It was pathetic really, but I envied her. I envied anyone who took these small, simple things for granted. “I got these from Rome. They help your fingers find greater purchase on a pencil or pen. We can assess whether you are showing signs of dyspraxia. If you are, these will help.” She offered the pencil to me. As she did, I saw her eyes focus on the way I was holding my cup. My fingers were not on the handle as they should be; instead I was grabbing the small ceramic cup with my whole hand.
Clumsily.
As if to highlight how hard holding this tiny cup was for me, my fingers slipped from its sides and it crashed to the ground. It shattered into pieces on the concrete floor, splashing the last few drops of my coffee under the table.
I jumped from my seat, the chair legs scraping loudly on the floor. My heart slammed against my ribs in embarrassment. I turned on my heel, trying to get away, only to stumble over the chair that I had pushed behind me.
“Achille!” Caresa called out as I righted myself and rushed out of the barn. My chest was so tight I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. The hit of fresh air helped. I hated being inside. I didn’t like to be cooped up.
I didn’t like trying to fool myself that the things Caresa had brought would do a jot of good.
“Achille.” Caresa’s breathless voice sounded softly from behind me. My hands were balled at my sides as I tried to calm myself down. Without looking back at her, I said, “I . . . I don’t think I can do this.” My voice cut out when my throat became too clogged to speak through. I swallowed, trying to push the suffocating lump away. “It’s hopeless, Caresa,” I whispered. “Just . . . let it be. I’ve got by this far. I’m . . . fine.”
A strong gust of wind whipped around me. The days were cooling rapidly now, the autumn weather closing in. I took the shirt from around my waist and put it on, fighting to snap the fasteners down the front. It was always a challenge, but my hands were shaking more than usual, making the task damn near impossible. When the shaking became too much for me to contend with, I just let the shirt remain open, the cool breeze biting at my torso.
Light footsteps sounded from behind me, and Caresa moved into my peripheral vision. I still didn’t look at her. I couldn’t . . . I was . . . I was humiliated.
But she didn’t let me withdraw. She moved into my line of sight, strong and brazen. When she laid her hand on my chest, I couldn’t help but look down. Her eyes were focused on the fasteners as her slim, unhurried fingers fastened them. When she had closed the last one, her long lashes fluttered, and she finally met my eyes. Her hand was still pressed against my flannel shirt, right over my heart.
“Achille Marchesi, I think this is the first time since we met that I’ve seen you wear something on your torso.” My stomach was tight, mortification still ran thickly in my blood, yet, at her light teasing, I found myself smiling. It wasn’t much of a smile but, for a moment, she had chased away my pain.
A teasing expression played on her face, before it fell as she said, “You don’t wear a shirt much because of the buttons, do you?”
All the fight left my body. “I have many shirts that have no buttons, that are easy to put on. But over the years I found myself unable to give in. I gave up trying to write, gave up trying to read. My father always wore these shirts. And I don’t know why, but I was damned well going to wear them too. I always get there in the end. I buy the snap fasteners to make things easier for me.”
“Normal buttons are too challenging?”
I nodded curtly.
“Your jeans have that fastener too,” she stated. “Unusual on jeans. I thought so the other night.”
I sighed. “Eliza . . . she modifies them for me. Has done since I was young. She and her husband, Sebastian, know that I have . . . limitations.”
Caresa stepped closer. I wanted to kiss her forehead. I wanted to be the person who was allowed to freely kiss her lips and confide in her my greatest fears. But I wasn’t, so I remained stock still.
A heavy silence stretched between us. I broke it by saying, “I am a hopeless case, Caresa. Ride Rosa, help me with the wine, but let this go. I have. I have come to terms with the fact that some things in life I simply cannot, and will not, do.”
“No,” she argued, a hint of fire in her hardening voice. “Don’t give up, Achille. I know it is scary, facing something that has burdened you for so long. I don’t know who encouraged you to stop trying, but you can do this. You just have to trust me.” Caresa took one more step closer until she was pressed against me. I closed my eyes at the feel of her warmth, at her peach scent filling my nose. “Do you trust me, Achille?”
I heard the nervous tremor in her voice.
I realized she wanted me to trust her.
She was worried that I did not.
“Yes.” I spoke honestly. “I trust you.”
I opened my eyes and saw relief and then happiness flood Caresa’s beautiful face. Her hands ran down my chest until they fell from my body. But before I could miss her touch, her hand wrapped around mine.
“Come back to the barn. Trust that I can help.”
I stared at her delicate fingers, so slim and soft, caged by my large rough ones. “I’m so embarrassed,” I confided, feeling my pride take the heavy hit of this confession. “You’re going to think I’m stupid.”
Caresa’s hand squeezed mine tighter. “Achille, seeing you face a demon that has held you in its grip since childhood will not make me think you are stupid. In fact, quite the opposite. Taking this on, accepting a challenge as great as this will be—it is the single most impressive thing you could do. You are a magician when it comes to your wine, a master; anyone can see that. But do me a favor. Just . . . just close your eyes.”
I was puzzled, but did as she asked. “Picture yourself in your barn when the labels for next year’s vintage arrive. Picture yourself reading the beautiful script, proudly reading Bella Collina Reserve. Imagine the moment you see the words that will announce to the world that this is your wine.” I could see it. I could see it so vividly in my mind’s eye that I almost believed it was real. And I felt the rush of happiness it brought, to actually be able to read the words for myself.
“Now imagine being in your cottage, beside the fire.” She stopped. I wondered why. Then she spoke again, and I knew. “Imagine having your wife by your side, lying in front of the fire, her head nestled in your lap. Imagine you are reading to her in the firelight, the wood crackling in the hearth and the smell of the burning oak filling the room. You are stroking her hair as you read her your favorite story. And she has her eyes closed, cherishing the moment, knowing she is the happiest woman on earth.”
“Plato,” I said, my voice graveled and torn. “I am reading from Plato’s Symposium, about split-aparts and completed souls.”
Caresa was silent, completely silent, yet my mind was alive with thought. Because in my vision, the one she was painting so perfectly, there could only be one woman listening to me speak. She had dark hair and dark eyes and the kindest, purest soul. It was her. Caresa, as my wife, lying with me by the crackling fire, listening to Plato, my hand running through her hair.
My missing half.
Caresa’s breathing hitched. Just as I went to open my eyes, she instructed, “Then imagine your child, a little boy, just like you. You are reading him Tolkien, as your father had done with you. Imagine how full with life and pride and joy you feel. Because you have overcome your reading challenges for him, and for her—whomever she may be.”
Caresa’s voice cut out. I opened my eyes, and her eyes were glassy. “I see it so clearly,” I said. “I see them both so clearly.” I left out that it was her I could see, and the boy made by us.
“Good,” she said in a faltering voice. “Then hold on to that image. When you feel like giving up, let the image of this future give you the strength to keep going. Because it is possible, Achille. Everyone deserves the chance to read and write. Especially you.”
My head fell forward. I couldn’t take looking at her any longer. I was afraid that I might kiss her lips if I did.
“Come back inside,” Caresa said. “Let me assess where we are, then let me begin to help.” I blew out a long breath of air, but nodded, allowing Caresa to lead me back into the barn.