(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (24 page)

Antonio’s rumbled laugh filled the room, and Cary looked back down at the eggs once more. Antonio pushed Cary’s hair from his face. Cary didn’t think what he’d said was funny, and he guessed Antonio was trying to gauge his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Antonio said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Cary turned the burner off and glared at Antonio. “I’m sure you didn’t.” Then, seeing Antonio’s regret, he said, “Sorry. I guess I’m a little bit on edge.”

“I can tell.” He kissed Cary and added, “So, as you Americans put it, ‘what gives?’ I want to understand.”

“It’s really nothing, Tonino. It’s stupid.
I’m
being stupid.”

“You’re never stupid, caro,” came the warm response. “But I do want to understand.”

“It’s just that… sometimes I… oh shit… you’re too patient with me. You know, when I do stupid things or say something…. You should be angry with me, but you never are.”

Antonio appeared genuinely perplexed. “You want me to be angry with you?”

Cary turned and walked across the kitchen, shaking his head. Then, looking back at Antonio, he said, “Yeah. I guess I do. Sometimes. I know… it doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

Antonio appeared to consider this statement as he leaned back against the counter and searched Cary’s face. “I’m not sure.”

“Crap. How can I explain it?” Cary took a deep breath. “I mean, you’re always so coolheaded about things. You almost never get angry with me, and you should. You get angry with Massi more than you do with me. It’s like….”

“Like I don’t care?”

Cary said nothing.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You think if I don’t get angry when you’re away, if I don’t worry about you when you don’t come home until late, that I don’t love you?”

This was
such
a bad idea
, Cary thought, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. He felt like a complete idiot. What was he doing, anyhow, feeling insecure? He didn’t doubt Antonio loved him, did he?

Antonio gathered Cary in his arms. “I love you, Cary. Maybe I need to say it more.”

“No. It’s not that. But John and I were talking, and I realized it’s a lot to ask of you. You know, my traveling. And now, having John here….”

“You’re worried that I’m unhappy.”

Cary sighed and nodded.

“Do I look unhappy?”

“Yes… I mean no, but—”

“But nothing. I
am
happy.”

Cary fought the urge to melt into Antonio’s arms as he loved to do. Why was it so damn easy to lose himself in those arms, anyhow? “But I’m always asking you to do things for me,” Cary protested.

“Maybe it seems that way. But it doesn’t feel like it to me.” Cary said nothing, so Antonio continued, “The other day, I listened to you play the Bach. It made me happy. Music does that for me. And your music… I can’t tell you how good it makes me feel to hear it. It’s like I can hear your happiness in your playing.”

“But that’s not the same thing. I don’t hold your hand or listen to you complain—”

“It might not seem like it to you, but it
is
the same. There are lots of moments like that. When I watch you teach Massi how to play baseball. When you make breakfast for me, like you’re doing now. When you make love to me. They all add up.”

Cary started to say something, but Antonio shushed him with a finger to the lips. “There will come a time when I’ll need to complain to you and when I’ll need you to hold my hand. And I’m certain that when I
do
ask you to help me, you’ll be there, Cary. I’m sure of it. That’s normal when you love someone. I saw it with my parents when I was little. It’s not always an even give and take.”

“I suck at this relationship stuff.”

Antonio chuckled and kissed Cary. “No, you don’t. You’ve just never seen it for yourself. But trust me, it makes me feel loved to know you
can
lean on me. If you didn’t come to me when you needed help,
then
I would worry.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“That’s easy, Cary.”

Cary gave in, pressing his body against Antonio’s, feeling the slight pressure of Antonio’s arms, warming him. And for just a moment, he didn’t wonder if he deserved it.

Chapter 21

I
F
W
ISHES
W
ERE
F
ISHES

“
C
ARY!” Massimo shouted as he bolted from the schoolyard to hug Cary.

“Hey, Stinker.” Cary laughed and crouched down to allow Massimo to climb atop his shoulders. “You know you’re almost too big for me to carry, don’t you?”

“Well, I
am
seven years old now. I’m
supposed
to be big.”

Cary waved to the teacher as they headed down the block and back toward the apartment. It had quickly become habit for Cary to pick Massimo up from school, something Francesca appreciated even when Massimo was staying with her. For Cary, who spent most of the day practicing at home, the twenty-minute walk to and from the school was a welcome diversion. And, of course, he had come to enjoy his time with Massimo.

“Where’s your papà, Cary?”

“With
your
papà today.”

“Again?”

Cary chuckled. “I had a rehearsal with Maestro Somers this morning, so your papà and my papà took a drive out to the country together.”

“I like your papà,” Massimo said without hesitation.

“I like him too.”

“Is he going to stay with us too?” Massimo pressed. “Like you did?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That must make you sad. It would make me sad if my papà lived far away.”

Leave it to a kid to say what the grown-ups won’t.
The thought of his father leaving
did
make him sad.
And how strange is that?
he thought.
After all the anger….
“A little, I guess,” he said after a moment.

“Then you should ask him to stay.”

Such a childish thing, really, to think life could ever be so simple. And yet, Cary wondered if maybe it wasn’t so unreasonable, after all.
Why not?
His father had hinted around that he’d like to stay in Milan a few weeks more before returning to the States, and Cary still had two weeks before his next gig.

