Leslie Kelly – Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms (страница 19)
He had to return to Rome sometime. What better than a fleeting visit knowing he could return to the cottage within hours? Maybe he worried for nothing. Maybe the worst was past and he could move on.
He could visit Stephano’s grave.
Cristiano had not been able to attend Stephano’s funeral. He’d been in hospital. Nor had he attended any of the many services for all the victims he had been unable to save. Rome had been in mourning for weeks. He’d escaped the worst of it drugged for pain and undergoing skin grafting for his burned hand.
He’d pictured it a thousand times, though. Stephano’s coffin lowered into the ground. His wife weeping. His parents stunned with the loss of their only son. He drew in a breath, trying to capture the scent of sawdust to ground him in the present.
The faint hint of flowers caught his attention. Mariella’s special scent. He closed his eyes. The image of their kiss sprang to the forefront.
He opened his eyes, turned and looked at her, hungering for another kiss. He was lonely. Self-imposed or not, he didn’t like staying away from his family or friends. Only the shame of not being able to handle things kept him isolated.
Until now.
She reached out and touched his arm, her touch light as a butterfly, yet as hot as a flame.
“Will you?” she asked.
He stared at her. He was thinking of kissing her, hugging her close to him, losing himself in her soft sweetness. And she was focused on a cemetery visit.
“All right, I’ll go with you. For Dante. You can tell him you weren’t the only one to mourn his mother’s loss.” He hoped he didn’t have a flashback while standing by the graves.
A loud rumble of thunder startled them, causing Dante to begin to cry. Mariella rushed to him and lifted him from the stroller.
“There, there, little man, it’s okay. Just noisy.” She looked out the still opened door.
Rain poured down in torrents. The yard was already growing muddy as the rain splattered the dirt. The light was almost gone, making it as dark as twilight.
Cristiano breathed deeply the fresh, clean rain-laden air. The sky was a dark grey from horizon to horizon. The rain beat down ferociously. Mariella and the baby couldn’t return to the village in this. In fact, they’d become soaked just running to his car. They were stuck for as long as the rain came so hard.
She came to his side, the baby settled on her hip and looking around. He gave his grin and lunged toward Cristiano. He reached out instinctively to grab him and then was surprised when Mariella let go and he held the baby dangling in front of him. Bringing him close to his chest, he felt the light weight and looked at the baby. Dante gazed at him with dark brown eyes, as if studying a curious specimen. Then he grinned and bopped his head against Cristiano’s cheek.
He was a goner. Who couldn’t love a sweet baby like this?
“Rain,” he said, pointing to the downpour.
The baby gurgled and patted Cristiano’s cheek. He felt a tightening in his chest.
“His entire life is before him. What do you think he’ll do when he grows up?” he asked softly as Dante settled against him to watch the rain.
“He can be anything he wants. I want him happy and healthy. And when he’s older I’ll tell him all I remember of his mother,” she said, leaning against his left side. Cristiano put his arm around her shoulder. For long moments the three of them looked at the storm.
“And his father? What will you tell him about that man?” Cristiano asked.
“Ariana said he had vanished from their life. And the affair had been a mistake. But that, I would never tell their son. I’ll just have to say he’s gone.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“I have no idea. I had hoped I’d find something on this trip. People could have forgotten even if Ariana had been through here. Lots of tourists visit this area.”
“Hmm.”
“I hope it doesn’t rain Friday,” she said. “Cemeteries are sad enough without the heavens weeping as well.”
“Well said. It rained on the day of Stephano’s funeral. I think Heaven was weeping,” Cristiano said slowly. He had never thought about it that way. He would have been weeping had he been at the church.
“Stephano was your friend?”
“My best friend.”
“I’m sorry he died.”
“He was killed in the bombing. We were on our third rescue foray when the second bomb went off. The roof of the tunnel completely collapsed, killing everyone still beneath it.”
Cristiano wanted to step out into the rain, feel the cleansing of the water, feel the coolness, see the sky above him, know he was alive. But he held the baby, so remained sheltered in the doorway. The trust from Dante touched him. The baby knew the adults around him would care for him.
She reached around his waist, hugging him. “How horrible.”
“The entire event was horrible.”
“But you saved seven lives. If not for you, they would have perished in the second bombing.”
“It wasn’t enough. There were so many still trapped.”
“It’s amazing, that’s what it is. How can you say it wasn’t enough? It was more than anyone expected.”
“I should have made sure Stephano was right behind me, not lagging behind—that he had not been in the tunnel when it collapsed. We lost seven men from our station.” The anguish penetrated to his core. His duty was to save lives. His chosen way was to fight disasters and rescue people. He hadn’t even been able to rescue his best friend.
She offered support the only way possible, her body warmth to chase the chill of torment. If only she could truly heal his sorrow. If only anyone could.
UNAWARE of the turmoil, the baby happily babbled, reaching out once or twice as if to touch the rain. The air grew chilled, but Cristiano didn’t move. The child was well wrapped. He felt like the only warm spot in the world where he rested against Cristiano’s chest. That and where Mariella touched him.
The silence extended. Yet it wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was—almost healing. He took a breath, trying to let go the ache that plagued him with all the death and destruction.
“So how long were you and Stephano friends?” she asked.
Cristiano almost smiled. “I remember the first day I met him—it was at the training for firefighting. He came from Genoa, a man loving the sea. I came from here—hills and lakes. He was an only child, had a pretty wife and parents who doted on him. We both passionately loved soccer. We were paired up in training and the rest—”
He hadn’t thought about those days in all the months since Stephano had died. Now, telling Mariella, he let the memories wash through him. They’d had fun times. They’d fought fires in Rome. Been sent to man the lines in raging forest fires worldwide. Practiced paramedical routines to save lives. And spent a lot of time together in their off hours.
“He was always up for adventure.” Slowly Cristiano began to speak of his friend, remembering aloud the trips to the sea, the ski trip that had ended with both falling face first in the snow, and how quickly they’d progressed from that. The quiet times by a fire, sharing philosophies, plans for the future.
“His wife would probably like to hear from you,” Mariella said as Cristiano wound down after telling her many of the shared experiences. “You haven’t seen her since?”
He shook his head. “How can I face her when I lived and Stephano didn’t?”
“You didn’t kill him. The terrorists did. You and she have a shared love of the man—different, of course, but bonding nonetheless. I bet she misses you being around.”
“I would remind her of Stephano.”
“Maybe she wants to be reminded. Maybe she wants someone around who knew him, faults and all. Who can remember the happy times together. Celebrate his life, not ignore it.”
“You don’t understand.”
She shrugged. The baby was growing more and more squirmy.
“He’s probably hungry. I’ll take him,” she said, reaching for Dante.
He relinquished the child, feeling the cold air hit where the baby had been.
“What are you working on?” she asked, moving back to the workbench and looking at the wooden pieces.
Cristiano turned as well. The emotional toll started to overwhelm him. Needing a diversion, he crossed the small room and picked up one of the pieces that would be a chair leg. “A table and chair set for Dante.”
“Wow, you can do that? Did you do all those?” She looked at the pieces lined up against the wall.
“It’s been a long summer. I don’t just ignore housework,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“These are beautiful.” She stroked a finger across the smooth polished top of a small half pie table. The cabriolet legs were elegant. The rich cherry wood gleamed even in the defused lighting.
“Those legs were hard to do. I ruined more pieces than I wanted.” Temper had played a part, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Impatient with his recovery, feeling helpless, he’d taken it out on the wood.
“And this, what a beauty this is. Did you make it for someone?” The small console table had classic lines and a band of inlay lighter wood in the perimeter.
“Just made them to kill time while recuperating.”
“I’d buy this one if it’s for sale,” she said hesitantly.