Gianna
“Is Daddy a bad man?” I almost fell off the ladder, my breath catching in my throat. Daniel had said one or two words at most in the two weeks since his birthday, and now he chose the morning before Christmas Eve for a loaded question like that. I waited for my initial shock to wear off before hanging another ornament on our Christmas tree.
Then I slowly descended. Daniele sat among the boxes with Christmas ornaments, which I had bought because I feared Gaia’s old things would bring back too many painful memories, while Simona tore off the silver tinsel she had discovered in one of them.
I sat next to Daniel, peering into his face. He was twirling a red ornament on the floor, looking at it with a bit of a frown. Loulou had rushed away the moment Elijah had brought the tree into the living room that morning and refused to approach. “Who would tell you such a thing?” It could not be something he had decided for himself. He was too young. “Mom.” Her voice was a fluttering whisper, and my heart ached to hear her. She kept not looking at me, just the ornament.
“What did he say?””That Daddy is bad. That he hurt Andrea and saddened Mommy.” I bit my lip, trying to decide what to say. I bided my time by removing a piece of tinsel from Simona’s mouth, which caused an angry cry, but I was too distracted to react. Discouraged by my lack of reaction, she fell silent.
Daniel lifted his eyes, meeting my gaze frontally. He trusted me enough to ask me this question, a question that must have weighed heavily on his slender shoulders all these months. The truth was out of the question. And if I’m honest, I wasn’t sure how to answer his question truthfully. All I knew was that Daniel deserved a happy childhood after all he had been through. Lies were a slippery slope that eventually tripped you up.
“Your uncle betrayed your father. He ran away because he did not want to be punished for his mistake. This hurt your mother very much. She was no longer herself after your uncle left her.
That’s why she didn’t know what she was saying, Daniel. Your father does everything to protect you and Simona because he loves you. He would never hurt you or your sister.” “He didn’t hurt Mother?””No,” I whispered. It was the truth and the lie. A lie that would help our family heal. Some lies we told others to protect them or ourselves; others we told ourselves for the same reason. Today’s lie was a bit of everything. “You?” “It doesn’t hurt me either.” Simona crawled toward the tree and made a gesture as if to drag herself upright with a branch. I leapt to my feet and kidnapped her and then took her to Daniel.
“Will you continue to watch over her?”
He nodded and I placed her on his lap. He hugged her to his body, and she seemed content for the moment.
“You see,” I said in a low voice. “You want to protect Simona, and I want to protect you, and your father wants to protect all of us.” / After I had finished decorating, the children and I went to my painting room. As was our custom for the past two weeks, both children were given brushes, watercolors and paper so that they could entertain themselves while I finished painting that I had started for Alessio. It was almost done. I was not entirely happy with the splashes on the waves crashing on the beach. They needed to appear more vivid. I wanted Alessio to smell the ocean air and the refreshing breeze when he saw it. He had a picture of the exact same view in our bedroom, but I hoped he would like a canvas.
Loulou sniffed at the door, but she kept running over the paper and through the paint cans, scattering colored paw prints everywhere, so she was no longer allowed in. Daniel dragged the brush across the paper, creating blue lines, as if he, too, was painting the ocean. I put the brush down and approached him. He did not look up as I sank down beside him. Simona was hitting the floor with her brush over and over again, splattering paint everywhere. My overalls and bare feet were already covered in a myriad of colors. Daniel had returned quietly after our conversation this morning, reflecting on what I had said.
I would have liked to take a look inside his head.
“Your father would like a painting of the ocean for Christmas. Why don’t you give it to him?” Daniel dipped his brush in the blue paint and continued to draw jerky lines.
“That’s fine,” was her sweet reply.
“There is nothing happier for your father than spending time with you and hearing your voice again.” Kissing Daniel’s temple, I stood up and returned to my canvas.
We planned Christmas Eve dinner for the family. Fortunately, Sybil cooked most of the feast. Ilaria and her husband also came with their children. Mia was still pregnant.
I had a feeling she was going to have a Christmas baby, and I could tell she desperately wanted to give birth. Mia and Ilaria’s children were more rowdy than Daniel’s, but they got along well, despite Daniel’s selective muteness. When we sat down for dinner, one topic was definitely off-limits: Gaia. I didn’t care. Too much of her presence still hovered within those walls.
Mansueto watched Alessio and me like a hawk. He was obviously protective of his son.
“When will you bless us with another grandchild?”
I choked on a piece of roasted asparagus. Daniel looked between me and his father. I wasn’t sure he understood. At least, Simona was busy crushing carrots in her hands. “I bless you with a grandchild any day now,” Mia said sharply, patting her round belly. “And I am happy with your son, but what about you, Alessio?”
Alessio slowly put down his fork and knife. A vein pulsed in his throat. I touched his leg under the table. I didn’t want to fight at Christmas dinner. “I have two small children. That’s enough now.”
“You should keep your young wife in mind.” This was not about me. Perhaps Mansueto feared that Andrea was really the father, not Alessio. Continuing the bloodline was something deeply ingrained in every mobster, so it was surprising that Alessio had not taken a paternity test the moment he found Gaia dead. “I’m happy with what we have,” I said quickly. Alessio touched my hand, gratitude flashing in his eyes.
“Now, but what about in a few years?”
– Father, – Alessio said abruptly.
“None of your business.” Mia turned to me.
“Do I hear you painting?” I could have hugged her and gladly brought her on the subject change, although Mansueto obviously had no intention of dropping the subject anytime soon.