Beautiful Things Never Last (16 page)

             
Amalea shakes her head and looks so much more than ashamed.

             
“I was married. I was having an affair
with
Davide. My husband was
also
a good man. He gave me this home. He worked hard. But I loved Davide from the first day I saw him.”
She re-ties the belt on her floral print dress, cinching the waist tightly.
“My friend, the American, Carol? After I started seeing Davide, Carol began teaching me English so that she and I could communicate about it without Enzo understanding. It was callous and cruel. But I was stupid. And selfish. And so in love with Davide. I couldn’t see anything outside of him.”

             
“
But
your husband
, Enzo, he
found out?”

             
Amalea shakes her head and stares down at her hands. “He never found out. I was supposed to be home when he came home from work. I was, every other night. We ate dinner at the same hour every single night. But I wasn’t. I had left the shop early to take siesta at Davide’s.”

             
I’m not entirely certain where this is going, but I know it’s not going to go well based on the low, sullen tone of Amalea’s voice. I reach over for the bottle of grappa and refill both of our glasses. Amalea grasps hers, but doesn’t drink it.

             
“My husband,
Enzo, he was worried because I wasn’t here. He went to check the shop, and I wasn’t there either. I’d fallen asleep at Davide’s, after we…”

             
I
take the opportunity to gulp my glass of jet fuel, this time, knowing well enough to have the bite of parmesan ready to dull the flame.

             
I clear my throat. “I get the point.”

             
“I woke up at Davide’s house and it was dark, I knew Enzo would be out looking for me. By the time I got home, the
Polizia
were already here.”

             
“Fuck,” I say. The word slips out,
while
imaging Amalea running in the
front
door after her tryst with another man to find the cops
in
her home.  “
Mi scusi
.” I apologize.

             
Amalea nods. “Enzo was hit by a car and passed on.”

             
“So, you broke it off with Davide…because of what happened with Enzo.”

             
“The guilt, how could I ever look at Davide again, knowing that it was my fault?”

             
“But it wasn’t,” I say. “I
t wasn’t either one of your faults. I
mean, you didn’
t set out to hurt anyone.”

             
“No, but unintentional hurt doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

             
“So, what, you’re going to spend the rest of your life holed up in here, eating all of this food and working at your little store…actually that doesn’t sound half bad.” I laugh and it makes Amalea laugh and it almost disguises the tiny tears in the corners of her eyes.

             
She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “You’re a good girl, Quinn. I’m glad you came.”

             
“I am, too.” She may be the first person to ever tell me that. “When was the last time you saw Davide?”

             
Amalea looks up at the ceiling, like she’s calculating. “I’ve seen him around town, at the market, the train station…but I haven’t seen him this close in…five years.”

             
“Five years?” I think about how I’m missing Ben and I’ve only been away from him for a few weeks. I can’t imagine how my heart would ache being away from him for years. Or worse, as close as Amalea and Davide are, but not being able to communicate. “Amalea, you need to fix this! Five years?”

             
“There’s nothing left to fix. What was between Davide and I is broken. Gone.”

             
“It’s not. Trust me. I’ve been there—”

             
“Quinn, you’re lovely, but you’re just a girl, this is beyond your ability to relate.”

             
“I don’t think so.” And so I tell her. I tell her how I met Ben that summer, how I fell so insanely, ridiculously hard for him, but it scared the shit out of me. I tell her all the ways I tried to push him away because the words I love you scared me more than any monster ever could. I avoided looking her in the eye when I told her I got angry with Ben for not sticking up to his parents when they invited Caroline to stay with them while she looked at colleges. And how I took that anger, and went over to Mark’s house and let him strip me down and slept with him on his sofa, intent on getting back at Ben—or just feeling anything other than the searing hurt.

             
And I told her how Ben tried so hard to forgive me, but I wouldn’t let him. Because hanging on to my guilt was the punishment I’d given myself. And back then, I would have rather be miserable than happy. But Ben eventually proved to me that love could withstand the fuck-ups, if you tried hard enough.

             
“I know it’s not the same situation, but
trust me, nothing is ever too broken if you love him. And by the way he looked at you, I’m positive he still has those feelings for you, Amalea.”

             
She pulls me in tightly, smothering me with her own sobs and tears and for once, I’m the one comforting someone else, rather than the one needing to be consoled.

Eleven

BEN

It feels strange to be back in Atlanta, especially with Caroline in the passenger seat of the car—Dad’s
sensible sedan.

             
Caroline fidgets in the seat, twisting her hair, tapping her foot. I don’t know if I’m making her uncomfortable, or if it’s whatever is going on
in
her life that forced her to move to a different state that’s working her nerves.

             
“You alright over there?” I ask.

             
“Yep,” is all that Caroline replies.

             
I haven’t pressed for any more information about what’s going on with her.
Yet.
I keep trying to say something to her, to ask why she’s suddenly living in my
parents’
basement, but I feel like I’d be overstepping. She is the one who tracked me down, calling in the middle of the night, though, so she must
want
to talk about it, right?

             
“Good. So, where to?”

             
She lets out a small sigh, “I don’t really know. I don’t know where anything is around here. But I need to get my mom and dad a Christmas gift. It’ll be late, but I need to send them something, you know? And maybe
we could get
some lunch?
Your mom keeps trying to cook for me, but I don’t want her to have to do that. And honestly, I’m kind of scared to touch anything in the kitchen. It’s all so…perfect.
”

             
“Sure,” I say. “And trust me, I know what you mean.” I visualize the drawer dividers in my mom’s kitchen. Perfectly spaced. Color coordinated. And don’t you dare put a plastic spatula in with the wooden ones. Poor Caroline is in for a treat living with my parents. They’ve always liked her, and she gets along with them, but
living
with them? That’s a different story entirely.
             
“How about we hit the mall, then we’ll grab something to eat on that end of town?” I ask.

             
I start to steer the car toward the mall, but instead,
at the last second, decide to
go the opposite direction.

             
It finally dawns on me that Carter and Shayna are here, in Atlanta, too. They left only a few hours before me. It’s not a crime for me to be here, but I sure as shit don’t want them to see me here with Caroline before I have the chance to tell Quinn what’s going on. “Hey,
tell you what. The mall is going to be madness today, but
there’s this really cool strip of shops on the other end of the city, you game?”

             
C
aroline shru
gs, very non-committal. “Whatever is fine.”
And I’m sort of wondering why I hopped my ass on the first plane out town when she’s acting the way that she is. But there’s got to be more to it than she’s letting on. I just have to give her a chance to tell me.

             
She tangles her fingers together, pulls them apart,
and pats
her knees
—
anything but just remaining still. I reach over and cover her hands wi
th mine to calm her movements. It instantly does the trick, I feel her hands stop and her
body relaxes
. As if a switch has been flipped. And I’d be lying if I said that knowing that I did that for her didn’t feel damn good.

             
“It’s good to see you, Linney,” I say.

             
I really look at her for the first time si
nce I go
t
here.
She looks the same as always. She’s going to be one of those women that age really well, just like her mom. B
ut
her eyes look different. Worried. Uneasy. Maybe a little broken.

             
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask. “I mean, you moved in with my parents of all people, it had to be pretty serious.” It’s my lame attempt at a joke that neither one of us bothers to laugh at.

             
“Your parents aren’t bad, Ben.”

             
“Yeah, well, neither are yours,” I say
. “So why leave them?”

             
“Your mom was so happy to see you,” she says.

             
“Stellar job changing the subject, Linney.”
I wink at her.
I don’t press, though, because Linney has never had a problem talking to me
so
I know she will when she’s ready.
And I’ll be here when she is.