Chapter 10 - Anthony Had Used Marco Before Marco Could Understand It
Anthony came to my house without calling.
Old men with money mistake access for permission just as easily as young ones do.
I met him at the door.
He looked smaller.
Still expensive.
Still composed.
“I want Lydia's letter.”
“No.”
“It was in her estate.”
“It is addressed to me.”
“It concerns my family.”
“It concerns mine too.”
Camilla appeared behind me.
Anthony looked at her.
“You shouldn't be in the middle of this.”
She almost laughed.
“I am the middle of this.”
He glanced past her.
“Marco here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Camilla folded her arms.
“Why?”
Anthony ignored the question.
“I shouldn't have told you what I told you on the phone.”
“Which part?”
His jaw tightened.
“About the porch.”
“Because it wasn't true?”
“Because Marco doesn't need it.”
“He already knows.”
Anthony's face changed.
“You told him?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Not mine to stop.”
Anthony stepped inside without waiting for invitation.
Old habits.
I almost blocked him.
Then chose not to turn the doorway into a contest.
He stopped in the living room where the broken vase had been removed.
A pale mark remained on the hardwood where the base had sat for years.
Anthony noticed.
“That was Lydia's gift.”
I looked at him.
“The vase?”
“She bought it for Elena after Camilla was born.”
Camilla stared at the empty spot.
None of us had known.
Anthony sat.
“Lydia loved beautiful things she couldn't afford.”
The line was almost tender.
Camilla asked:
“Did you love her?”
Anthony looked offended.
“Of course.”
“That doesn't answer anything either, does it?”
He stared.
She continued.
“When you took Marco to her sister's house, did Lydia know you were bringing him?”
“No.”
“Did Marco?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Anthony rubbed his hands together.
“Because she had lost perspective.”
Camilla's mouth tightened.
“She left you.”
“For three days.”
“So?”
“She wasn't answering.”
“You knew where she was.”
“Yes.”
“So she was safe.”
“She was my wife.”
There it was again.
Camilla looked at me.
Twenty-three years ago I would have nodded.
Anthony said:
“Marco needed his mother.”
Camilla answered:
“Then you could have told him the truth.”
“He was twelve.”
“You told him she was sick.”
“Yes.”
“Then put him on her porch.”
Anthony looked away.
Camilla continued.
“Did you tell him what to say?”
“No.”
That answer was too fast.
Anthony sighed.
“I told him his mother was upset and needed to remember we were waiting.”
Camilla went still.
“You gave a twelve-year-old a job.”
“I gave a boy his mother back.”
“No.”
Marco's voice came from behind us.
Every head turned.
He stood in the open doorway.
I had not heard him enter.
Anthony's face changed.
“Marco.”
Marco walked into the room.
He did not look at Camilla first.
He looked at his father.
“What did you tell me before I rang the bell?”
Anthony stood.
“This isn't useful.”
“What did you tell me?”
“Marco.”
“Say it.”
Anthony's jaw tightened.
“You were crying.”
“What did you tell me?”
Camilla stayed completely still.
Anthony finally said:
“I told you your mother needed to see what leaving was doing to you.”
Marco closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they were wet.
“I thought I came up with that.”
Anthony frowned.
“What?”
“I remember what I said.”
Nobody moved.
Marco's voice dropped.
“‘Mom, if you stay here, does that mean you don't want me?’”
Anthony looked away.
Marco stared at him.
“You gave me that sentence.”
“I helped a frightened boy express himself.”
“No.”
Marco's voice broke.
“You gave me a knife and told me it was a question.”
Anthony flinched.
For the first time.
Marco turned away.
Camilla took one step toward him.
Stopped herself.
He noticed.
Anthony said:
“Your mother made her own choice.”
Marco turned back.
“Then why couldn't you let her make it before you brought me there?”
Anthony had no answer.
Marco laughed once.
“You spent my whole life telling me Mom came home because family mattered more than feelings.”
“She loved you.”
“I know.”
“Then what is wrong with what I did?”
Marco stared.
“Nothing, if you're twelve.”
The line landed.
Anthony's face hardened.
Marco continued.
“You were forty-one.”
Silence.
Then Anthony looked at me.
“You think you're better?”
“No.”
That stopped him.
“I gave you Harbor House.”
“Yes.”
“You helped me.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're going to stand there like—”
“I was wrong.”
He stared.
The words annoyed him more than any defense would have.
Because if I could admit it, his old alliance disappeared.
Anthony looked from me to Marco.
Then toward Camilla.
“You're all going to destroy marriages because Elena wrote an angry letter twenty-three years ago.”
Camilla shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at Marco.
“Our marriage has its own evidence.”
Anthony left ten minutes later.
No one stopped him.
Marco remained near the window.
Finally he said:
“I used to tell myself Mom came back because she loved us enough.”
Camilla answered:
“She may have.”
He looked at her.
“Then why does this feel different?”
“Because now you know nobody let her choose in peace.”
Marco stared at the driveway where his father had disappeared.
Then whispered:
“I don't know what staying means anymore.”
May you like
Camilla looked at him.
“Maybe that's a better place to start than deciding it always means love.”
