Page 107 of Then Come Lies

Sofia shook her head and sat up. “No, I mean our house. I missZioand Nonna and my aunties and even those hooligan cousins.”

I blinked, holding back a smile. For one of the first times, Sofia was able to pronounce “hooligan” without any impediment around thel. Sometime over the summer, my little girl had grown up a little bit more.

I couldn’t help feeling like I’d missed it.

“I know, baby,” I told her honestly. “I miss home, too.”

“When are we going back?”

I shrugged, wanting to be able to give her something definite, despite the fact that a four-year-old wouldn’t really understand the difference between one week and ten, and that dates might as well have been a foreign language.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said. “But we’ll have to figure something out before school starts.”

Sofia nodded as if that sufficed. “I want to show Zio my drawings of the big Ferris wheel,” she said, and then continued to babble about the other drawings and knick-knacks from the summer she wanted to bring back with her.

I avoided the truth—that I honestly wasn’t sure if we had a home to go back to. My baby girl didn’t know yet that her beloved uncle was leaving and that we might have to leave that house too, even if it was to go back to the Bronx to live with Nonna. Granted, I didn’t think Matthew would pull the rug out from under us right away, but he did say he was leaving in September. Which meant we needed to get home sooner rather than later to figure out these answers. Whatever they might be.

As I stared out the window toward the still-foreign land around me, I couldn’t help feeling like we were traveling in the wrong direction.

* * *

We arrivedin Kendal just past two, and Sofia was swept off immediately to the nursery for a snack. I dropped the things I’d brought to Parkvale in the bedroom I’d been assigned last time, then crept down the corridor where Xavier’s office doors stood open. I peeked inside and found him hunched over another mess of papers, shoulders hunched, hair falling forward from his brow. He looked exhausted. And very sad.

“Um, hi,” I ventured quietly.

Xavier started, then stood when he saw me. He had changed out of his rugby clothes into more comfortable jeans and a T-shirt. But he hadn’t shaved or even brushed a comb through his hair, which made me wonder if he’d even eaten or slept at all. He moved like he wanted to come to me, but then stopped himself and remained behind the desk.

“Hi,” he said softly. Then, with a shy smile, “I’m glad you’ve come.”

I nodded. “Of-of course.” I wanted to add so much more. Things like “I’m here for you” or “I need you” or “We’re a family, right?”

But I couldn’t. Not when I didn’t know if he felt those things too. Not if I didn’t know for sure if they were true.

“How is he?” I ventured as I slid into the office, though I kept one of the leather club chairs and the desk between us. “Your uncle.”

I assumed Henry was still with the living—if anything, because there wasn’t that veil of mourning I distinctly remembered from whenNonnodied. That kind of sadness touches everything.

“He’s…” Xavier sighed. “Still with us. But I’m told it won’t be long. A hospice nurse arrived this morning.”

I frowned. “So there’s no possibility of any recovery?”

Xavier shook his head. “No. The stroke was too severe. Too much damage to his brain, they say. He’s not brain dead yet, but it’s advancing. And when he is, they’ll remove the ventilator, and that will be that. He had an advance decision written up years ago. It was very clear about a case like this.”

I swallowed. “I’m—I’m so sorry, Xavi.”

Those big shoulders gave a heavy shrug. I’m sure he’d been hearing that all day.

“Could I…would it be all right if I sat with him a bit?” I wondered. “Only if no one else is there, of course. I don’t want to impose on your time with him.”

I rememberedNonnoin the end. As uncomfortable as it had made me, just a kid at eleven or so, I could see the joy that flickered in his eyes when his grandchildren visited him. Often, the old and frail receive the least amount of love in this world. I didn’t know Henry Parker. But he deserved what little compassion I could offer in his final days.

Xavier looked up in clear surprise, warmth flickering in those blues. It was my favorite expression of his, but possibly his saddest. It told me exactly how infrequently he had encountered true kindness.

“Of course. He liked—likesyou,” he corrected himself quickly. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

“No, it’s all right,” I said. “You’re busy. And I remember where it is.”

Xavier looked wounded, like he wasn’t sure what to make of that response. To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of any of this. After last night, everything was up in the air. We’d shouted at each other for an hour, and I’d genuinely thought we were through, only for him to break down in my lap until he finally got up the nerve to call for a car to take us to Parkvale. From there, things had gone quickly—him to a helicopter, me to bed.

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