The Legacy

by ADAMS, J.

  I rest my head against his shoulder and caress his face. “You have more faith in me than I deserve, my love.”

  “Only because I know you so well. You can do anything you set your mind to.” When I look up, he smiles, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You definitely have me wrapped around your finger.”

  “As you have me wrapped around yours,” I whisper, raising my lips to his.

  As Adagio loses himself in her kiss, immersed in the softness of her warm mouth under his, he finds it easy to push away memories of the unsettling feeling he’d experienced earlier this morning as he watched her drive away with Mali. It had scared him and affected him so deeply, he’d had to stop himself from shaking. It is a feeling he will never forget and he hopes he will never experience again.

  Ninety

  Once dinner is ready, I go upstairs to get Mali. She hasn't come down from her room since we returned from shopping. I have been concerned, but I thought it best to leave her alone for a while. Now I am not so sure it was the right thing to do.

  I knock on Mali's door. When there is no answer, I open it slightly and stick my head in. My eyes are immediately drawn to the corner where Mali sits crying. Looking up, she quickly dries her face and my heart aches for her all over again. Slowly approaching, I kneel next to her.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, squeezing her hand.

  “Nothing,” she answers with a small sob.

  I try again. “Mali, honey, please tell me what’s wrong.

  You can talk to me.” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel. Mali opens her mouth to speak, but a sob escapes,

  preventing her from talking.

  Grabbing a chair from the desk, I sit next to her and put

  my arms around her, trying to offer what comfort I can. Mali

  clings to me and continues to cry. When she finally calms down

  a little, I lift her chin and dry her tears. “Tell me what’s making

  you so sad, Mali.”

  She raises her eyes to mine and they are full of fear. She is

  afraid to share the secret she has carried inside for so long. But

  she needs to tell someone. Taking a deep breath, she closes her

  eyes and says, “It was my fault that my dad left my mom. It was

  all my fault.”

  I open my mouth to disagree but stop myself. Instead, I

  remain quiet, praying that I can say the right thing. I try to keep

  my voice gentle. “How was it your fault, Mali?”

  Mali wipes at her face again and takes another deep

  breath, her eyes taking on a far away look.

  “Last year I had this teacher–Miss Sims was her name.

  She was young and beautiful. She had blue eyes and blond hair,

  and her skin was always perfectly tanned. All the boys in school

  would stare at her when she walked through the halls, and the

  boys in her classes could barely get any work done because they

  were too busy looking at her. I thought she was pretty nice. She

  always tried to make sure I understood everything and

  sometimes even spent extra time with me during the class

  period, giving me help when I needed it. I thought she was the

  perfect teacher.” Her expression hardens. “How stupid I was!” “Why do you say that?”

  “Because . . . because there was a reason she was being so

  nice to me.” Her hands form fists. “I was so stupid, Aunt

  Cisely! Everybody knew it but me! People hinted around but

  never said anything. Everybody knew!”

  “Knew what?” I press, doing my best to keep my voice

  calm.

  Mali drops her eyes, hesitating to answer, but there is no

  disguising the smoldering anger she has suppressed since

  arriving in Italy.

  “Knew what?” I ask again.

  “That my father had been cheating on my mother with

  Miss Sims!”

  What? I am stunned. Paul had been unfaithful to his wife

  with his daughter’s school teacher. Wendy never mentioned the

  other woman was her daughter's teacher, nor did she say how she found out. I try to keep unkind thoughts from my mind, but it is hard. How could he hurt his family that way? I remind myself of what I told Phillip during our first conversation. I was never involved in their day to day life, and I have no right to judge. But that knowledge still doesn’t stop me from being

  angry on Mali's behalf.

  Keeping my voice soft, I ask, “How did you find out

  about it?”

  When her eyes meet mine, they express a mixture of

  emotions, and I can’t discern any of them. Then to my surprise,

  she snorts.

  “Oh, it was pretty easy. One day I went back to the

  school to see Miss Sims because I knew she worked late

  sometimes. Imagine my surprise to walk into the room and find

  her half dressed in a lip-lock with my dad.”

  I gasp, covering my mouth. I can't even imagine the

  shock and hurt Mali must have felt at that moment. “They both turned and looked at me,” Mali continues as

  if in a daze. “They didn’t say anything. They stood there for a

  moment, looking at me wearing shocked expressions. Then

  they straightened their clothes and my dad whispered a few

  words to her before taking my arm and guiding me out to his

  car.”

  By now, I am in tears. I want to comfort Mali, but I

  hesitate, wanting her to get everything out. We are so close to

  the heart of her problem and I can’t let her stop now. Holding

  her close, I caress her hair, giving her a moment with her

  thoughts. I can't even begin to comprehend the storm raging in

  the heart of this beautiful lost soul.

  I finally release her and press a hand to her tear-streaked

  face. “Mali, what did your father say to you?”

  She sniffs, wiping her face. “He asked me not to tell

  Mom.”

  “He what?” I am incredulous! Completely incredulous! I

  can’t believe he would put his own child in such a position. “He said he still cared for Mom, but he was in love with

  Miss Sims. He said as long as Mom didn’t know, he would stay,

  but as soon as she found out, it would be over between him

  and Mom.”

