Chapter 13 - Marco Without His Father’s Story
Anthony had a heart scare six weeks after the vase broke.
Not a heart attack.
A hospital visit.
Two nights of observation.
Marco went.
Camilla did not.
She asked me if that made her cruel.
I told her I wasn't qualified to grade attendance.
She went the next morning.
Not for Anthony.
For Marco.
I stayed away.
Two days later Marco asked to see me.
Alone.
We met at my club.
He hated that.
Good.
I wanted one familiar advantage.
Then I remembered that was part of the problem and chose a diner instead.
Marco arrived first.
Coffee untouched.
“I talked to Dad.”
I sat.
“About Lydia?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Too much.”
I waited.
Marco looked tired.
“He admitted Mom asked him for a separate bank account.”
I nodded.
“He told her no.”
“I assumed.”
“He said married people don't need private money.”
That sounded like Anthony.
Marco stared at the coffee.
“I said something almost identical to Camilla three years ago.”
I didn't respond.
He continued.
“She wanted one account that was hers.”
“What did you say?”
“That separate money creates separate lives.”
He laughed without humor.
“I thought that was romantic.”
“Did she get the account?”
“Yes.”
“Because you agreed?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“She opened it.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
He thought.
“Actually, I sulked for a week.”
Closer to truth.
Marco continued.
“Dad keeps saying Mom loved him.”
“She probably did.”
“He keeps saying that like it settles everything.”
“It doesn't.”
Marco looked at me.
“He asked me why I'm letting Camilla live alone.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“What did you say?”
“That I'm not letting her.”
I looked at him.
He gave a small, exhausted smile.
“First time I've heard myself say it.”
That mattered more than a polished apology.
He continued.
“Dad said if I don't bring her home now, she'll get used to being without me.”
I almost laughed.
Anthony understood control as timing.
Get there before autonomy becomes comfortable.
Marco said:
“I thought about going to her apartment.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn't invite me.”
Simple.
Good.
He looked toward the window.
“Do you think she'll come back?”
Old me would have answered.
Protected my daughter by warning him off.
Protected him by offering hope.
Protected myself by controlling the room.
“I don't know.”
Marco nodded.
“I hate that answer.”
“So do I.”
He almost smiled.
Then his face changed.
“I found something else at Mom's storage unit.”
I stiffened.
No more letters.
He saw it.
“Not a document.”
“Good.”
“A suitcase.”
I frowned.
“Okay.”
“Her old green one.”
Nothing about that meant anything to me.
Marco continued.
“I remember it.”
His voice changed.
“When I was twelve.”
The second time Lydia left.
“She took it to my aunt's.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It was still packed.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Not clothes.”
He shook his head.
“Small things. Photos. A book. My kindergarten drawing.”
He swallowed.
“I don't know if she repacked it later. I don't know if she kept it that way for twenty years. But it was under everything.”
I stayed quiet.
Marco looked at me.
“I always thought she came home and that was the end.”
“No marriage has an end in the middle.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“I don't know what she wanted.”
“No.”
“I hate that I can't ask her.”
That one I understood.
We sat.
Eventually Marco said:
“I thought staying meant certainty.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe it meant she stayed.”
He frowned.
I continued.
“Don't force it to prove more than that.”
He nodded slowly.
When we left, he said:
“I’m meeting Camilla tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“You don't want to know where?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“Progress.”
“Don't use that word around me.”
He laughed.
Then his face became serious.
“I’m not asking you to help me get her back.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking something else.”
“What?”
“If she doesn't come back, don't let her think I stopped loving her because I stopped chasing.”
I stared at him.
Then shook my head.
“No.”
His expression fell.
I continued.
“You tell her what your restraint means.”
May you like
He understood.
For once, he didn't ask a father to carry a message into his daughter's marriage.
