by ADAMS, J.
“Sleeping,” he murmurs.
“Good.”
Drawing back slightly, he smiles, releasing her just long enough to turn the baby monitor on and close the door.
Forty-eight
Asheville, North Carolina After grabbing our luggage and picking up the rental car, we check into the hotel. By the time we are settled, it is late, so we decide to wait until morning to go and see my father.
As I close my eyes and try to sleep, my thoughts travel across the states to little Ingo. I hope he is doing okay without us. Jessica is taking care of him to make things easier, and under the circumstances, we felt it was best to leave him in her care. I don’t know how this visit with my father will affect me, and not having to worry about exposing our son to my emotional state makes me feel a little better.
I continue to stare up into the darkness, not able to turn my mind off. I am both nervous and afraid to see my father. Yes, I have done the right thing by coming, but I am still scared and can’t seem to calm down enough to sleep.
“Adagio,” I whisper.
“Hmmm?” he answers sleepily.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but could you please do
something for me?”
“Anything, amore.” He awakens fully.
“Would you tell me again that I've made the right
decision in coming back?” He turns on the lamp and rubs his eyes, then props himself up on his elbow. “You have made the right decision. And I admire your bravery.”
“But if it hadn't been for our son appearing to me in that dream, I don't know if I would be able to do it.”
Pressing a hand to my face, he looks at me intently. “I think God knew that, which is why he gave you such an amazing experience. I am still awed by it, and that our son appeared to you twice . . . it just blows me away ever time I think about it.”
“Me, too,” I say as I think back on sharing the experience with Adagio a couple of days ago. His reaction had been the same as mine.
“But even if you had not had that experience, deep down you have always had the courage to do what is right. You would have found that courage.”
“How can you have so much faith in me?” I ask softly.
Drawing me close, his lips rummage my brow. “Because I know you, Cisely. Better than I have ever known anyone. No one has a kinder heart or more beautiful soul.”
I smile. “I can think of one person. I'm fortunate enough to be married to him.”
His mouth travels to my jaw. “You have made me a better man,” he whispers as his kiss moves to my neck. “You are the part of me that was missing for so many years.” He draws back slightly, looking into my eyes. “I am so glad you are mine.”
“And I'm glad you are mine. You will never be without me,” I whisper, burying my fingers in his hair and meeting his mouth with mine.
The heat building between us is now a steady burn and we quickly lose ourselves in one another. I am unaware of anything except his kiss and his touch. Whenever he makes love to me, the rest of the world ceases to exist.
“Thank you,” I say after a long while.
He turns out the light. “You are welcome.”
Secure in his arms, I rest my head against his chest. After a while, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear slowly lulls me to sleep.
The next morning I pace the floor nervously, trying to calm down. I thought I would be fine, but this morning the feelings are fresh. Except for glimpsing him in the distance the day of my mother’s funeral, I haven’t seen my father in almost twelve years, which has always suited me fine, but now the thought of being in the same room with him again has my stomach tied up in knots, even though I know I've made the right decision in coming.
Adagio can understand his wife's feelings. Not many women would choose to see their abuser again, much less forgive him for the hurt he caused. But then again, he muses, not many women are like my Cisely.
When Cisely finally stops pacing, Adagio approaches her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She wearily leans back against him.
“Everything will be all right, amore,” he whispers against her ear.
“I know. As long as you’re there with me, I know it will be okay.” She turns in his arms and he kisses her. “Thank you,” she murmurs.
He smiles, pressing his forehead to hers. “Anytime.”
Forty-nine
Could you please tell us which room Mr. Alton Matthews is in?” I ask the receptionist at the information desk. I wait nervously while she looks up the room number.
“He’s in 236. Just take the elevator to the second floor and turn left.”
“Thank you.”
Adagio holds my hand tightly as we step into the elevator. I can tell he is a little nervous as well, not for himself, but for me, and I feel the connection between us. I sense him trying to send me his strength.
Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself over and over. Adagio also whispers words of comfort. When we reach my father’s room, I am literally sick inside. I turn to Adagio.
“I don’t know if I can face him!” I whisper in desperation.
“Yes, you can,” he soothes. “I will be right here with you.” He presses a hand to my cheek. “You are much stronger than you think you are, amore.”
No, I’m not! I nod and take a deep breath. I have to go in. There is no other choice. Putting my hand on the knob, I hesitate.
“Would you hold me for a moment?”
“You don't even have to ask.” As his warm arms come around me, I cling to him, comforted by his tightening embrace.
Closing my eyes, I try to draw as much strength as I can. I finally move back a little and he presses a kiss to my brow.
“I'm ready,” I finally whisper.
Taking another deep breath, I open the door, gripping Adagio’s hand as we slowly approach the still form on the bed. Except for the blip of the monitor and our soft footsteps, the room is silent.