“I don’t know, Stinker.”

Massimo bent down from his perch on Cary’s shoulders and hugged him so tightly, it nearly choked Cary. “I love you, Cary,” Massimo said.

“I love you too, big stinker,” Cary answered to giggles. He smiled to himself with the realization of how totally and utterly he had fallen for both father and son. And was it really so childish to hope that he too could have a loving relationship with his own father?

C
ARY arrived back home later than he’d intended. He and Massi had stopped for gelato and fed the pigeons on the piazza near Francesca and Marissa’s apartment. He had that silly, warm feeling he’d come to crave, a feeling that, more often than not, led him to his instrument and his music. Antonio and John wouldn’t be back from their trip to Antonio’s family’s vineyard for a few hours, so he picked up his cello and played.

He’d practiced nearly eight hours already that day, so this time he just let the music take him where it wanted. He didn’t stop to go over the fingering of the passage he’d been working. He didn’t worry that he’d marked a section as starting with an upbow, or that he’d wanted to take more time on a rallentando where the piece modulated from major to minor. He just played, his eyes closed, feeling the vibration of the wood in his bones, with the smell of the rosin in his nostrils.

When he stopped playing, he realized he’d been at it nearly an hour. He’d lost track of the time. Antonio and John would be back any moment—they’d made plans for dinner at the tiny Italian restaurant where Antonio had taken him when he was still “Connor,” and he figured he’d shower and get dressed so they wouldn’t have to wait for him when they got back.

He stood in the shower, letting the warm water run over his hair.
You’re happy
, Aiden had said when they’d spoken the weekend before. Not that Cary agreed at the time—he didn’t want to admit that he was at least as big a romantic sap as his best friend—but he knew Aiden was right. He
was
happy, and he knew part of that happiness was because of John.

He twisted the ring on his right finger and smiled. Massi was right too. He’d talk to Antonio about having John stay longer.

When he emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, he heard Antonio and John speaking in the kitchen. He moved closer and stopped in the hallway. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop—he really only intended to let them finish their conversation—but what he heard made him pause.

“You misunderstand me,” John was saying. “My relationship with Janet—Cary’s mother—was not an easy one.”

“You’ve said this before.” As always, Antonio’s voice was calm, although Cary knew him well enough to hear the hint of tension there.

“I don’t mean to imply that
she
was the only one to blame for the end of our marriage. I’m hardly without my flaws.” John paused, and Cary guessed John expected Antonio to agree. Antonio, however, did not respond.

“I was angry,” John continued, sounding a bit defensive. “I stayed at work late. I worked hard for our family, but it was a difficult time, after Cary was born. When I filed for divorce, she said I’d threatened her. They believed her too. She got a restraining order to keep me away.”

“Have you told Cary this?”

“Why? What would it accomplish now? It was all lies, anyhow.”

“All this are lies?”

Cary frowned. It wasn’t like Antonio to make mistakes when he spoke in English, not unless he was distracted.
Or upset.

“What are you insinuating?” John asked.

“I have watched you these past weeks. I have noticed you do not tell your son the truth.” This time, there was no mistaking the coldness in Antonio’s voice.

“Cary is not a child, and I am not his father,” Antonio continued. “I will not tell him what he must do with his life. He has already suffered too much this way with his mother. He must learn himself, and he must choose for himself. But you will not ask to stay longer.”

“What?”

Cary knew it was wrong not to interrupt them, not to let them know he was listening. But he couldn’t help himself. He stood rooted to the spot with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“I’ve heard you speak of staying here longer. I am telling you I will not permit this. Even if Cary will be angry with me.”

“You’re jealous.” John let out a triumphant laugh. “You’re afraid I’ll take him away from you.”

Antonio said nothing.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” John’s voice was full of contempt.

There was a pause; then Cary heard Antonio release an audible breath. “I am not jealous. But I do fear I will lose him—”

“To me,” John interrupted.

“No,” Antonio whispered. “To himself.”

What is he so afraid of?
Cary brushed the thought aside. He had no intention of confronting either of them, although he figured he’d talk to Antonio later. For now, he’d pretend he hadn’t heard anything. He needed time to think, to understand. He took a deep breath, steeling himself inwardly, putting on a mask nearly as complete as those that hung on the wall of his practice room. He was good at this. He always had been.

“Hey!” he said as he walked into the kitchen, hoping his smile wasn’t overly bright. “Did you have a good time today?”

“We did,” John said. His expression seemed a bit forced, and Cary found himself looking at Antonio.

“My mother made us lunch,” Antonio put in as he leaned over and kissed Cary on the cheek. “She sends her regards.”

“Wonderful woman,” John added. Cary couldn’t help but notice that John didn’t look at Antonio. “Antonio’s a lucky man to have grown up in such a beautiful place and with a mother like that.”

Cary’s thoughts strayed to his own mother, and he forced himself not to react. “Oriana is wonderful,” he agreed. “And the wine—”

“I should go shower,” Antonio interrupted. “I’ll be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sure,” Cary answered.

“I’d better get going, then,” John said. “Fifteen minutes.”

A moment later, Cary was alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long evening.

Chapter 22