You Have Seven Messages (22 page)

“Not sure if I ever want to get married either,” I say.

Bridget finishes her wine and says, “Well, there are also different types of marriages. I mean, look at Isabella.”

“Yeah,” I say, pretending to know what she’s talking about.

“Well, the pudding with the peaches bit is heavenly, you must go in. I’ll stay with Tam.”

As I come inside, Julian is setting out a plate for me, and Richard is in the kitchen making coffee. I sit with Isabella.

“It’s not pudding,” I say. “It’s cheesecake.”

“That’s what we call dessert in England,” Charles says, appearing out of nowhere. Isabella gets up and heads to the powder room. I eat the “pudding,” which tastes amazing.

After a bit I decide to head upstairs to wash up, and see Isabella in the hallway, lightly kissing Giovanna. It’s all too much for my brain to handle. I call good night from the top of the stairs and dip into my little room.

Before I fall asleep, Richard slides into my room and gently sits on the bed.

“Everyone loved you,” he says.

“Thanks, it was so much fun. I can’t believe your life here.”

“Well, it’s not always about the glamour. Although we seem to infuse it every chance we can. Listen, about Isabella …”

“She’s a lesbian.”

He laughs. “No, actually. She has what is called an ‘open relationship’ with her husband. They are allowed to, well, stray, as it were.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yes, it seems that way, but in some cases it’s fairly natural. Anyway, Julian and I, we don’t have an open relationship and neither did your parents.”

“Maybe they should have,” I say.

Richard looks at me with new eyes, as if I just said something profound, which is strange, because it was actually kind of a joke.

“Richard, when you look at me, do you see your sister or your niece?”

Again, he gives me a surprised look.

“I would have to say both,” he says, his eyes collecting moisture.

“Why did she have to die?”

I know this is a stupid question. But it’s one I don’t think I’ll ever stop asking. Richard doesn’t answer. Instead he kisses my cheek, puts his hand over my forehead for a second, then walks to the foot of the bed to retrieve the box.

“They are mostly inconsequential things, but I saved them for you.”

I open the box, and the first thing I see is a hairbrush that’s encrusted with what looks like diamonds.

“These are fake, right?” I ask.

Richard chuckles. “You kidding? I would have sold it for a Rolls-Royce by now.” He grabs it from me and runs his long, tanned fingers across it. “She got it at an airport one time. She liked shiny things. In moderation, of course.”

The next thing I pull out is a white scarf, with small red flowers embroidered into the edges. Exactly something she would wear. It strikes me as unbearably sad. I put it on the table and grab the next item, a watch with Snoopy on the face.

“She loved Snoopy,” Richard says. “Ever since we were kids. She had this stuffed animal of him, and the ears came off and it looked a little sinister. She kept it until the thing was just a pile of shreds.”

I put the watch on and decide this will be the thing I keep forever. At the bottom, there are some letters addressed to Richard and postmarked from New York.

“Can you imagine?” Richard says. “The days before email.”

I see her curvy, tall handwriting, the same as mine.

“I figure there’s nothing in those letters you don’t already know, and having a letter someone wrote is probably the closest you’re going to get to them. This,” he says, taking out a small red pillbox, “was our mother’s, so I will keep it, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Is there anything else?”

“Just this.”

He hands me a yellowed photograph of Tile and me sitting on a bench in Central Park. Our legs dangle in the air above the ground. Tile is smiling brightly, and I seem to be staring off into the distance at something that might be scary. The future?

I put the photograph and the watch next to my bed and say, “Well, that’s about enough nostalgia for one night.”

“Agreed.” Richard kisses me lightly again and says
“Sogni d’oro”
before he closes the door. I know that means something like “Sweet dreams.” My mother used to say it
to me. At first I thought it was silly, but then I knew it was unique, that she wasn’t your average mother. She was larger than life, and even now that she’s gone, she is everywhere: in my wide-set eyes, in Richard’s soft voice, in the Snoopy watch, the bling hairbrush. Even though I loved her more than anyone, sometimes I wish she would leave me completely alone for a day. But I get the feeling that will never happen. Death is harder on the living.

