Page 52 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter Thirty-Five

Christiano

Elevator: going down.

Grabbing the address for Le Barré off my phone, I turn right and walk there on foot. That boy has me unsettled in my decision because while he was a hothead, that only showed me how much he cares for my Annie. The sword stabbing in my chest when I think of it is almost too much to bear, but the understanding of what it means, is worse.

I look around the street and see a gritty urban sprawl that would drive me to long for the beauty of my country were I to stay here. I could stand it, if I thought there was hope. Even after she and I spoke earlier, when she said she had to let me go, I still had hope. But now things are different. The kind of anger and stubbornness he displayed only comes from love. Young love, yes. Love that doesn’t know how to express itself, yes. But he will learn.

Continuing on, I look back over the years. She is laughing in most of the early memories, but in the ones toward the end, she is distant and rebellious, frustrated and–dare I say–claustrophobic.

Did I do that to her?

I step to the left of a gang of young people, hanging my head trying to remember. I did not mean to do that to her, but when two people are close to fitting it’s hard to see where they do not. If I am fair to myself, where has she let me down? Where has she not been enough for me? What do I need that she is not giving me? The answer comes at once.

She is not giving me a wife to take care of, to have by my side, to grow old with and love.

A sense of urgency slams into me. Sophia. What have I been thinking all this time? Francis was right–I have not seen what was right in front of me, has always been! Ever since I was a child, Sophia has been waiting for me to see it, too. How could I have been so blind?

Le Barré is across the street. I stare at it, thinking of the girl inside who does not want me anymore, and of Sophia; how hurt she must be after what I did to her. Her eyes flashing to me at the market fly into my mind. If I were to apply what I have just said about the boy, to her, then I can be sure of one thing. She still loves me.

There are people smoking in front of Annie’s bar. Stacks of wood are beside where the patio will be. Right now it is just tables half in and half out, pretending to be ready. The name she gave it–Le Barré–for the first time warms my soul, that she would pay homage to my land and our time together there. Before, all I could see was what it took from me, this place, but now pride rushes into my chest. Releasing my hold on her has released my ability to take in what she’s accomplished. Emotions rush in, so proud of her. I cross the street searching to see her through the strangers’ faces. Quickly her strawberry-blonde hair comes into view as she grabs two liquor bottles to turn upside down into a martini shaker, a smile on her young face. Standing outside the patio, ignored by people in the seats, I watch her, visited by an image with hair all chopped and black, thumbing through a ragged translation book, searching for food to eat with Adolfo blowing smoke into her lost face.

I head for her. When she sees me her eyes change to discomfort momentarily. The look in mine washes away the look in hers, and she smiles, wondering what I’m thinking, why I look so different, where my need has gone. She points to an empty chair and I know she will be right with me. I’ve done this a hundred times with her in Benito’s bar. She finishes helping two women who might be more than friends, and walks to me, wiping her hands on a bar towel, her eyes searching mine for answers.

“Hi,” she smiles, cautiously. “You look good.”

“There is no more desperation.”

Her eyebrows rise up and she lays the towel down, her hands lying on the edge of the counter. I smile at the familiar sight.

“Oh? I never saw you as---”

I raise my hand and she stops. “I love this place, Bella.”

She beams at me, her eyes filled with relief and still some confusion. “Really?”

I nod, a knot forming in my throat. “Truly. It is an accomplishment and you should stay and enjoy it, feed it, help it grow to everything you wish for it.”

Her hand flies to her chest. “Oh!”

“I am going back to Italy. This is not my home.”

She frowns and looks down for a second. “Just a few hours ago, you insisted you could change my mind.”

Sitting back on the barstool, I laugh. “Sono stato uno sciocco.”

She gently shakes her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You could never be a fool.” Glancing to her left, she holds up a finger to tell me she’ll be back.

I watch her leave to pour red wine into the glass of an artistic-looking older woman with wild hair and bangle bracelets. Her eyebrows are drawn on with pencil and she cocks one thin line my way like she would enjoy eating me alive. There is a playfulness to her flirtation and so I wave with a small flick of my hand. She jogs her eyebrows up a few times over a saucy grin, and Bella comes back to me, shaking her head, saying on a laugh, “That’s Barb. She just whispered to me that I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

My smile fades; hers, too. “Bella, I want to tell you how much you added to my life.”

She tries to blink away emotion but it clearly will not be shut down. “Oh, please stop. You’re acting like I’ll never see you again.” When I say nothing, she exclaims, “You don’t know that! You can’t just disappear on me. You’re family to me now! What would I do if I thought I could never talk to you?”

I will need to make up to Sophia what I have done, and how I’ve treated her, and she will not want me talking to Bella. “It might be best to not speak for a time,” I answer, solemnly.

“Why?” A thin crease forms on her brow, but she looks away, shaking her head again and this conversation away, with it. “I have to work. You’re staying at least tonight, right. Don’t tell me you were going to run off to some hotel room?”

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