“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
Not if I do first.
16
Renée
Italy ~ Mid-1980s
Renée marveled at the beautiful Italian countryside. On the drive to Vito’s villa, her senses were indulged by the natural riches of her homeland: meadows filled with wildflowers, rolling hills in the distance, the fresh scents of lemon and orange trees, olive groves and grape vineyards. There was a tug of nostalgia as she remembered her parents and the happy life they’d had in their small village. How different her life would have been had they not died. She could easily have become a farmer’s wife, and perhaps Isabella would not have been drawn to life in a convent if they’d stayed in Italy. Only Vito lived out his destiny in their native country, and soon she and her sister would have a glimpse of what could have been for their own lives.
As the minutes ticked by, Renée’s anxiety grew. She worried about seeing Vito after so many years. Though she’d said she would forgive him, it might not be so easy to do when they were face to face. Would deep-rooted resentment overpower that protective sealed-off chamber?
Isabella reached over and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, as if she could sense Renée’s angst. “It will be fine, Renata.”
“How can you be so certain?”
Her sister smiled serenely and subtly raised her eyes. “Because He is with us.”
Oh, how Renée wished she had such faith. But for now, she would have to rely on her sister’s trust in God and hope Isabella’s conviction would be enough to carry them both through this difficult day.
Renée did not let go of Isabella’s hand until they were escorted to a veranda by a woman dressed in a crisp white dress, who she’d assumed was Vito’s nurse. Though exceedingly pleasant, the woman spoke very little, communicating mainly via nods and smiles. She motioned for them to take a seat and went back into the house.
“This is stunning.” Renée stood at the edge of the terrace, which overlooked a beautiful hillside of olive groves. Isabella had told her of Vito’s success in producing and exporting high-quality olive oil.
Moments later the lovely lady who’d greeted them returned, holding Vito’s hand. Renée gasped at the sight of her brother. Except for how thin he was, Vito looked nearly identical to their father before he’d been killed. His hair was still thick with short curls, though now it had turned completely white.
Isabella and Vito greeted one another in their native tongue. Renée had lost so much of her first language, but she understood enough to realize that the woman was Vito’s wife, Martina.
“Renata.” Her brother held open his arms.
Renée remained frozen in place, overcome by a surge of emotions. She covered her face and began to sob with abandon. They let her have her space, though she sensed their hovering presence while all the misery she’d kept carefully locked away was unleashed. Like the opening of Pandora’s box, there would be a penalty to pay. When her catharsis ended, she was in a mild state of hyperventilation, with burning eyes and a headache. And yet she felt lighter, almost airy. Only Vito remained on the terrace with her, watching her with compassionate eyes.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that.” Her voice was raspy. She held in her hands a crumpled handkerchief she didn’t recognize, and was now seated but had no memory of how or when that happened. “How long did my meltdown last?”
“The sun is still high in the sky.” He smiled kindly.
“Quite a first impression I’ve made on your wife.”
“She is happy you are here.” He added, “Because it makes me happy.”
“And your children?”
“Three boys. You will meet them later, at dinner. Martina has a beautiful meal planned.”
Renée took in her brother’s gaunt appearance. “Isabella tells me you’ve been ill.”
“It’s the cancro.” Even in his melodic Italian accent, the word sounded ghastly.
“Are you in treatment?” she asked.
“Experimental. The doctors tell me it’s working.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, Vito.” And she was. It was amazing how comfortable she felt being there with her brother and sister, strangers to her for many years.
“And I’m glad you came. It has been hard, having no word of your life. You just vanished from us.”
“Staying would have destroyed me.”
He nodded his understanding. “Every time you looked at me, you would remember.”
“That’s not it,” she said, though if she were honest, Vito had hit close to the mark. “Look, I don’t want to dredge up that terrible time.” She could not bear a repeat of her earlier breakdown. “I needed to erase that chapter of my life to survive. I never blamed you.” It was true. She had only blamed herself.
“You’ve forgiven me, then?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, fratello mio.”
“Ti ringrazio.” Relief eased the worry lines of her brother’s face, reminding her more of the young Vito who had so often made her laugh. “Now we have both been liberated from our demons.”
Would she ever be totally free? Renée wondered what she had said during her breakdown for Vito to think this.
During the next three days, the siblings reminisced about their youth. Vito gave them a tour of his land and the olive oil pressing plant. They ate breads dipped in that liquid gold and pastas coated thickly with it. There were wonderful cheeses and wines.
Vito’s sons were engaging and talented boys, ages eight, ten, and thirteen. Spending time with them made Renée lonesome for her own family. She found herself phoning home more than she should have, always directing conversation back to what her husband and son were doing while she was away so as to avoid lying more than was necessary.
When the hour of departure arrived, Vito held out a thick brown envelope to Renée. Intuiting it held something she wouldn’t want to see, she resisted, holding her arms firmly at her side.
“You will one day want to read these.” He gently folded her hands around the envelope. “When the time is right, you will know.”
