A week after returning from their trip, Antonio came home early from work and surprised Grace with a Lombardi’s pizza and a bottle of Chianti. She sat on the sofa, her old bear on her lap, staring into the distance.
“Hey,” he said.
Startled, she looked up. “Oh, hi, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He opened the wine, sat down next to her and handed her a glass. “I gathered as much. Everything okay?”
She accepted the glass and took a long pull. Then she reached behind her and removed the journal she’d stowed there earlier.
“Grace, I told you, I don’t want to read—”
“I know. I’m going to read it to you. It’s about a boy named Robert Sampson.” She lifted her wineglass to her lips, slugged down the remainder of the wine and refilled her glass. Then she opened to page one and read.
The following morning, Grace awoke with a start. She sprung out of bed and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. She started out of the bedroom, then stopped. Something was wrong. Turning back, she noticed that Antonio’s side of the bed was still neatly made. He had never come to bed.
She raced to the living room, calling his name. No answer. The throbbing in her head reminded her of what had happened the night before. At least, she remembered most of it—Robbie…Rose…and Mike—she’d finally told him everything. And he had…he had, what? He had cried, and he’d been angry. At Robbie, at Mike…at her? Pressing her palms to her temples she squeezed, trying desperately to remember. Had he been okay? She needed to find out.
She padded into the bathroom and extracted two aspirin from the bottle. Turning on the spigot, she sucked down the pills. Then she slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater, grabbed her coat and stepped out into the frigid winter afternoon.
Her head pounded with every step but she pressed on, determined to see Antonio face to face. She had to make sure he was okay. That they were okay.
When she arrived at her destination, she marched down the hall toward his office.
“You look like hell,” the voice behind her called.
She spun around and came face to face with Valerie. “Where is he? Where’s Antonio?” she asked.
Valerie blinked. “He’s not here. He called in sick. I just assumed you—”
Grace turned on her heels and ran out the way she’d come in.
Oh, God, he’s never called in sick a day in his life. What have I done?
She clutched her head with one hand and her stomach with the other as she hopped on the subway toward Central Park.
God, let me find him, please.
She searched all the familiar places, all of their places, and nothing. It was dark outside before she made her way back to the apartment. She closed the door behind her and hung her coat on the rack. When she turned toward the kitchen, she stopped cold.
Antonio stood before her, still wearing his coat and hat. He looked tired, disheveled, but it was more than that. He looked…different.
Her eyes bore into his and the sadness she saw was more than she could bear. She wanted so badly to go to him, comfort him, but something held her in place. What if he didn’t want her anymore? Could she survive without him? Did she even want to?
“Oh, Antonio, I’m so…so sorry…I should’ve told you everything before—”
A tear rolled down Antonio’s cheek and he opened his arms. Grace flew into them and clung to him as if he were a life preserver.
“I’m sorry for leaving, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It was a lot to take in. I just needed time to sort things out.” He drew back and held her face in his hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t blame you for not telling me. I had no idea the hardships you’ve endured. It sickens me, and it angers me, and it makes me want to hurt someone. Robert, Mike, but most of all your mother for abandoning you. I mean, she could have placed you up for adoption, given you a chance at a normal life.” Brushing a wisp of hair from her face, he kissed her tenderly. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, Grace, and I will never let anyone hurt you again.” And then he pulled her into his arms and wept.