(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (22 page)

“Cary!” a high, squeaky voice shouted from the exit. “We’re waiting for you!”

“That’s our cue,” Cary said, relieved to have something to focus on other than the awkward silence. He took the larger of his father’s two bags over John’s protests, and they headed out of the terminal after Massimo.

“I
TOLD
Giovanni that I have two papàs and two mammas,” Massimo was saying a few hours later over a festive dinner of veal and risotto, “and he didn’t believe me.”

Antonio translated, and John laughed. “I’m not really your dad, though, Massi,” Cary pointed out. Cary felt the same relief he had months before, when he had invited his father to come visit. He had worried John might not be accepting of his son’s same-sex partnership, but John had never questioned it.

“He’s really great with Massi,” Antonio told Cary’s father as Roberta ladled soup into their bowls.

“
Vino
, Signor Redding?” Roberta asked John.

“No, thank you, Roberta,” John replied in Italian. Then, switching back to English, he explained, “I’m still feeling a bit tired from the flight. Pellegrino is fine.”

“Of course, signore.” She refilled Antonio’s glass and moved on to Cary’s.

“Your Italian’s pretty good, John,” said Antonio with a tilt of his head.

“Ever since we planned this trip, I’ve been trying to learn a bit. I can probably order at a restaurant, but I’m not ready for real conversation, at least not yet. I’m pretty sure Cary got his ear for languages from his mother—it sort of goes hand in hand with the musical ability.”

“I’m curious, Cary,” Antonio said, “why your mother chose cello for you?”

“I never asked her,” Cary admitted, “although I seem to remember her saying she took me to a music store when I was about three years old so I could look at the instruments. I have this vague memory of being there and thinking it would be fun to learn to play an instrument nearly as big as I was.”

“Janet’s mother played the cello,” John added. “It’s also my understanding that there are fewer children learning cello than violin or some of the brass instruments like trumpet. Less competition. Cary’s mother was a very practical woman.”

Roberta came back into the dining room and began to collect the soup bowls. “The soup was wonderful, Roberta,” John added in heavily accented but passable Italian. She blushed happily as he handed her his bowl, then bustled off to the kitchen again.

The conversation lagged as they waited for Roberta to serve the main course. Antonio, perhaps sensing the difficult situation in which Cary found himself, once more took charge of the conversation. “I hear this is your first visit to Milan. Is there something in particular you’re hoping to see while you’re here?”

“I’d love to head over to the Piazza del Duomo and maybe take a look inside the cathedral. Cary suggested we also visit Castello Sforzesco.”

“I figured we could do lunch in between,” Cary added. “Since John’s in town for at least a few weeks, we don’t need to jam everything in at once. We’ll probably visit the Museo Poldi Pezzoli on Tuesday and Pavia on Wednesday or Thursday, depending on the weather. John also wants to see the Po valley. I told him we could take a day trip to some of the vineyards.”

“I’m taking Massi back to his mother’s tonight,” Antonio told them, “so I could join you for an early dinner tomorrow after I finish up at the office. There’s a nice restaurant on via Manzoni I’d love to take you both to.”

“That would be wonderful,” John said. “If it’s okay with you, Cary.”

“Sure.” Cary was silently relieved he wouldn’t have to spend the entire day trying to make small talk with his father. He guessed Antonio had understood this and resolved to thank Antonio later—he had a pretty good idea of how he might do that, as well.

I
T
WAS
nearly midnight before they said their good-nights, having set John up in the studio with some help from Roberta. On the way back to their bedroom, Antonio stopped and peered into Massimo’s room with Cary behind him. “He likes your father,” Antonio observed as he put his arm around Cary’s shoulder.

“The kid likes everyone,” Cary said with a chuckle. Then, with some hesitation, he added in an undertone, “I have to admit I kind of like him too.”

Antonio smiled as he closed the door. “I was hoping you’d say that. But I know how hard this is for you.”

Inside their own bedroom, Cary pulled Antonio against him and briefly claimed his lips. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Yes, you could have. But I appreciate the thought.”

“Thanks for letting him stay here.”

“You still talk about this place as though it isn’t yours,” Antonio pointed out. “You’re my family, and Massi’s too. This is our home.”

Cary’s sigh was audible. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you feel that way. It’s just that—”

“Shhh, caro,” Antonio interrupted. “Let me make my own decisions about who I want to spend my life with.” He pulled Cary over to the bed and sat him down, then began to massage his shoulders.

“Sometimes I worry you’ll realize what a jerk I am.” Cary was so terrified to speak the words that he spoke them in a whisper. “And you never complain when I’m gone.”

“She was hard on you, wasn’t she? Your mother.”

Antonio’s comment surprised Cary. They had never really spoken about his mother before. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a guess.” Antonio planted a tender kiss on Cary’s cheek.

“Am I really that transparent?” Cary knew exactly what Antonio meant, although it pained him to realize it. He felt raw, vulnerable. He hadn’t realized his father’s visit would reawaken his long-repressed emotions.

“The pain is still here,” Antonio said as he laid his hand against Cary’s chest.

For a moment, Cary said nothing, trying to rein in his now fragile emotions. “She only wanted what was best for me.”

That’s true. But there’s more to it than that, and you know it.

Antonio said nothing, perhaps sensing Cary’s hesitation and allowing him time to gather his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Cary admitted finally. “She was hard on me.”

“She loved you, caro. I’m sure of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” The words tumbled out of his mouth and, with them, the pain of so many years spent trying to please his mother. He had thought he was past this, that he had rid himself of the memories. But now….