  I fight to keep my voice calm and my anger in check. How

  could he be so selfish? The little jerk! How could he do that to his own

  child? “What did you do, Mali?”

  “At first, nothing. But then . . .”

  “Then what?” I press gently. We are so close to the

  source of the problem.

  She looks at me, tears again welling in her eyes. “I got

  more and more upset as the days passed . . . and I needed to tell

  someone, so I told a friend. I told her not to tell anyone else,

  but she told her mother. And somehow it got back to Mom.

  Mom had no idea that . . . it all started with me. But Dad knew.

  I should never have been so stupid.” She squeezes her eyes

  shut as fresh tears trail down her cheeks. “It was all my fault.” I hold her hands firmly. “Mali, it wasn’t your fault. Your

  father made the choice to be unfaithful to your mother. And it

  was wrong for him to ask you to hold something like that

  inside.”

  “No!” she shouts, ripping her hands from mine. “I

  shouldn’t have said anything! Because I did, my dad left her!

  Now she’s all alone and it’s my fault!”

  I growl inwardly. That weaselly little scumbag! “Mali, that’s

  exactly what your father wants you to think. He doesn’
t want to

  accept the blame or the consequences for his actions.” She shakes her head and stands, wringing her hands in

  her hair. “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!”

  “No, Mali,” I say again, my heart breaking for her. As I

  reach out for her, she pulls away, running from the room. “Mali, wait!” I cry, running after her.

  Adagio blesses the food so the children can start eating. He wonders how Cisely’s conversation with Mali is going. He is pretty sure that is why they haven’t come down yet, and he hopes she is successful in getting Mali to open up. If anyone can get through to the young girl, she can. He smiles. My Cisely can do anything.

  Looking back over his life, Adagio wonders what he’d done to be worthy of having Cisely as his wife. There are no words to describe how happy she makes him. Through the years, they have faced trials, both separately, and then together, and they have made it through them, becoming stronger with each one. He can handle anything life throws at him as long as Cisely is by his side.

  He is startled by the sound of Cisely’s frantic voice calling Mali’s name, and he jumps up just as the girl runs past the entrance of the dining room. Cisely passes a few seconds behind her.

  “Cisely!” he calls, running to the door. He turns to the children. “Ingo, watch your brothers and sister,” he says before going after her. Phillip jumps up from the table.

  “I’m coming with you, Papa!” he says, following his father out the door. “No, Phillip!” Adagio says, panic seizing his insides. “I need you to stay here.” He squeezes his son's shoulder firmly. “Everything will be all right.”

  The rain is coming down in sheets. I continue to run, trying to catch up with Mali. The large drops beat down hard, making it difficult for me to see, but somehow I am still able to make out her green blouse in the distance.

  “Mali!” I continued to yell, “please wait!” I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this pace. “Mali, please stop!”

  Mali is in agony as guilt continues to eat away at her heart. Somehow she'd felt that running would help her escape the pain, but it only follows her, and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She repeatedly tries to drown out Cisely’s pleas, but this time the fatigue in Cisely's voice catches her attention. Forcing herself to slow down, she crosses the street a little ways and stops. As weariness takes over, she sinks to the ground and sobs as the cool rain mingles with her tears.

  I sigh with relief as Mali sits on the ground in the distance. I am tired, but now that she has stopped, I am able slow my step. As I get closer and hear her rain-muffled wails, my heart aches anew for her and I again quicken my pace. Thinking of nothing except making it to the trembling form in the rain, I continue running down the small embankment, then across the street.

  Mali presses her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. Then she hears Adagio’s voice screaming Cisely’s name, followed by the sound of screeching tires, and her head jerks up. A single-syllabled scream tears from her throat.

  “Nooo!”

  Adagio continues to run after Cisely. When she finally slows, he is able to gain a little ground. Through the rain, he spots Mali sitting on the ground with her head in her hands and his heart goes out to her. He doesn’t know what was said between them, but he figures Cisely managed to get to the heart of Mali’s problems. Thinking of this fuels a rush of anger at Paul for deserting his family. If he hadn't left, Cisely wouldn't be running after Mali in the rain. She would be home, safe and dry and having dinner with him and the children. Adagio knows he isn't thinking rationally. But right now he is afraid– more afraid than he's ever been in his life.

  He notices Cisely picking up her pace again to get to Mali and his heart threatens to pound through his chest. Cisely steps from the curb, and when she does, his whole world turns upside down and crashes upon him. He watches in slow motion as a car speeds up the road, opening up a river of rain in it’s path, and hears himself scream her name as the vehicle slams into her.

  “No! No! No!” he cries over and over, running to her, half sliding down the embankment. As he reaches her still form, the rain stops. Sinking to the pavement, he leans over her, and what starts as a cry comes out as a hoarse sob instead. “Cisely! Oh, Cisely!”

  Cisely slowly opens her eyes, struggling to focus. Looking down at her through grief-stricken eyes, he watches a tear fall from the corner of her eye back into her hair. Her mouth begins to move.