My father is hooked up to an IV and an oxygen mask covers his nose. He doesn’t even look like the same man. This small, frail, thin man looks nothing like the large one that used to towered over and terrorized me and my mother. His cheeks are now sunken and hollow, his dark skin gray and pasty looking. I can’t believe this man who was once so strong and healthy is now lying in a hospital bed totally helpless.
He can’t hurt me anymore. He will never be able to hurt me or anyone else ever again.
As I stand looking at him, something tugs at my heart. I can’t explain how or even pinpoint the exact moment, but I truly feel sorry for him.
And there it is.
I have forgiven him. Almost instantly, I no longer see the monster that stole my childhood. Instead, I see a man who had somehow gotten lost along his way through life. While I'll probably never truly know whether he has changed, it isn’t my place to judge, only to forgive.
As if he senses my presence, my father opens his eyes. He turns his head slightly and looks at me, and then he smiles. I saw my father smile many times when I was younger, and most of the time I thought it an evil smile. But the one he wears now is one I never thought I would ever see on him. It looks like a smile of contentment, and love.
He continues to stare, maybe waiting for me to speak, but I don’t know what to say. What can I say? I can’t pretend the past never happened, and I won’t pretend I am overjoyed to see him either. I am trying to think of something to say when he moves his hand to his face and weakly slides the mask to the side. His breathing is more labored as his mouth begins to move. I move to the head of the bed and strain to hear, but his voice is barely above a whisper. I bend forward until my ear is positioned above his mouth, and this time I understand when he speaks again.
“Forgive me, please,” he feebly whispers.
Moving back a little, I look into his eyes, grasping the depth and importance of this moment. Never in my wildest imaginings could I have fathomed this would happen.
“I do forgive you,” I finally sa
y.
He looks at me for a moment and another slow smile spreads across his face. He turns his head, looking toward the ceiling and a tear rolls back into his gray hair. Looking at me once more, his eyes seem to say thank you. Then he closes them and does not open them again. A moment later, he takes a final breath.
And that’s the end of that story, I muse sadly, staring down at him a moment longer. The man who had been the source of a great deal of my pain has now made me the source of his peace. “Goodbye,” I whisper before moving into Adagio’s waiting arms.
The tears I shed now are not really for my father, but are the result of the peace in my heart. I've finally let go of the fear and anger and have truly learned to forgive.
“Are you all right?” Adagio asks, wiping my tears.
“Yes,” I answer with a smile. “I am finally okay.”
Fifty
Adagio lay in bed next to Cisely, contentedly watching her nurse their son. Adagio Philip St. John II was born in the middle of July weighing in at eight pounds, ten ounces, and once again they thought there wasn’t a more beautiful baby in the world. They decided to call him Philip to avoid confusion when he is older. At three months old, his dark hair and emerald eyes are just like his father’s.
Philip finally finishes, having fallen asleep while nursing. Cisely burps him and takes him to the nursery. When she returns, Adagio is sitting up looking at a framed photograph of their family.
Adagio can’t believe how much his life has changed in the past two years. He is the husband of an amazing and beautiful woman, and the father of two adorable children. Life is wonderful, and he can’t ask for anything more.
Slipping under the covers, I rest my head against Adagio's chest. He circles his arm around me and I smile, marveling at how blessed I am. I've dreamed of many things in my life, but I never dreamed I could be so happy and blessed with so much love in my heart. The peace I now carry inside is indescribable. At times like this, I think my heart will burst with overwhelming joy.
As if he is reading my mind, Adagio replaces the picture on the bedside table and lifts my chin, looking into my eyes. “There are no words to describe how happy I am.” He caresses my cheek. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Sometimes those three words aren’t good enough to describe what I feel for you, but they are all we have.”
Pressing a hand to my face, he caresses my lips with his thumb. “I wish there really were stronger words.” His continues to reverently gaze at me another moment before lowering his head and kissing me passionately. As his tongue sweeps over mine, heat fills my insides. Through this kiss, he expresses to me everything he feels. There truly are no words to describe our love.
Clinging to him, I again feel forever in his arms. And for the moment, there is nothing but bliss.
Asheville, North Carolina
Gladys sits on the back porch steps of her home holding a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other. She is alone now. Her' daughter abandoned her over a year ago, leaving her to fin for herself.
Gladys is angry.
And it is all Cisely's fault.
If Cisely hadn't come back to Asheville, pretending to be Miss High and Mighty, Gladys would be sitting pretty. Somehow, she would have gotten the insurance money from Geneva's death, and Velma wouldn't have developed a backbone and left to chase after the 'white man's' life. Yes, this is all Cisely's doing.
And one day she will pay.
Gladys will make her pay if it is the last thing she does.
We are told that trials help to make us stronger, that we have to go through pain to really savor the experience of joy. I have known this for a long time, but I also know something else. The strength that comes from those trials is actually faith refined; the joy that comes after the pain, celestial favor.
