Chapter 5 - The Story Anthony Told His Son
We did not open the envelope that morning.
Camilla wasn't ready.
I did not decide she should be.
That alone would have amazed Elena.
Instead, at ten thirty, Camilla called Anthony Russo.
Marco's father answered on the third ring.
His voice was older than I remembered.
Still commanding.
“Camilla.”
“You have me saved?”
“Of course.”
She put him on speaker.
I sat across the room.
Not beside her.
“You told Marco my mother broke up your marriage.”
Silence.
Then:
“Marco shouldn't have involved you in old business.”
“You involved him when you told him.”
Anthony sighed.
“Elena was a complicated woman.”
Camilla looked at me.
I shook my head.
Not disagreement.
Warning.
That sentence usually preceded a version.
She asked:
“Did Lydia ask my mother for help leaving you?”
Anthony went quiet.
“Who told you that?”
“Answer.”
He laughed softly.
“You've got your father's temperament.”
Camilla did not take the bait.
“Did she?”
“Your mother filled her head with nonsense.”
“What nonsense?”
“That my marriage was controlling.”
“Was it?”
A pause.
“Every marriage has structure.”
Camilla's eyes changed.
I knew that phrase.
Not from Anthony.
From myself.
Twenty years earlier.
“Did you monitor Lydia's bank account?”
“We were married.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I managed the money.”
“Did she have an account you couldn't access?”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Did she?”
“No.”
Camilla closed her eyes briefly.
“What happened at Harbor House?”
Anthony's voice hardened.
“Elena hid my wife.”
“Did Lydia ask to be hidden?”
“Elena manipulated her.”
“Did Lydia ask?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Camilla looked at me.
Anthony continued quickly.
“She was upset. We had argued. She wasn't thinking straight.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“I knew my wife.”
Marco's favorite sentence, wearing his father's voice.
Camilla asked:
“How did you find her?”
Anthony did not answer.
“I already know Dad told you.”
He laughed.
“So Domenico finally grew a conscience.”
I stayed silent.
Camilla said:
“What happened when you got there?”
“She wouldn't open the door.”
The room around us seemed to tighten.
“What did you do?”
“I waited.”
“How long?”
“A while.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten to take Marco?”
Silence.
Anthony said:
“I reminded her she was a mother.”
Camilla looked down.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she had a son at home who needed her.”
“Did you bring Marco?”
“No.”
“Did you call him?”
Anthony didn't answer.
Camilla's voice dropped.
“Did you put an eleven-year-old on the phone with his mother while she was trying to leave you?”
“I let my son talk to his mother.”
There are sentences people use when they want the act to sound cleaner than the intent.
Camilla heard it too.
“What did Marco say?”
“I don't remember.”
I did not believe him.
Camilla changed direction.
“Marco says Lydia left again when he was twelve.”
Anthony went quiet.
Then:
“She had an episode.”
“What episode?”
“An emotional one.”
“Where did she go?”
“Her sister's.”
“For how long?”
“Three days.”
“Did Marco know?”
“No.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That she was sick.”
Camilla covered her mouth.
Marco's borrowed phrase.
Anthony continued:
“He was a child. He did not need adult problems.”
“Did Lydia come home because she wanted to?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
“She came home.”
“That wasn't the question.”
Anthony's breathing became audible through the speaker.
Then he said:
“Your generation thinks every difficult marriage is imprisonment.”
Camilla's shoulders lowered.
“Did Mom cause the second time too?”
“No.”
Anthony answered too quickly to edit it.
Camilla noticed.
“So Elena didn't destroy your marriage.”
“I never said she did.”
“That's what Marco believes.”
“Marco believes a lot of things.”
The sentence was cruel in a casual way.
I saw Camilla react.
“So you let him blame my mother.”
“I let a child believe what allowed him to sleep.”
“He's thirty-four.”
Anthony had no answer.
Camilla looked toward the stairs.
The envelope waited above us.
She asked:
“Did Lydia ever tell you why she left the second time?”
Anthony exhaled.
“She didn't like being questioned.”
“About what?”
“Where she went. Who she talked to. Money.”
Camilla closed her eyes.
Marco's current habits, decades earlier.
Not inherited magically.
Modeled.
Normalized.
Anthony said:
“Camilla, listen to me. Marco loves you.”
She looked at the phone.
“I didn't ask.”
“He is not me.”
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
“That part is up to him.”
Anthony softened.
“Your mother came back to your father too.”
I saw Camilla's jaw tighten.
“She did.”
“Families survive ugly periods.”
“Sometimes.”
“She stayed.”
Camilla looked at me.
Then asked the question none of us had asked properly.
“Did Lydia ever tell you she was happy she came back?”
Anthony said nothing.
The silence lasted long enough that the answer no longer mattered.
Then he spoke.
“You want to know what she said?”
“Yes.”
“After the second time?”
“Yes.”
His voice changed.
Less defensive.
Almost irritated by the memory.
“She told me, ‘I came back because Marco was standing on my sister's porch.’”
Camilla went very still.
I sat forward.
Anthony continued before either of us could speak.
“He wanted his mother.”
Camilla whispered:
“How did he get there?”
Anthony didn't answer.
She already knew.
“You took him.”
Another silence.
Anthony hung up.
Camilla remained seated with the phone in her hand.
Finally she whispered:
“Marco thinks his mother chose the marriage.”
I looked toward the dark screen.
“She may have.”
Camilla turned.
“What?”
“I won't turn Anthony's manipulation into another decision for her.”
She stared at me.
I continued.
“She might have loved him. She might have hated him. She might have chosen Marco. She might have been frightened.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“But Marco was twelve years old on his aunt's porch, and nobody told him why.”
May you like
Camilla looked at the phone.
“He spent twenty-two years thinking staying meant love.”