  “Don't try to talk, angel,” he says as she struggles to say something. “Just hold on.” Her eyes slip shut and he panics. “Cisely!”

  The shaky driver is standing outside his car, calling an ambulance.

  Adagio looks up at him, barely able to see through the tears. “Please tell them to hurry!”

  Mali slowly approaches them, her expression a mixture of horror and shock. When she reaches Cisely’s still form, she can no longer move. She tries to speak, but no words come. Tears coarse down her cheeks as she watches Adagio lean over and press his face to Cisely’s, whispering the same thing over and over.

  “Please don't leave me, Cisely,” he cries softly. “Please don’t leave me. I can't lose you. I just can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, God, please do not take her from me.” He fights the desperate urge to move her. He wants so much to hold her, but he's afraid of making her injuries worse. Raising up a little, he stares at her bruised face, his mind willing her eyes to open as tears splash down his face onto hers. “Please do not leave me. Oh, God, please don't take her from me.”

  He sucks in a breath as Cisely struggles to open her eyes, and he gently places his hands on both sides of her face. “Stay with me, baby. Stay with me.” Her lips begin to move and he again tells her not to try to talk, but she is insistent. Leaning down, he turns his head, positioning his ear above her lips.

  “I will never leave you, . . . my . . . love,” she whispers before slipping into unconsciousness.

  A soft sob escapes his throat, and he continually fights the desperate longing to pull her battered body into his arms. Every part of him wants to die, his fear of losing her is so unbearable.

  Hearing soft sobs, he turns to Mali, suddenly remembering she is there. He takes in her grief stricken face and pulls her down to him.

  Mali buries her face in his wet shirt, crying bitterly. “I’m sorry, Uncle Adagio. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  Moving back a little, he presses a hand to her face. “Listen to me, Mali. This was not your fault. Please believe me, it was no one’s fault.” As Paul's face enters his mind, he swallows against the renewed anger burning his insides. Closing his eyes tightly, he tries to rid himself of these feelings, knowing there is no good in them. Holding Mali close again, he gazes tearfully over her shoulder at his wife’s face, willing the paramedics to come soon. Then he remembers the children.

  “Mali, I need you to go back to the house and tell Phillip to call Anna. Will you do that for me?”

  Mali nods. She wipes her eyes and stands. He reaches for her hand once more. “It is not your fault. You must believe that.”

  Nodding solemnly, she looks down at Cisely once more. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again before starting back to the house.

  Adagio again leans over his wife and places a gentle hand on her face. “Oh, God,” he pleads, “please help them to get here soon.” He wipes his face. “I cannot live without her, God. I can’t.”

  Ninety-one

  Siting in a chair by the hospital bed, Adagio watches the first rays of morning sun seep into the room. The soft light casts an illuminating glow on Cisely’s face. He has been in the same position all through the night. He hasn’t slept at all, having spent the entire night gazing at his wife’s face and holding her hand. Even with the bruises, he’s still never seen a more beautiful face. And after talking with Peter earlier and hearing the extent of her injuries, it is a miracle she is still alive.

  Rubbing his tired eyes, he squeezes them shut as he mentally goes
over the prognosis he’d been given. Cisely has two cracked ribs, a broken leg, a broken wrist, and a severe concussion. Peter told him that because she hasn’t regained consciousness, it is very possible for her to slip into a coma. He also said there is a chance she may never wake up. This thought brings him unbearable pain.

  Moving closer to the head of the bed, he rests his head next to hers as his tears wet the pillow. “I love you so much, baby,” he says softly. “Please come back to me. I need you more than you could ever know, more than words could ever express. I couldn't bear it if I lost you. You are my whole life, and if I lost you, I would die, too. I know I would.”

  He presses a hand to her face, caressing it softly. “I need you to come back to me, amore. Our children need you. They need their mother. I need my wife. I need the love you give to me, the joy you bring to my life every day.”

  As he tenderly traces the outline of her lips with his finger, then softly touches the bandaged spot on her forehead, his thoughts travel to two nights ago when they stood together on the back lawn. He remembers the passion that had burned between them. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Intimacy between them has always been amazing, but that night it had been something else entirely. Holding her, touching her, kissing her was . . . it was as if they became one person. Her heartbeat became his, their emotions moving through each other. English abandoning him, his thoughts had all been in Italian, his whispered words against her skin producing shivers as she burned beneath his touch. It was a beautiful and terrible need that stole all breath from them both. And as he held her warm body in his arms afterward, he had drifted to sleep with tears clogging his throat, wishing they could stay wrapped up in one another forever, never leaving the haven of love encircling them.

  Drawing his thoughts forward, he ponders the feeling he experienced earlier yesterday. Was God trying to prepare him to lose her? He prays this isn't the case because he would be lost without her.

  “We still have so many years left, angel,” he continues. “So many years to live and love on this earth. We need to grow old together, to watch each other's hair turn white and watch our children raise their children.” He sobs softly. “I can't do any of those things without you. I have to have you here with me. I know you will always be mine even in death, but . . . I need you here with me now.” Sighing, he swallows hard. “You are my everything, baby.” Raising up, he presses a gentle kiss to her lips, grateful they are still warm.