Cisely St. John’s journal
Fifty-one
Five years later. Carrying a small tray of assorted homemade biscotti out to the veranda, I place it on the table next to the pitcher of raspberry lemonade. After making sure there are enough napkins and glasses, I sit in one of the padded iron chairs, and with deep contentment, watch Adagio play with Ingo and Phillip. It is a beautiful day. The sun is out and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Thankfully it's not as hot as it has been the past couple of days. Of course, being raised in a similar climate, I adapted to Venice the moment I moved here.
I laugh at Adagio feigning weakness as Ingo and Phillip wrestle him to the ground and climb on top of his back laughing. Turning over, he growls loudly and tickles the two little terrors. The children squirm away from his reach, then dive back in and repeat the process. I am amazed at the amount of energy they possess, and I can’t believe how fast they are growing.
Adagio surrenders, pleading for a time out. When it is obvious the boys are not going to give in to his pleas, he tries a different tactic, which always works.
“Hey, let's go and see what Mama brought out for us, okay?”
“Okay,” they say, hopping up and running up to the veranda.
Adagio heaves a deep sigh of relief mixed with contentment as he watches them take off up the hill. He enjoys the time he is able to spend playing with his boys and is grateful for a job that allows him this time.
Standing and stretching for a moment, he looks down and smacks the grass from his clothes. There are stains on the knees of his jeans, but he doesn’t mind. It seems these afternoon wrestling matches with the boys always warrant a change of clothes, but it's worth it. He leans his head over and brushes the grass from his hair as well.
When he looks up again, he sees Cisely coming down from the veranda heading out to him. Even after six years of marriage, the sight or mere thought of her never ceases to make his heart skip a beat. He continues to gaze at her as she comes closer, the sun setting off the highlights in her dark auburn hair and adding a shimmer to her brown skin. Her every move is graceful, and just being in her presence is intoxicating. He is thirty-eight now, almost ten years older than Cisely, but he finds his age easy to ignore because she makes him feel so young, and he is thankful every day to be blessed with her as his wife.
Watching Adagio as he watches me causes my heart to flutter. He will always be the most handsome man in the world to me, and I frequently admire how lean and muscular he still is, thanks in part to chasing our sons around. Well, that and good genes. His gaze warms me as I approach him. When he looks at me this way, the rest of the world just falls away. I wonder sometimes if the effect will ever fade. But I only have to look into his eyes and I know it never will.
”It looks like they wore you out,” I say, plucking the grass from his tousled hair.
He grins, pulling me into his arms. “You heard my surrender, huh?”
“I did. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to come and rescue you.”
“I was almost ready to call you.” He presses me closer, whispering seductively in my ear, “You know, you could have joined us and it would've been even more fun.”
“Maybe later,” I growl softly and he laughs.
Arm in arm we walk back up to the veranda to be with the boys. By the time we get there, half the tray of biscotti is already gone.
“I see you got a head start on us,” Adagio says, smiling at the two, their cheeks full.
“But they're so good,” Ingo says before biting into another one.
“Well, thank you,” I say, pleased they turned out so well.
I sit down and Phillip automatically moves to my lap. “Are you going to eat one, Mama?” he asks, holding a chocolate covered cookie out to me.
“Now when have you ever known me to turn down chocolate, little man?”
“Never, Mama,” he says, grinning.
“That’s right, and I never will.” I take it from him. “Thank you.”
Adagio smiles at me as we watch his namesake watching me eat the offered cookie. Both boys look like little chipmunks with their cheeks stuffed and we can't help chuckling.<
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“Well, I guess that’s it,” I say as Ingo and Phillip polish off the last of the biscotti. “If you two keep this up, you are going to look like cookies with legs.” I pinch their cheeks, provoking a laugh from both.
“I have to agree with them, amore. These are very good. I could not have made them better.”
“Thank you, my love. I've had a good teacher.”
Adagio winks and kisses my hand. “Why don’t we help Mama take everything in,” he says to the boys.
Ingo immediately takes the empty tray into the house and Phillip collects the used napkins. I smile at their promptness. We've been doing our best to raise them to be obedient and I am grateful they are so helpful to me. I hope they will always be that way. Like all kids, they have their moments and give us fits, but I wouldn't trade motherhood for anything in the world. I want to be the best mother I can be, and I never want our children to doubt my love for them or feel neglected in any way. I saw and experienced enough neglect in my own childhood to ever let them suffer those feelings. I try to enjoy every moment of every day with them, and I look forward to having more children.
After taking everything to the kitchen, the boys head to their rooms to play for a while and Adagio goes to checks on things at the restaurant. Since everyone is occupied with other things, I decide to use the time and go through some of the clothes Ingo and Phillip have outgrown and take them down to Signor Giovanni. By the time I am done, I've filled two boxes with both clothes and shoes. I can’t believe how fast they are growing, especially Phillip. Even after keeping a few clothes handed down from Ingo, it seems we have to purchase new shoes and pants for Phillip often.
Pondering this for a moment, I again feel a deep sense of gratitude that we are able to afford to get the things we need for our family. I often think about growing up poor and what it was like to have to go without. I never want that for our children. I want them to have all I never had and more, without spoiling them, of course.
