too.” I can already tell something is wrong just by the tone of her voice, and I'm amazed that I have grown to know her so well. “How is the nanny job going? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I’m doing great and keeping busy. Of course, with looking after three kids under six, there is never a time when I'm not busy.” I smile, understanding. She pauses. “I received some news from home, Cisely, and I have something very important to tell you. It’s actually a message I’m supposed to give you.”

  “A message . . . from whom?” I ask her, my curiosity piqued.

  “It’s . . . from your father, Cisely.”

  I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me. I am slightly ill and feel like I'm going to be sick, but I swallow hard against it. As my mind reels, the same question repeatedly races through my thoughts.

  “What message could he possibly have to give me?”

  Velma is quiet for a few seconds and I know she wishes she didn't have to be the one to do this.

  “He is in a hospice, Cisely. He is dying of AIDS . . . and he wants to see you.”

  You’ve got to be kidding! How could he even request such a thing? I can’t believe it. My father mentally tortured and sexually abused me for half my childhood, causing so much emotional pain, I hadn’t thought I would ever heal. What right does he have to request this or anything else from me? How dare he do this to me now!

  “Cisely, are you okay?”

  I shudder. Velma still doesn’t know the full extent of my childhood with my father and I have never desired to tell her. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “And I don’t think I can grant him that request.”

  Velma sighs. “Cisely, I don’t know
everything about your life with your father. I do know he hurt your mother, and I can understand that you might still have ill feelings toward him. Even still, Cisely, he is your father and he is dying. I mean, as much as I dislike being around my mother and am glad to be away from her, I can’t help but care about what happens to her. I can’t hold her mistakes against her the way she has held mine against me.”

  I want to scream, “You have absolutely no idea what my father did to me! You have no clue of what kind of man he really is!” Instead I calmly say, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay. If you do decide to go, he is in the hospice center over off Montford Avenue.”

  “Okay,” I say, wanting to be done with the conversation. “Thank you, Velma,” I say sincerely. I know she is only trying to help and I really can’t be upset at her. I guess she's a better person than I am right now.

  Sighing, I sit with my head in my hands long after the call ends, a dull ache growing as painful memories I've long since tried to bury return to the surface. In my heart, I have tried to forgive my father. I've tried so hard to let this go, but the pain and anger that have resurfaced at the mere thought of his request brings a heaviness to my heart that I haven’t felt in a long time.

  Oh, God, I voice silently as warm tears slip through my fingers. Why now? Why is this happening now after all this time? I’ve been so happy. Why must I deal with this now?

  Forty-six

  Adagio enters the family room, having left Ingo in the nursery.

  “What is it, amore,” he asks, kneeling down, pulling her to him. She presses her face to his shoulder and cries, prompting his own eyes to burn as he holds her shaking body close. Lifting her in his arms, he carries her over to the sofa. Sitting with her cradled on his lap, he continues to hold her in silence until she is able to stop crying enough to speak. He wipes her tears. “Please, baby, tell me what is wrong.”

  Cisely finally looks at him. “You know, before I received that phone call, I was thinking about how good my life is now, and I thought that as long as I have you, I would be able to face any trial that came, but . . . I don’t know if I can face this one.” Her voice breaks.

  “What trial?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm, fearing something terrible has happened.

  “My . . . my father wants to see me.”

  Adagio's brow creases and anger rises inside him until she continues. “He is in a hospice back home. He had AIDS and I guess he won’t be around much longer.”

  Holding her close, Adagio tries to understand what she must be feeling. Her father had hurt and defiled her, causing scars that would always be there. Her nightmares, though infrequent now, bear witness of those scars.

  Like so many times before, Adagio’s mind drifts back to the conversation he had with Ingo when Ingo shared Cisely’s painful past with him. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so sick. He remembers the sorrow he'd felt as Ingo told him what Cisely had gone through, and how angry he himself had been on her behalf.

  “What should I do, Adagio?” she asks, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tightens his embrace. He can share what he thinks, but in the end it will be her choice. It will be painful, but he has no doubt she will make the right one. It's hard for him to think about her even being in the same room with the man, but he knows it's wrong to hold on to such feelings. “What does your heart tell you?” he asks softly.

  Cisely brushes fresh tears away only to have them replaced by more. “I don’t know because my heart hurts too much right now to listen to it.”

  “I’m so sorry for all the pain he has caused you, amore,” he whispers against her brow. “But maybe he wants to make peace with you before he dies.”

  She pulls back abruptly. “Am I supposed to forget about everything just like that?” she asks, her voice emotional and unsteady. “Am I supposed to grant him his dying wish so he can go in peace while I’m left holding the pain?”

