Chapter 20 - EMILIO TELLS HIS MOTHER THE TRUTH
Six years after the funeral, Emilio asked me to go with him to Helena’s grave.
This time, together.
We drove separately anyway.
Habit.
He carried flowers.
Not lilies.
Helena hated lilies.
Good.
For several minutes he said nothing.
Then:
“I’ve been here a lot.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Groundskeeper talks.”
He looked annoyed.
“I’ll fire him.”
“You don’t employ him.”
“Growth.”
Then he knelt near Helena’s stone.
“I missed your funeral.”
No euphemism.
“I told myself I was saving Aurelia.”
Wind.
Nothing else.
“I told myself Dad would destroy me if I came home without the deal.”
He looked at me.
I did not interrupt.
“I told myself Clarissa’s firm deserved the contract. I told myself I deserved a life outside Serravalle. All those things could be true and I still knew you said stop.”
He touched the stone.
“I knew.”
There.
The core.
Then:
“I thought if the deal closed, everyone would be angry for a while and then admit it worked.”
He laughed weakly.
“Just like you said.”
I asked:
“Like what?”
“Create the fact. Make everyone adapt.”
Yes.
Then he said:
“I’m sorry I made you sound alive when you were dead.”
That was the sentence.
Not:
Sorry I missed funeral.
Not:
Sorry about the deal.
The false email.
Making Helena’s authority continue after Helena was gone because her living no no longer suited him.
Then he stood.
No miracle.
No sign.
Then:
“Dad, did she forgive me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew her.”
“I’m not her.”
He looked frustrated.
Good.
No one gets to use dead people for convenient absolution either.
Then I said:
“I think she would be furious.”
He nodded.
“I think she would still love you.”
He closed his eyes.
That was enough.
Then he asked:
“Do you forgive me?”
Six years.
I thought.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
I continued:
“That doesn’t mean I think what you did was small.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t mean I think the funeral stopped mattering.”
“I know.”
“It means I don’t need your punishment anymore.”
He looked toward Helena’s name.
“Okay.”
Then he hugged me.
First time since before the funeral.
Not long.
No one watching.
Then we left.
On the drive home, my phone rang.
Lucia.
“Where are you two?”
“Cemetery.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“Without me?”
“You live in Boston.”
“That has never stopped this family from summoning people.”
True.
Then she said:
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Normal.
May you like
The grave visit did not reunite us.
Dinner did more.
