Page 132 of Powerful Deception

“Ari,” I start, using the nickname I said I would never use, “Ari, is just taking a short break. She misses her papi, like you miss your mami.”

Alessandra looks at me, her mouth opening slightly like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

“Ari,” she lets out, her mouth moving a bit more trying to find the right sounds. “Back?”

Two words.

She spoke two new words today.

Today of all days.

“Do you want Ari to come back?” I ask her, giving her a small smile, trying to contain my emotions.

Another nod from Alessandra, this time an eager one, and I don’t care that she didn’t say any words this time around. She said two and that is progress. Amazing progress.

“Then Ari is going to come back. We just need to give her time, do you think we can handle that?”

She looks at me for a long minute, as if she is trying to make sense of my words, but eventually she gives me another nod and a smile.

“Go to sleep, okay?” I tell her, patting her little body until her eyes are closed.

She noticed that Arianna wasn’t here and of course she did. Arianna has been a constant in this little girl’s life for almost six months. She spent time with her every day, she talked to her, she was involved in her school activities. Arianna has become a major part of Alessandra and Angel’s world.

Of course they would notice that she wasn’t here.

As I listen to my children fall into a deep sleep, I make the decision to go find Arianna and talk to her.

Talk to her about everything and make her come back.

For the kids.

And selfishly, for me.

38

One year.

One year ago today, I saw my wife alive for the very last time.

If I had known that was going to be the last time I was going to kiss her in the morning, I would have savored it a bit more.

It’s only been one year, but it feels like its been ten and the same time feels like it’s only been days.

I place the flowers, white roses since they were her favorite, in the little flowerpot in front of her grave. I try to arrange the bouquet as best I can but all the roses just seem to flop in their own directions.

“I should have brought a bigger bouquet.” I say, to myself, to the gravestone, to nobody in particular.

Giving up, I let the flowers be and plop down on the ground, not caring about the mud on the floor.

“I saw people on the hill below with some chairs and blankets. Maybe next time I come and visit, I will do that.” I say, this time directly to the gravestone.

“Maybe next time I’ll also bring the kids. They should know where they can come to visit you. Or maybe I should wait until they’re a little older and they can comprehend what’s going on.”

I nod as if she can really hear what I’m saying and would be agreeing with me.

Is this what people do? They come to visit their loved ones' graves and talk to them as if it were normal.

Maybe if this wasn’t the first time I’ve come here since the funeral, I would know if this is what’s done.

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