Footsteps (21 page)

On the third day after Carlo brought Sabina
to stay at the house on Caravel Road, James’s yacht, the
Sole
Proprietor
, was found at anchor miles offshore. Abandoned. And
the story broke wide. It took a couple of days for the vultures to
learn where Sabina was, but they did, and the Paganos spent the
next few days with cameras camped at the foot of their steeply
inclined front lawn.

Then Uncle Ben apparently did something, and
most of the media went away—or at least gave the house a wide
berth. But rumors had started flying. Auberon’s image as a
philanthropist began to tarnish as people with stories about his
ruthlessness felt emboldened by his disappearance to share those
stories. As a new, more accurate image of the man emerged, and his
disappearance continued, people began to speculate about who might
have killed him, how, and why. Some of that speculation had
included Sabina.

But, at last, something about Auberon’s
quirks and predilections worked in her favor. His intense need for
privacy and control meant that there were few instances in which
anyone had seen him treat Sabina any way other than with respect.
Only Gloria knew anything of substance, and Sabina knew Gloria
would never tell stories. They might all have their assumptions,
but no one had a story except that night at the cab, and there was
not much mileage to be had from that.

That she was staying in the Pagano home
raised more than a few eyebrows. But Auberon had worked with Pagano
& Sons Construction. His name was soon linked, as well, to the
Pagano Brothers, and the direction of the stories linking those
names shifted to theories about Auberon’s possible criminal, or at
least shady, dealings.

Sabina was safe.

For two weeks after Carlo brought Sabina to
stay at the house on Caravel Road, there were no further
developments of any significance, except that James’s reputation
continued to disintegrate. The longer the mystery of his
disappearance lingered, the more bold became his detractors. Even
Sabina had been shocked by some of the stories. Her husband had
been, quite simply, a crook. When she’d said as much to Carlo’s
Uncle Ben, the old man had simply inclined his head, the corners of
his mouth turned up in the small, indulgent smile with which she
was becoming quite familiar.

Uncle Ben had checked in on her in person a
few times during the two weeks she’d spent mainly lying low and
recovering. Sabina knew that he was the head of the notorious
Pagano Family, even more ruthless than James—and in fact she was
sure that he had killed her husband—but to her he was a kindly old
man who smiled at her and patted her hand.

After the first few days, some of the Pagano
siblings had gone back to their lives. Carmen returned to the beach
house, Luca to his apartment, John to his. Joey stayed, and Sabina
got the impression that he had been instructed to. He prowled the
house like a guard dog, especially when the media hounds were thick
outside.

Carlo and Trey were still in the house, too.
Sabina knew that Carlo had lost a great deal. While she had gained
everything that was important—her freedom—he had lost, at least for
some time, his home and his work both.

Now, he was trying to work from the house
and commute into Providence when he had to. He hadn’t talked to her
much at all about what had happened with his work or the stresses
he was coping with. Even when she asked, he diverted her. His main
interest was in helping her recover.

Trey was perfectly happy. He loved being at
‘Pop-Pop’s’ house, and though he was impatient that they weren’t
going to the water more often, there was always someone around who
would play with him. Even the siblings who had returned to their
own homes came by every day, especially at dinner. Almost every
evening, the big, dark walnut table in the dining room was
full.

Sabina had never experienced family like
this. Even when she’d been part of a happy family, it had been
smaller and much more subdued than this cozy chaos. Everybody
talked at once. All the time. Everybody used their hands when they
did, so sometimes she almost felt the need to duck. She was herself
a physically expressive speaker, or she had once been, but with
nine people around the same table—ten, if Mrs. D. was with them—all
of them talking or laughing or yelling, their hands going, Sabina
half expected the room to achieve liftoff.

They had accepted her completely, and in
these short weeks she’d realized that she had made real friends.
Even Rosa, who had been distant in their first encounters, and
Carlo Sr., who had been cold, had accepted her and treated her as
one of them. They were all solicitous of her weakened condition,
often hovering far more than she needed.

Sabina was used to hurting and used to
getting over it. Though she’d been hurt more this last time than
ever before, and though the memory of it was the most painful part,
she was not someone who indulged in self-pity. She would have
drowned herself in James’s infinity pool long ago if she had been
someone who indulged in self-pity.

She’d gotten out of bed as soon as she could
stand to put weight on her damaged feet and felt reasonably sure
she wouldn’t make them worse by using them. And she’d sent Carlo to
sleep in his own room as soon as she could believe that she really
was safe—the night of the day Uncle Ben had come to tell her that
James Auberon could never hurt her again.

He’d been surprised and hurt that she’d sent
him upstairs. Though he’d tried to hide it, she’d seen it, and she
regretted it. But they had to slow down. She knew that as an
absolute truth. She had spent fifteen years shackled into an
abattoir of a marriage. She had been young and naïve when that
bondage had started, and she had never been with any other man than
the one who’d tormented her. She barely knew anything about who she
really was, who she should be. Her life and her very nature had
been devoted to navigating the treacherous terrain of her
marriage.

Carlo had been a perfect gentleman the two
nights she’d slept in his arms. Of course he had; he was a
gentleman, and even more so while she was hurt. He’d cared for her,
held her, made sure she was comfortable, made her feel safe. And
she had never felt safer. Even in the deep throes of her trauma,
she had loved being nestled with him. She had felt love from him.
She had felt love for him.

And so she had sent him upstairs.

By the time two weeks had passed spent in
the bosom of this wonderful family, Sabina knew that she was
falling for them all. She didn’t want that, not yet—no, she
did
want that, she wanted it desperately, but she knew that
she was not ready for it. She had first to learn how to be strong
in a way that wasn’t reactive. For all the years of her
marriage—for her entire adult life, perhaps even for longer than
that, her strength had been focused on enduring, surviving. She had
never had a chance to make a life for herself. To make
herself
.