I hear voices by the pool and get up to look out the window. Charles is holding his sleeping daughter in his arms while he kisses Bridget, and I can see their reflections on the dark water. Their body language is completely in harmony, as if everything in the world has led up to this moment.

I get back in bed and simply close my eyes.

In the morning I notice one more thing at the bottom of the box among the letters. It’s Cole’s business card, with an Italian address. On the back is his cell phone number, handwritten, with a happy face and what looks like a sloppy heart. Sloppy indeed. I dress, slip the card into my jeans, and go downstairs. There’s a note from Julian with arrows leading to blueberries and oatmeal. I pour myself some juice and end up drinking two glasses. The oatmeal is steel-cut and perfectly cooked, of course. I have the house to myself, so after breakfast I take a long bath, then read my book, then take a nap. When I wake up, I tell
myself I’m over the jet lag. I put on my mother’s scarf and tie it the way Isabella did. I go back downstairs and make myself a little cheese sandwich. The phone rings about ten times so I finally pick it up.

“Moon! So glad I caught you!”

“Yeah, sorry Dad, it’s been kind of a whirlwind.”

“You okay?”

“Yes, great. Coming here, I think, has given me that word you always use,
perspective
.”

“That’s a good thing.”

I run my fingers through the end of the scarf.

“How are you? How’s the film?”

“Great and great. Haven’t seen Elise in a while, but we’re supposed to be getting together this evening.”

“Good.” I can’t believe I’m being so supportive of him and Elise. Shouldn’t I be bitter?

“Listen, I sent you a FedEx with those pita chips you like, and your report card, and Tile put some stuff in for you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Well, say hi to the guys for me, okay? And please be careful. I know you’re beyond your years, but you’re still fifteen and in a foreign country.”

“I know, I might run off with a band of gypsies.”

“Listen, check in via email at least every other day, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Okay, Tile wants to say hi.”

“Bye, Dad.”

When Tile gets on the phone, I can sense he’s nervous but am not sure why. I hear a door shut and he says, “Sorry, I was waiting for Dad to leave. Listen, Oliver told me that he saw something, that he knows something about Dad.”

“What?”

“Well, that’s the thing, he was being really strange. He didn’t really tell me, he just hinted at it.”

This is getting weird.

“Well, what did he hint at?”

“Moon, just chill. You can talk to him when you get back. Have you had any pizza yet? Better than Ray’s?”

“No pizza, Tile, but pretty good lasagna.”

“Okay, get me soccer shirts. But nothing yellow. Gotta scram.”

He hangs up and for a brief moment, I sigh and miss New York.

As I clean up the kitchen, someone knocking on the glass doors startles me. When I get closer I see it’s a girl my age, maybe a little older. Her hair is blond with two streaks of dark red and she has a tattoo of a star behind her ear.

“Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says, barging right in and opening the fridge. “We need some young energy around here bad. This town is filled with winos and white-hairs. I’m Beatrice, but everyone calls me Beetle. Don’t ask.”

Before I get to open my mouth, she goes on.

“Holy crap, have you tried Julian’s cheesecake?”

She gets some lemonade out of the fridge and spills a little while pouring some into a coffee mug.

“Wait a second, who are you?” Then it hits me. She
must be Isabella’s daughter. I remember her saying I should meet her.

“Are you Isabella’s—”

“Yes, but you’d never know it. She treats me like a friend. It’s strange, really. I think it’s just denial. She can’t face the fact that she’s old enough to have a sixteen-year-old daughter. Besides, I’m usually in Hong Kong with my father. That’s where all my friends are. I’m here for a funeral—my mom’s cat, if you can believe it. A funeral for a cat! Anyway, she mentioned you were here, so I thought I’d stop by.”

Beatrice’s confidence is infectious. I take the business card out of my jeans and show it to her. “Do you know where that is?” I ask.

“Superclose,” she says, running it through her fingers. “Maybe ten kilometers.”