Shit, Redding. Get it together.
He could feel the tears well up in his eyes, and he fought them. He didn’t cry, he reminded himself. He took a few deep breaths and tried to think of something else, tools that had served him well in the past. But tonight, try as he might, he could not stop the tears. His eyes burned, and he felt the hot wetness on his cheeks. He turned away from Antonio, not wanting him to see.

“She loved you,” Antonio repeated, gently turning Cary’s head so their eyes met. He swept a large thumb across Cary’s damp cheek to brush the tears away. “She may not have been able to show you, but I’m sure she loved you.”

The tears fell in earnest now, and Antonio drew him closer, cradling his head. Cary cursed himself for having the fourth glass of wine, doing his best to explain away his reaction. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter what had triggered it. Whatever the catalyst, he was powerless to stop his tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Antonio’s powerful chest. “I didn’t want—”

Antonio hushed him, then kissed his head. “Don’t apologize for what’s in your heart.”

Cary nodded, even as his body began to shake and he heard himself moan with grief. And there, in the deepening darkness, he sobbed until Antonio’s shirt was damp and he couldn’t cry any more.

For the first time in his life, he felt really and truly loved.

Chapter 19

T
HE
A
NGEL
O
N
Y
OUR
S
HOULDER

“
G
ET back! Farther back! You got it, Cary!” John shouted as Cary chased the baseball across the nearly empty park. The sun was beginning to set over the treetops, and there was a hint of chill in the air as he kept running past the fountain, the smell of freshly cut grass and the first spring flowers on the breeze.

“I did it! I did it!” Massimo shouted happily. “I hit the ball!”

“Run, Massi, run!” John called to Massimo, who looked confused.

“
Corri
, Massi,
corri
!” Cary translated, still running after the baseball, which rolled down a small hill.

“Oh!
Sì
!” Massimo charged off in the direction of first base, a tree near the walking path.

“Go! Go!” John gestured for Massimo to keep running.

“That’s it, Massi!” Cary crested the hill, ball in hand, waiting until home plate was within reach. “Here, John!” He threw the ball to his father, who caught it in the leather glove Cary had loaned him.

John Redding trotted off in the direction of the park bench but gave Massimo enough time to tag home plate. Laughing and panting, he collapsed onto the bench and hugged Massimo. “You did it, Massi! Great job!”

“He says you were great, kid,” Cary said as he joined his father on the bench and wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

“Maybe I’ll be a baseball player,” Massimo said, his face lit with pleasure. “They make more money than football players, don’t they?”

“Could be.” Cary shook his head. “Already thinking about his nest egg at seven.” He shot his father a grin.

“He’ll be a lawyer like his father,” John said as he tried to catch his breath. “Either that or an investment banker.”

“You okay?” Cary handed a bottle of water to John, who took it without complaint and began to drink.

“Fine. Just out of shape.” He massaged his chest below the collarbone and chuckled. “Don’t think I’ll be running any marathons in the near future.”

“Me either. Sit-ups aren’t exactly great for my stamina. Tight abs, no endurance.” He pulled two bottles from his backpack and held one out for Massimo. “Drink, Massi. We wouldn’t want Roberta to get angry with me.”

Massimo giggled and took the bottle. “When I first met Roberta,” Massimo said, “I thought she was your mother.”

“Sometimes I think
she
thinks she’s my mother.” Cary ruffled Massimo’s hair.

“Can I go over to the fountain, Cary? I promise I won’t get wet.”

“Okay.” Cary held out his hand, pinkie finger sticking out. Massimo caught it with his own, and they shook. Then Massimo ran off down the hill.

“Pinky shake?” John smiled. “I didn’t know kids still did that.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Cary said with a conspiratorial wink, “but I have absolutely
no
clue if they do. But he’s still young enough that he doesn’t think it makes me uncool.”

“Ever thought about having your own children?”

“Me?” Cary hadn’t expected the question, and it took him by surprise. “Nah. Not even for a second.” But now… was it still true? He wasn’t sure. Helping Antonio raise Massimo had been much more rewarding than he had expected. He liked the way Massimo accepted him unconditionally, without any adult bullshit. And he liked the feeling he got when he put a Band-Aid on Massimo’s knee and even wiped the snot from his nose.

“Can’t say I blame you.” John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds like it was tough for you and Justin.”

Cary felt the old anger return. “We had it a lot better than some kids.” Well, it was true, wasn’t it? “And Justin’s a great dad.” He stood up to make sure Massimo was still at the fountain.

Massimo waved at them and ran back up the hill. “I’m hungry,” he announced.

Cary pulled out his cell phone to check the time. “Just about time for dinner, Stinker.” He popped the phone back into his pocket and let Massimo climb onto his shoulders from the bench. “You ready, John?”

“I hope someday you’ll call me ‘Dad’,” John said as he bent down to gather up the ball, bat, and glove.

Cary didn’t answer but held on to Massimo’s ankles as Massimo began to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in a passable American accent, and they headed out of the park toward home. All in all, Cary thought with a ghost of a smile, it had been a very good day.

T
HE next morning, Cary practiced in the living room while Antonio sat on the couch, reading through a contract. Cary skated his bow across the strings of the cello. The plaintive sounds of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 reverberated throughout the apartment. The stark beauty of the unaccompanied piece reminded Cary of the trees in the piazza outside the apartment, bare but for the hints of buds at the tips of their branches.

Antonio sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes as though he were giving himself over to the music.

With the final arpeggio chords announcing the end of the movement, Cary breathed deeply and opened his eyes as the last of the notes died on the air. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish expression. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”