She could not conceive of a time when curiosity would win out over self-preservation, but she swiftly tucked the envelope away in her carry-on bag.
“It might provide you with peace.” Isabella encouraged her on the plane trip back to New York.
“Peace?” Renée was incredulous. “How does one find peace? Believe me, for the past fifteen years, I have tried.”
The sisters remained quiet for several minutes before Renée asked, “Do you know what’s in there?”
Isabella shook her head.
Renée removed the envelope from her tote bag and shoved it onto her sister’s lap. “I give you permission to open it. Read everything. All I ask is that you never tell me anything about it.”
She then ordered a double scotch and followed it with a sleeping pill, neither of which helped her achieve the oblivion she sought. Finally, she gave up and removed the sleep mask. Noticing Isabella’s reading lamp was still lit, Renée turned to ask a question but found her sister wiping dampness from her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” She’d momentarily forgotten what Isabella had been reading.
Her sister returned the envelope and said, “You are not ready to read these, Renata. But Vito is right. One day you will be. And you should. But not yet.”
* * *
Boston ~ Mid-1960s
Renata counted and recounted the days on the calendar. Never had her monthlies been so late.
“Brutto stupido,” she mumbled, slipping into her seldom-used Italian. How could she have been so naïve? She had fallen for Phillip Welles’s charms, believing that he truly cared for her. But now he was at Oxford, and she was carrying his for certain unwanted child. Phillip hadn’t even had the decency to say goodbye. She’d learned secondhand from the cook, the day after he’d left for England.
Renata understood she was alone in this bad situation, made worse by her aunt and uncle�
�s strict Catholicism. They’d have no tolerance for a child born out of wedlock. Neither would her employer. She’d need to find a new place to live and work. And soon. She vowed to never tell anyone, especially Mrs. Welles, that Phillip had gotten her in trouble. Who would believe her anyhow?
But Marjorie Welles was an astute woman, picking up quickly on the early signs of morning sickness.
“I won’t pry into your life, Renata, but does your young man plan to marry you?”
“No, ma’am.” She sniffed, looking down at her feet in shame, fearing her employer might read the truth in her eyes.
“As I thought.” It hadn’t been spoken unkindly, but simply as the unvarnished truth of the matter.
A week later, Mrs. Welles came to Renata’s room and instructed her to pack up her belongings. She burst into tears, thinking she was being sent back to her aunt and uncle’s house from where she’d surely be banished in shame.
“Now, now. It would be unwise for you to stay here. You know how people gossip.” Her employer gazed about the room as if suspecting someone might be peeping in through the curtains. “I presume returning to your family is not a viable option?”
Renata shook her head.
“That’s what I thought.” Mrs. Welles stood and opened a drawer, making a tsking sound at the meager belongings. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with a good friend of mine. Catherine Ferris and I have known each other since grammar school. She’s a physician and will take good care of you during your pregnancy in exchange for you watching after her twins.”
Renata was shell-shocked at how sympathetic the woman was to her predicament. But would Mrs. Welles be treating her so kindly if she knew the whole story?
Despite her fears, Renata could not have predicted how advantageous her new situation with Dr. Catherine Ferris would be, nor could she have imagined how much joy this unexpected child would bring to her life. She stayed on with the Ferris family for five wonderful years, Catherine and her husband becoming more than employers—mentors and friends, taking her under their wing and treating little Antonio as an equal to their own children. It was idyllic.
Until Marjorie Welles showed up for a visit. That was the day everything changed.
* * *
New York ~ Mid-1980s
After the two sisters collected their baggage at JFK airport, Renée asked, “When do you return to Boston?”
“I’m taking the morning train.”
Renée knew the right thing to do would be to invite Isabella to her home, introduce her to her family. But she was too drained from travel and the emotions of the past few days to have another round of introductions.
“They have a room for me at the convent,” Isabella said, sensing her hesitancy. Still, she wasn’t about to let Renée completely off the hook. “You have taken the first step toward healing. Now it’s time for the second.”
“And that would be?”
“Tell your husband about everything. Honesty is the only path to freeing yourself from your burdens.”
“I’ve lived the lie so long, it’s become my truth. The past is the lie now.”
“Does that mean we’ll part again for good today?” Her sister’s sad eyes broke Renée’s heart.
“There are work reasons for me to travel to Boston. We’ll meet again there,” Renée assured her sister.
“I will take what the Lord offers.” Isabella dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve missed you all these many years. The past few days have been a tonic for my soul.”
“And mine. But you must understand, my decision to keep the past separate from the present has nothing to do with you.”
Her sister sighed softly, then suggested, “Do you want me to take the envelope, for safekeeping?”
Renée couldn’t help smiling. “You’re worried I’ll destroy it?”
Isabella lifted her shoulders. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
In truth, it had crossed Renée’s as well. “I promise you, I will not destroy the contents of Vito’s envelope.”
The two sisters shared a cab, stopping first at the convent. They hugged for such a long time, the cabbie rolled down the window and gruffly called out to them, “Hey, the meter’s still runnin’, ya know.”
