“No,” I answer. “But that almost sounds more appealing than the alternative at this point. Now let go of me!”
I wrench my arm out of his grip, but as I do, as I yank backward, my foot slips free of my tenuous foothold. The rocks and dirt give way and there is nothing holding me up anymore. I scream as I skid downward at an unnatural angle. I flail and struggle to regain my balance, but I can’t. Everything is happening too quickly. Luca grabs for me, but it’s too late.
I tumble down the rocks, down the steep incline, flipping over several times before I finally land with my cheek resting in the watery sand below. The jarring blow knocks the wind out of me and I struggle to breathe as I gather my wits. It happened so quickly that it seems like a blur.
Luca is beside me in an instant.
“Eva! Can you hear me!”
I nod without lifting my head. I can’t seem to breathe well yet. I don’t have enough air to move or speak. Long seconds pass before I can urge any sound from my lips.
“Go away, Luca,” I finally rasp. “Just go away.”
“Not a chance,” he says. He bends and picks me up from the shallow water and rocks. As he lifts me from the water, my scraped feet sting in the breeze. I have no idea if I am injured. I feel completely numb. I am dirty and muddy and wet as he wordlessly carries me back to my cottage.
He carries me into my bathroom where he runs a bath and strips off my wet clothes. He holds my hand as he settles me into the tub, then kneels next to me, washing my arms and legs carefully. I’m scraped all over and it burns as the hot water seeps into the cuts. But I don’t care. I draw my knees up to my chest and lean my cheek against them, closing my eyes.
I’m too numb to cry.
“It will all be okay,” Luca says carefully as he washes my muddy face. “I promise, Eva. You will be okay, no matter what. I will make sure of it.”
I don’t answer, but I allow him to help me back out of the tub and wrap me in a towel. I feel so empty and alone, even though he is right here. Because I know what he wants and it is very different from what I want.
I feel utterly alone.
I pull a t-shirt over my head and then collapse back onto the couch.
Luca settles me in with a blanket and a pillow and sits at my feet, stroking my legs soothingly.
“Rest, Eva,” he tells me. “I know you are exhausted. You aren’t taking care of yourself. I can see it. Please sleep. I’ll be right here.”
I stare at him wordlessly for a moment, then grasp his hand and close my eyes. He might be against what I want, but I still love him. I can’t help it. And his presence comforts me. I sleep more quickly and deeply than I have in weeks because even in sleep, my body knows that he is here.
I wake several hours later in horrible pain, my body wrenching and twisting as my abdominal muscles contract. I double over, clutching my stomach, trying to breathe. The pain takes my breath away. As I look up, Luca is watching me in horror, in pain. And I see something in his eyes that I don’t wish to see.
“What is happening?” I ask him limply. “Luca.”
He turns away, but not before I see the terrible answer in his eyes.
And I know, even while I am asking him, what is wrong. I am miscarrying.
It isn’t long before the sticky wetness between my legs lets me know that I am correct. I cry as I clean the blood from my legs. I use washcloth after washcloth to wipe my unborn child’s remains from my skin. With each ragged breath, with each cloth filled with tissue and blood, I cry a little more.
“Don’t touch me!” I screech at Luca as he tries to help me. “This was our child. If you hadn’t tried to grab me, I wouldn’t have fallen. This is your fault. Your fault! You did this to me on purpose. You wanted the baby gone and now it is. I hate you for this, Luca.”
And at this moment, I do.
Luca stops moving and stares at me sadly, quietly.
“I know you do,” he answers finally. “But that’s the way it should be. It will make it easier on you.”
I collapse into my bed, crying once again even though I didn’t think I had any tears left. I am empty inside; completely, soul-shatteringly empty.
“You did this,” I whimper. “You killed our child.”
Luca takes a shuddering breath and kneels next to me, his forehead pressed against my arm. I move away from him. I can’t bear his touch. He takes another ragged breath as he pulls the blanket up around me.
“Eva, I wanted to terminate this pregnancy for the good of the child, because I know what it is to be a monster. I would never purposely hurt you. I didn’t grab you hoping that you would fall. I grabbed you so that you wouldn’t. I promise you that. I would never knowingly hurt you. Even I am not that much of a monster.”
I cry. Tears fall onto my nose and drip onto the sheets and Luca wipes them away. I look up at him and the sadness in his eyes convinces me that he is telling the truth. He didn’t want me to fall. How could I have thought that? Why did I run?
I did this.
I know that much is true.
Luca didn’t run, I did.
I whimper with that knowledge and Luca stares down at me in concern. I don’t object when he folds in behind me and wraps his arms around me. Deep down, I long for him even now.
“I’m so sorry, Eva,” he whispers into my ear with his husky voice. “I am so sorry.”
And I know that he is which is why I can’t truly hate him for this. I close my eyes and sink into sleep. I am awakened several times in the night by pinching cramps in my abdomen. Luca finds a heating pad and drapes it over me. He gives me painkillers and wipes me clean as I continue to bleed.
At one point, I stare up at him. “I love you, Luca,” I whisper.
“I know,” he sighs. “I love you, too.”
When I wake in the morning, he is gone.
Chapter Thirty Two
Luca
I have never hated myself more than I do at this moment.
As I walk back toward Chessarae, the sun peeks over the horizon and I know that I don’t deserve to stand in it. I should never see light of day again.
I may not have physically caused Eva to fall, but deep down, I know that I am relieved that she miscarried. It is a terrible, heinous thought, but it is true.
If I were normal, I would welcome a child with Eva with open arms. I would welcome a life with her with open arms. But I’m not normal. And no child of mine could ever possibly be normal. My own mother has told me many times that she wished she had never carried me to term, that she wished I hadn’t been born. If my own mother feels so strongly about me, if I am that much of a monster, then why would I ever want to bring a child just like me into the world?
It is for the best that Eva miscarried. But the fact that I even think that, especially after seeing her pain throughout the night, only cements my knowledge that I am a monster. Who else would think such a thing? My mother is right about me.
I am damaged in unfixable ways.
I am tempted to wade into the sea, to walk into the deep depths and refuse to swim, but I know that my body’s subconscious need to survive would propel me to the surface and nothing will have changed. I would still be what I am.
I continue walking, knowing that the person who I love most in the world has been utterly crushed by an event that I am almost thankful for.
She is the only thing I love.
She is in pain right now and I can’t fix it.
It is a knowledge that I can hardly bear.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eva
I have no purpose here now, no reason to stay in Malta.
So, I make preparations to return home, to defend my dissertation and begin my life in Portland. Or perhaps I will move to somewhere sunnier, like Phoenix or Santa Fe or maybe even Honolulu. Somewhere like Malta. I gulp. I can’t be reminded of this place, of Luca. It would be my undoing.
I’ll probably just stay in Portland.
I want to hate Luca for what happened an
d I try very hard because it would be easier than blaming myself. But I can’t. I know that he didn’t mean for me to fall. He was out there trying to keep me from harm and if I hadn’t run, then we would never have been out there on those rocks at all.
Luca sent a doctor to look at me. The doctor thinks that I miscarried partly due to stress, in addition to the fall. He said, and I know that it is true, that a woman’s body is more durable than one would think. That normally a fall wouldn’t cause a woman to miscarry by itself. So, truly, I’m even more to blame for not managing my stress better.
It’s a thought that does nothing to ease my guilt.
I feel like a failure as a strong woman. All my life, I’ve been the strong one in any given situation. And now, I feel like I’ve allowed myself to get sucked so far into emotional situations that I handled them weakly. And I hate that thought more than I can even admit. I am not that girl, the one who falls to pieces. But here lately, that’s exactly who I am. I make a concentrated effort to pull myself together, to focus on moving forward.
I am packing when a knock raps on my door and as always, I turn towards it with a sharp pang of hope. Is it Luca? But I know that it isn’t and when I answer the door, I find that it is not. I try not to feel disappointment as I greet Marianne.
Her face is grave however.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Melina Minaldi died in the night,” she tells me solemnly. “I thought you would want to know.”
“She died?” I am stunned. “But she was in perfect health. How did it happen?”
Marianne shakes her head. “I don’t know. But I thought you would want to know, that maybe you would want to go to Luca. I know he will be devastated.”
I’m not sure that he is devastated, but I do want to go to him.
However, I restrain that urge.
“When is the funeral?” I ask her. Again, she shakes her head.
“I don’t know, bella. Probably in a couple of days.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I murmur.
