Page 16 of Loss and Damages
I while away the afternoon, walking up and down the cracked sidewalk, finding a meagre amount of enjoyment free of the confines of my office. I could do a lot with this side of the river, and on my phone, I email my PA and ask her to find out who owns what, put it in a report, and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. A ferry could be available to people who want to go across and sample the stores, boutiques, cafés, and restaurants. The river between the properties wouldn’t be a barrier except for the two or three months in the wintertime when no one would venture into the sub-zero temperatures.
It would be a multimillion-dollar project, but as I told Mayor Wilkins, he needs to look beyond the 1100 block and what we could do for St. Charlotte as a whole.
Shortsighted. That’s what they are. Wilkins and Pitts both.
Can’t see the forest because they’re too busy looking at one tree.
Duncan is waiting patiently, leaning against the car smoking, his legs crossed at the ankles staring into the distance, and I tell him I want to go to my parents’ penthouse. Dad will still be at work, but my mother will be there.
We’re ahead of rush hour traffic, and in less than half an hour he parks in front of the building. He pops the trunk and retrieves the box Jemma packed the tea set in, and a faint hint of honey and vanilla wafting from the cardboard catches my nose. I’m transported to her shop, standing near her as she bubble-wrapped each piece.
“The rest of the night is yours.” Holding the box, I step toward the building. “I’ll find my own way home.”
He nods and doesn’t say a word, not tempting fate I’ll change my mind, but I’ll spend the night at Leo’s again and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I liked the peace and quiet the anonymity afforded me, and I don’t want to lose it because I can’t lower myself to hail a cab.
The doorman tips his hat and opens the sparkling glass door. “Mr. Milano.”
I nod in return and walk through the gleaming lobby. This building is exactly what I want to build on the 1100 block. Luxury all the way. No expense spared.
Not a single thing that can’t be bought.
Except happiness.
As Raphael Milano’s wife, my mother is the richest woman in the United States, but she’s lying alone in her dark bedroom, crying, because her son is gone and there’s no amount of money on this earth that can bring him back.
“Nonna,”I greet my grandmother, setting the box on the kitchen table. Half my mother’s family is in our kitchen, and the scent of garlic and cheese turns my stomach. There’s always enough food to feed an army, it doesn’t matter if no one feels like eating it. “How’s Mama?”
“You go see for yourself, Dom,” she says, kissing both my cheeks. I have to lean down to give her access to my face...she’d slap the hell out of me if I didn’t. She loves me and has tried to supply what my parents don’t give me.Nonnaknows how my mother and father treat me, and she looks the other way in the name of family while trying to do right by me.
“I will.”
“What’s this?”
“I bought Mama a gift from...” If I say Jemma was Leo’s girlfriend,Nonnais going to want to meet her. Jemma would be less than pleased, I suspect, to meet a family Leo kept fromher out of shame and a need to distance himself. “...a gallery outside the city,” I finish.
Nonnaeyes me like a starving hawk scoping out a mouse. Nothing escapes her attention. Nothing.
I was disappointed when Jemma said she wasn’t pregnant. Disappointed there wasn’t a piece of Leo still left on this earth, but now with the wayNonna’s watching me, I’m glad. Jemma would have been a prisoner of the Milano family.
A prison made out of love, but a prison nonetheless.
She nods once, sharply, but she’s not going to let this go. I don’t visit little art galleries in the middle of nowhere and I don’t buy anything in them. If I let her stuff me before I leave, maybe she’ll forget. I’ll hide the box. Out of sight, hopefully, is out of mind.
Upstairs, the bedroom is pitch black and my eyes need a moment to adjust and find the lump that is my mother lying in bed. “Mama,” I say, pushing the door open wider and letting in the hallway light.
The lump quivers at the sound of my voice, but she doesn’t turn to me. My mother, she wasn’t actively cruel, not like some mothers who prefer one child over the other. She was indifferent, acting as if I didn’t exist, and as the years went on and her eyes looked through me, I convinced myself it was a kindness. The only kindness my mother could spare me.
Mother devoted herself to Leo once he was born and that affection never extended to me in any way. I never wanted for anything—the housekeeper and nannies were tasked with that. It was the line my mother drew in the sand. Leo was hers, and I belonged to my father. It’s a line that hasn’t been crossed in thirty-nine years.
I sit on the edge of the bed and place my hand on her shoulder. “Mama.”
“What are you doing here, Dominic?” she asks, her voice raw and raspy.
“I wanted to see how you are.”
“Leave me be.”
I smooth the hair away from her face. She’s still beautiful, and I’ve always been proud of her, proud to say she’s my mother. I wish I would have been enough like Leo was.