I feel dorky that I don’t know how long that is. She senses my apprehension and says, “About six miles. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s do it.”

Just like that, Beatrice is out the door and hopping into one of those miniature euro cars. I scrawl a note for Richard and follow suit. I’m in Europe and anything’s possible.

On the way she asks me who Cole is, and I fill her in on everything. It feels good to talk to someone completely outside my life, one who won’t judge the situation or be biased.

“Okay,” Beetle says, “but what if your dad had some part in it. How’s that information going to help you?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I just feel talking to Cole may be the missing piece. Give me some kind of closure.”

“Sometimes it’s better not to know, though. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just remember, whatever happens, it’s already happened. It’s hard to give and it’s even harder to get, but we all need forgiveness.”

“I just feel like I’ve come too far to turn around.”

Beetle tells me about her mother and her girlfriends, and her crazy father (who is different from her mother’s current boyfriend), and her grandmother who’s on her fourth husband, and my jaw drops lower with each story. Basically, she makes my family look like the Cleavers.

Cole’s villa is like a modern log cabin on a very remote road. Before I get out, Beetle says, “If he tries to pull anything, just scream and I’ll come kick his ass.”

I smile, take a deep breath, and get out of the car. I bet he’s not even here, but it’s worth a try. I stand outside Cole’s door for a few minutes before ringing the old-fashioned bell. Just as I’m about to turn around and leave, he answers the door in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He lets me in like he’s expecting me.

“Oh, well, hello,” he says. “You must be visiting Richard?”

I nod and he motions for me to enter. He pours me a glass of orange juice, and I know it’s strange, but he
reminds me of my father—his tanned fingers and the way he sits on the edge of the counter.

“As you know, I found out a lot of stuff about everything. The thing is, I know it’s not really your fault. I think it’s actually no one’s fault, you know? But I need to confirm a couple things. The night my mother died. Did you have sex with her in the studio before?”

“Absolutely not.”

I tell him about the cuff links and he doesn’t even flinch. “She let me use it for client meetings. In exchange, I paid the utilities.”

“And why did you never turn them off?”

“I was waiting for your father to sell it.”

“Okay, that makes sense. I just need to know one more thing. What went on at dinner that night?”

He looks out the window and for a second seems angry. Then he scratches his head and says, “To be honest, it was a sad dinner. Sad for both of us. She couldn’t do it to Jules anymore. She didn’t want to. Neither did I. I never wanted to do it to Jules in the first place. Our friendship was wonderful, and we filled certain holes in each other’s lives. But then, a few times, it went farther than friends, as you know. But that night at the restaurant. That was our end.”

“But my father thought you were being romantic again.”

“Yes, he always thought that. But I will say, your mother flirted with everyone. So it really wasn’t any different with regard to me. Believe it or not, I was on your father’s
side the whole time. He was so kind to her always, such a gentleman.”

“On his side? So you show it by sleeping with his wife?”

He is silent for a while, treating it as a rhetorical question.

“Did he push her into the street?”

“Absolutely not. They were arguing, but he never touched her.”

“Good.”

A bulldog comes out of the pantry and scares me out of my seat. Cole laughs and says, “That’s Tiny. I’m dog-sitting.”

“Not so tiny.”

I look outside and can see Beetle in her car, bopping her head to the radio. The thick trees outside the house stand proud in scattered formation. Tiny’s heavy breaths, Cole humming, the smell of burned coffee. An end, and a beginning.

“I know she was feeling something missing with my dad. I know that she hurt him, but she wasn’t a mean person. It’s not fair that she died. It’s not fair.”

Now there are tears in his eyes.

“No, it’s not,” he says faintly.

I get up to leave and he holds out his arms. I let him hug me, because everyone makes mistakes, and because sometimes people just need each other, no matter how screwed up a situation is.

The FedEx package on the counter is addressed to Miss Luna Clover. I hear the patio door open, and Richard whistling. The first thing I see is a little folder with a one-sheeter inside: