He leans back in his chair and taps the cigarette. Ashes blow away in the light sea breeze. “I may have said that but only because she hurt me first. But I know she left because it was just too hard for her. I am difficult. The twins are. We are slow to change and heal, to be what she wanted us to be, to be what we used to be. Plus, she met a man, years ago, who lives in Salerno. I didn’t think it was possible but I think she found an opportunity to be with him and she took it. I think she chose her own happiness over us.”
“Oh.”
“And I don’t blame her,” he adds quickly. “She has been with us for so much of her life. Always alone. Always taking care of us. First me, then the twins, then I guess all of us. You see, my parents had me when they were very young so they needed the extra help. Felisa then stuck around and became part of the family. Much later on, many many years later, my parents wanted to have more children. My mother became obsessed with it, you could say. She was older then, of course, and she had to go through many expensive treatments to become pregnant. Then finally she did. And then Felisa, who had already moved on after I turned fifteen, came back. We don’t know what she gave up when she came back to us. She never talked about the life she had while she was away. But she came back to look after the twins. When my parents died, it made it impossible for her to leave. She was very loyal to my parents, you see. They would have wanted her here for as long as possible. I am sure Felisa saw herself trapped for the rest of her life.”
“So do you think because I’m here now, she thought she could pass it down to me?” I ask.
He puffs on his cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke into the air. “Yes, could be. It seems that way. But I do know she would never have left the twins to someone she didn’t trust, who she didn’t think was capable. She could be very harsh and sometimes cold, but she thought highly of you. Just as I do.”
I’m not used to him complimenting me even though I know he’s laying it on thick because he feels so bad about what happened last night. “So now what do we do?” I ask.
He stubs out the cigarette on the table. “Now we try and get by until everything finds its place.”
“Meaning you will hire another nanny.”
“Yes,” he says. “And I will do my best not to be an ass. You deserve better than that.”
“Well, thank you in advance for that,” I tell him, getting to my feet. “I better go inside and start making a master list or something of all the shit that needs to be done around the house.”
“Do you need any help?”
I shake my head and eye his rumpled appearance with a smile. “I don’t think you’ll be much help in your state.”
He looks down, sheepish and impossibly vulnerable. “Thank you,” he says. “For staying with me last night. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw you sleeping on the couch. You . . . that . . .” He trails off, pausing. He takes in a deep breath. “It was a nice thing to see.”
I give him a quick smile and then hurry back into the house. I can feel his gaze on my back and unspoken thoughts hanging in the air, like so much cigarette smoke.
CHAPTER TEN
Despite the odds, two weeks pass in the blink of an eye. Though it’s insanely difficult—and difficult still—to assume the role of nanny, especially in the footsteps of someone like Felisa, who knew the family inside and out and ran a very tight ship, somehow I manage to push my way through it. It helps that the children are being somewhat understanding, although they’re still prone to their extreme moments of brattiness. More than a few times I’ve been told my meals suck and have had doors slammed in my face when I tried to act like the voice of authority. It’s hard not to take it personally, but I’m working on it, one incident at a time.
Derio hasn’t been that helpful, at least not in a physical sense, and often keeps to himself. He smokes on the balcony and on the patio; he goes for his motorcycle rides. And then he locks himself in his library for hours on end. When he finally emerges, he smells like cigars and scotch and goes straight to bed. The night terrors still occur a few nights a week but I’m finally learning to sleep through them, even though his cries sometimes hurt my heart.
Except for tonight. It’s a Thursday and past midnight. I can’t sleep but it’s not because of Derio’s night terrors. My brain is turning over and over on itself, trying to think of what to cook tomorrow and what to organize. Is this what mom brain is like? It seems all I do is plan and worry and it’s sucking the life out of me. I’m constantly misplacing things, like my styling products in the fridge; I’ve got dark circles around my eyes; and I’m always a few steps away from hysteria.
I’m about to switch on the light and maybe pull out a book since sleep seems so elusive when I hear a thump. I pause and then listen again.
A few beats pass. Another thump.
Then a scratching sound. I hold my breath and sink back into my bed. The moon shoots pale beams through the window, illuminating my bedroom in spooky shadows.
There it is again! Another thump, followed by smaller ones. They sound like footsteps, right above my damn bed. My eyes trail upward to the high stucco ceiling.
I have trouble swallowing and my chest feels hollow. I exhale as quietly as possible and then get out of bed. I grab the lantern and switch it on and quietly step out into the hall. It’s dark, save for the slices of moonlight that cut in through the twins’ open doors.