She wanted Carlo. She wanted to be part of
his family. She wanted all of it. But she did not want to be taken
on as some broken thing, like a bird in a shoebox. She wanted to be
worthy, to be as strong and powerful as every other person sitting
around the big table in this beautiful, lively house.

Almost three weeks after Carlo brought
Sabina to stay at the house on Caravel Road, the mangled remains of
a body washed up downshore. Though it was only a torso and an arm,
and badly decomposed by time and its wet journey, the speculation
was immediate that it was James. The detectives on the case called
her, to prepare her before the news broke. They told her she did
not have to come and try to identify the body, because it was too
damaged for visual ID. They put a rush on the lab work. A week
later, the identity was confirmed. James Auberon had washed
ashore.

Around the same time, a white Cadillac
Escalade was reported as abandoned in a parking garage at Logan
International Airport. The owner, one Edward Gardner, a licensed
private investigator with an unsavory reputation, was nowhere to be
found.

With the case unsolved and not conclusively
foul play, and with no suspicion on her, Sabina let James’s legal
team deal with the arrangements for his memorial service—which
James had clearly and elaborately described in his will. She
attended as the bereaved widow. Carmen went with her and held her
hand. After the service, media attention finally died down.

James’s will left Sabina comparatively
little, as she’d known, another reason she had never been a chief
suspect despite her association with the Paganos. He’d instructed
most of his assets to be liquidated and donated to his various pet
charities. Wanting nothing that had been his or that had been hers
because she had been his, she instructed his attorneys also to
include all of her personal possessions in the liquidation. To
Sabina, of his billions, he’d left $200,000 and her BMW.

She gave the money to Gloria. With one
practical thought, she kept the car, and she kept the garish canary
diamond. She’d need a car to get around, and she’d hock the ring,
that physical symbol of her entrapment, and use that money to give
herself a way to eat until she could figure out how to live her
life.

~oOo~

A month after Carlo brought Sabina to stay
at the house on Caravel Road, Sabina was in the back yard with Trey
and Rosa, playing ‘golf’ with little plastic clubs and balls while
Elsa snoozed in the shade on the flagstone patio, when Carlo came
through the gate. He had been in Providence all day, and Sabina
could tell that the day had not gone well.

Trey dropped his club and ran full-speed to
his father, squealing as he was swept up and swung around. Sabina
had gotten to know this wonderful little boy fairly well during her
time with the Paganos; though he was well-behaved and could be
calm, he was happiest in motion.

Carlo gave his son a good hug and then set
him down and came straight to Sabina. He hooked his arm around her
waist and kissed her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good today, thank you. Your day was
good?”

“It is now.”

She smiled and laid her head on his chest
for a moment. They’d been like children in high school these past
weeks. Even this contact—these touches, kisses when they were alone
in a room, or before they retired for the night—was too much, too
close. But she couldn’t stay away from him. She wanted him, and it
was clear that he felt the same. She was not ready for more, could
not even fathom the idea of being intimate with a man, any man,
even Carlo, right now, but she wanted his closeness, his touch like
this, and she knew she was falling into another trap. Not one of
his setting, but of hers.

She was better, healthy, for the most part.
Her husband was gone, his story over, his power over her destroyed.
It was time she started her life. She and Carlo had to talk.

~oOo~

Sabina helped clean up after dinner, while
Carlo bathed Trey and settled him in bed. She was standing at the
counter, alone now in the kitchen, putting clean glasses into the
cupboard, when he stood behind her and put his hands on her hips.
She was wearing a sleeveless top. Her bruises had mostly faded
away, and, though some of the cuts on her skin might remain scars,
she was healing well. In this house, at least, she felt no need to
hide the signs of what had been done to her.

When he put his hands on her, she stopped
what she was doing and looked over her shoulder. He kissed that
shoulder, his eyes on hers. “What would you like to do
tonight?”

They spent their nights quietly. The
siblings scattered, and Carlo Sr. took a scotch into the living
room to watch television. Sometimes, they’d watch with him.
Sometimes, they’d play a game. Sometimes they’d talk, learning
about each other. He was a good man. Deep down and on the surface,
in every way, Carlo Pagano was a good man. The stories he told
about his life, his family, his work, his love for his son—they
were all rich and wonderful.

She had few such stories of her own. In her
lack of them, she recognized the void of her very self. She was a
cipher, little more.

Often, those talks had ended with physical
contact Sabina both craved and feared. In his arms she felt whole,
and she knew she needed to feel whole outside of his touch.

“We can walk on the beach?”

She had not been back to the beach since
she’d fallen into Carmen’s arms. His face registered something
stronger than mere surprise at her suggestion. “Yeah? Are you ready
for that?”

“My feet are healed now.”

“That’s not what I mean, Bina.”

She’d understood what he’d meant. “I know. I
would like to go. I enjoy the ocean at night best of all. I miss
it. Can we?”

He brushed an errant lock of hair from her
forehead. “Of course we can. We’ll drive down to the beach,
though.”

She nodded, and he took her hand. She was
nervous and sad, but she knew what she was about to do was the
right thing.

~oOo~

To walk onto the sand near Carmen’s cottage
was more difficult than Sabina had expected it to be. This was a
place where she had made some good memories, but her last memory
overrode them all. She hesitated as they came around the corner of
the cottage, feeling a rush of the fear and adrenaline that had
kept her ravaged body moving for two miles, while Eddie had
lumbered after her.