  Adagio takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I love you more than anything, Cisely, more than life itself. And one of the reasons I love you, the most important reason, is because you have so much love in you. You are the most giving and caring person I know. Yes, you have pain in your heart, but there is no hatred.” Placing a hand on her cheek, he looks into her eyes. “An unforgiving heart is a heart full of hate and that is not you, amore. Sometimes I have been so angry, I've found myself wanting to hunt the man down and beat him senseless because of what he put you through, but as much as I want to hate him and any other person that does such terrible things, I can't because that is not the way we should be. And if your father wants your forgiveness, do you not think you owe him that opportunity? Does not everyone in this world deserve the chance to be forgiven for the hurts they inflict on others when they truly seek forgiveness?”

  I press my face against Adagio’s neck as the tears begin anew. I know he is right, but my heart hurts so much, I don’t know how to handle it. In the past I would have handled the pain by numbing myself with drinking and drugs. But I can’t do that now. I have come too far to go back down that road, and I would rather die than give in to such weaknesses.

  “You need to heal, baby,” he whispers against my ear. “Maybe this is the way to do that.”

  Broken in spirit, I continue to cry as Adagio lifts me in his arms. Carrying me upstairs, he gently places me on the bed. Covering me with a light quilt, he sits on the edge of the bed and kisses me tenderly.

  “You rest. This is a very hard thing you are facing. I wish I could make it all go away somehow and take away the pain, but I can't.”

  “I know,” I whisper hoarsely. I can see how much my hurting is affecting him, and I hate putting him through this.

  “I will take care of Ingo. Just try and rest.” He presses another soft kiss to my lips and leaves.

  After closing the door, Adagio checks on Ingo. Finding him content in his playpen, he heads to the den, and with tears filling his eyes, he kneels to pray. He knows if he can do nothing else to help the woman he loves with the trial she is facing, praying for her is the one thing he can do.

  Forty-seven

  I awaken the next morning with a heavy heart. I wish I could shake the pain, but I don’t know how. I'd spent a good while on my knees the night before, praying and begging for God's comfort, but nothing has changed. I no longer hate my father, and I truly want to forgive him. I just don’t know if I have the strength to speak the words to him, or even face him.

  I pray throughout the day that I might soon feel some peace, but by evening, my heart is still heavy.

  Staring out our bedroom window at the River Sile in the distance, I try to draw upon the comfort that usually comes with the view, but it eludes me. After another moment, I finally lay down and try to rest, then I sit up on the side of the bed, deciding that trying to sleep is futile. Closing my eyes, I attempt to clear my mind. But images of my father beating my mother by day then standing over my own bed by night flash before me and my eyes open abruptly, releasing the hot tears trapped behind them. I struggle to push the images away and replace them with good ones, but they continue to intrude and will not leave me. By now the agony growing inside me is so intense, I immediately slip to my knees beside the bed, desperation filling my whole being. I feel like I will die from the pain.

  I remain on my knees crying softly, not caring about the ache in my back from the extra weight I carry. Nothing matters except ridding myself of these feelings.

  After a while, I drift to sleep. I am sitting in the grassy countryside, staring out at a small lake in the distance. The little boy from the dream I had two years ago is beside me. We don't speak, we simply sit quietly, enjoying the serene view before us. Glancing at his profile, I take in his familiar features. A gentle breeze tousles his black wavy hair and his olive skin shimmers in the sun. He is a beautiful boy and I find myself longing to see his eyes.

  He must sense my thoughts, bec
ause in the next moment he turns, fastening his emerald gaze on mine.

  “Forgive him, Mama.” I wake up with a gasp.

  “Our son!” I whisper. The boy I had just dreamed of for the second time is our son. Mine and Adagio's. My mind reels in amazement.

  And he urged me to forgive my father.

  With this thought, a feeling of peace slowly enters me, and with this peace comes the start of true healing. I am again overcome with emotion, but it is sweet and soothing instead of painful.

  I know what I have to do now. It will be hard, but there is no other choice.

  When Adagio enters the room, Cisely is still on her knees. “Are you all right, amore?” he asks, kneeling down beside her.

  She wipes her face and smiles. “I am now.”

  He presses a hand against her cheek, wiping another tear away with his thumb. “I can tell,” he says, marveling at the peace radiating from her. Offering up a silent prayer of gratitude, he helps her up and holds her close, kissing her cheek. “Does this mean I need to make plane reservations?”

  “I think it does. And since we are going back to the States, do you think we could spend a couple of days in Utah with Jessica?”

  “I think we can arrange that.”

  Her expression sobers. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

  “It is all right, angel,” he soothes. “You had a right to be upset. Anyone in your position would have been.”

  “But I’m not upset anymore.”

  “I know.”

  She buries her fingers in his hair. “I love you,” she says breathlessly.

  He smiles, allowing her silky voice to flow through him. “I love you.” Pressing her as close as possible, he kisses her, reveling in the way her body melts against his. Tightening his embrace, he continues to feast upon her warm mouth, wishing he could somehow make up for all the hurt and pain she suffered in the past. Though there will still be trials, for now, he only wants her to know love–his love.

  “Where is Ingo?” she whispers as his mouth sensuously explores her face and neck.