“Dio vi benedica,” Isabella whispered. [“God be with you.”]
“Anche con te.” [“Also with you.”] Renée kissed her sister on both cheeks. “I’ll visit you soon.”
* * *
When she arrived home, it was to warm hugs and a home-cooked meal.
“We made you spergetti, Mamma. ’Cause you were in Italy, far across the ocean.” She held her son tightly until he squirmed free. “I gotta grate the cheese.”
“It seems my two bachelors managed fine without me.” She barely concealed her hurt feelings.
“Never.” Michael took her into his arms. “You are the gravity to our universe.”
Later, as Renée unpacked her suitcase, she considered tossing Vito’s envelope into the building incinerator in the morning. But she had promised Isabella, and it was probably a mortal sin to betray a nun. Instead, she tucked the envelope into a hidden security compartment in the bottom of her jewelry box.
She’d had a large enough dose of her past. It was time to shift into forward mode again. She was good at focusing on the future; it was how she’d managed these past fifteen years. Michael had called her the gravity in their world, but that wasn’t true. What kept their universe intact was pure momentum. She feared that if she stopped hurtling forward and began to think about the past, that’s when everything would fall apart.
17
Cassandra
Whale Rock Village ~ Present day
I was trying to figure out how I could find out more about that key chain as Laura told me what else she’d learned while working the phones.
“Wellfleet’s a mess. They’ve had so much more damage than Whale Rock,” she said. “I’ll be going tomorrow to interview the displaced and some of the volunteers. The Catholic Church has become a shelter. I spoke with the priest, and he’s hoping a mention in my article will bring attention to how badly their community has been hit.”
“I’ll let the Congregational Church in town know. They’d want to help, and it would be another good destination for those food and care packages they’re assembling.”
“I’m told the road’s washed out and half the town is stranded while other people can’t even get to their cars. Johnny Hotchkiss is ferrying people who need to leave in one of the whale watcher crafts.”
“He’s a peach.” But her mention of Johnny reminded me that I’d never passed along the name of Christopher’s sailing partner to Brooks.
“I’ve got to run to town,” I said. “Need anything?”
“Nope.” Laura patted her laptop. “I’m going to try to get some work done.”
Ten minutes later, I was back in town again for my second visit of the day with Brooks, who was fortunately still at the police station.
“Miss me?” he asked.
“Of course.” I sat down across from his makeshift desk and noticed the bagged evidence that Teddy had brought to Brooks on the bench beside me. “Were these Lucas’s?”
“Helene Kleister identified the shoe as his.”
Not good. Not good at all.
“But she didn’t recognize the sweatshirt.” He raised his eyebrows. “We’ll still submit it for DNA testing to be certain.”
“Can I see you a sec, Boss?” Deputy Lisa Kirkpatrick popped her head in and nodded hello to me.
“Be right back.” He stood and followed her far enough down the hallway that I was unable to make out the conversation.
While waiting, I picked up the evidence bag and fondled the small gray sweatshirt through the plastic. When I set it back down, it slipped off the bench along with a smaller bag. I picked them up and in doing so realized the smaller bag held a key ring. Probably the key ring from the alley, and there was a key attached.
“Thanks, Lisa.”
Brooks’s voice was growing closer, barely allowing me time for a quick snap with my phone camera before tucking the bag underneath the sweatshirt again.
“What a mess.” Brooks sighed deeply as he sat heavily in his chair.
“What’s going on now?” My heart was racing from almost being caught snooping through the evidence.
“I managed to get a judge to help us with a court order to have Nicholas brought back so we can talk with him.”
“A judge allowing you to set up this meeting seems positive, right?”
“Except for the fact that as soon as I presented the Kleisters with the order, I discovered that Helene’s parents have a high-powered law firm in Boston. So now there has to be a hearing about the court order with another judge.”
“Why would the Kleisters do anything to slow down the investigation?”
Brooks blew out another exasperated breath. “I wish I knew, Cassie. Not cooperating does nothing but cast suspicion on them. And like you said, slows down the progress we’ve been making.”
“I did learn why Christopher Savage has taken a leave of absence from his teaching job. His mother died.”
He merely nodded.
“I also found out the information you wanted me to get from Johnny.” I gave him the name of the man who had gone out sailing with Christopher on Johnny Hotchkiss’s Catalina the day before the storm.
“Tyler Stendall. S-T-E-N-D-A-L-L?”
“That’s right. Apparently, Christopher dropped him off in Orleans. It may be the same guy who brought him out to the Cape.”
“Okeydokey,” my exhausted friend said. “I’ll get someone working on it.”
* * *
I had to wonder if Brooks even made it to bed that night, with his call coming in so early the next morning.
“It’s not looking good for Christopher Savage,” Daniel told me as he headed to the shower.
I threw off the sheets and, quickly pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, followed him into the bathroom. “Why? What’s happened now?”
“Do you want to hear the bad, worse, or worst news first?” he called out, to be heard above the shower.
“Does it matter?” I asked, brushing my teeth.
Storm of Secrets Page 11