“Of course, sweet one,” she says.
After she leaves, I pick up the phone and dial Luca’s cell phone. He answers on the first ring.
“Eva,” he says. He is surprised that I have called. “I thought that I would never hear your voice again.”
My heart breaks with his words. I can imagine that is what he thought.
“I’m still angry,” I tell him. “I’ll probably never get over the fact that you wanted to abort our baby. But I know it wasn’t your fault that I fell. I said some terrible things to you in anger. And I’m sorry for them. But that’s not why I’m calling. I want to give you my condolences. I’m so sorry about your mother. What happened?”
Luca is silent for a moment.
“Thank you,” he says. “It has been difficult. The official cause of death is listed as a heart attack. But I know you probably know better. My mother overdosed on her own sedatives. She did it herself.”
I am not surprised. I remember her chilling voice as she begged me to do it. I nod even though he can’t see me.
“I knew she would try,” I admit to him. “I told Adrian.”
“I knew, as well,” Luca tells me. “We tried to prevent it, to watch her around the clock, but Sophia isn’t a machine and mother wouldn’t allow anyone else near her.”
“Sophia must feel horrible,” I say.
“She does,” Luca answers. “But it wasn’t her fault.”
I don’t voice the unspeakable; that Melina is at peace now, that she can no longer torture herself, that she can no longer torment Luca. Instead, I simply agree with him.
“No,” I answer. “It is certainly not Sophia’s fault. When is the funeral?”
“Day after tomorrow, at the cathedral in town. But you don’t have to come.”
Pain shoots through me at his words; it feels like yet another rejection.
“Of course I’ll come,” I tell him. “I’d like to say goodbye to you in person, anyway. I’m leaving for home next week.”
There is silence, painful and empty.
Finally he speaks.
“That is how it should be,” he says, his voice smooth and devoid of emotion.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” I tell him, trying not to cry.
“Until then,” he answers and then the phone goes dead. I hold it in my hands for the longest time before I lay it down.
The next day passes woodenly, as though I am simply treading water until I see him again. I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it, because I know it will be for the last time.
The morning of the funeral, I dress in a simple black sheath dress and pull my hair into a knot at my neck. I carry with me a bouquet of flowers from my own garden. I take the bus into town and arrive to find that the cathedral is packed full of people from Valletta. Apparently, because the Minaldis are so prominent in this town, everyone wanted to show their respect. Marianne waves to me and I make my way to sit at her side.
The mass is a normal funeral service. I spend most of it staring at the family pew. Luca is there in a somber black suit, along with his brothers. I still would have known they were brothers even if I hadn’t seen them together. They look very much alike. Damien and Luca could practically pass as twins, while Christoph looks like them, but is just an inch or two shorter.
When the service is over, the priest announces that there will be no public interment and that everyone is free to mingle in the community rooms beneath the church. I swallow hard. It is time to say goodbye to Luca.
I steel myself. I can do this. I’ve done everything on my own in this life. I can do this.
I wait for a while until Luca appears to be done chatting with well-wishers. He retreats to a back corner and sits, comfortable in the shadows. He meets my eyes and I walk to him, my legs shaky.
“Hi,” he greets me softly. I long to reach out and hold his hand, but he doesn’t move toward me, so I don’t. I sit next to him instead. We are alone over here, alone in a crowded room. There is no one near.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m sorry for everything. For your mom, that I couldn’t help her, that I couldn’t help you….”
My voice trails off and he stares at me.
“After everything, you’re apologizing to me?” He’s incredulous now. “What have I done to you? Have I truly taken a strong, independent woman and turned her into someone who apologizes for things that she hasn’t done? This isn’t you, Eva.”
I sniff, fighting back tears once again.
“My hormones have been crazy,” I admit to him. “Because of the pregnancy and losing the pregnancy. It seems like all I can do is cry lately. I’m sorry.”
His eyes soften now and he looks away.
“I’m the one who is sorry,” he finally says, turning to meet my gaze once again. “I never meant to hurt you. I never want that.”
“What will you do now?” I ask. “I hope that you let someone try to help, even if it can’t be me.”
The words are difficult to say, because I so much want to be the one who helps him.
He studies me for a moment, then looks at his hands.
“I’m going on an extended trip,” he says quietly. “I love to sail and it’s been a long time since I’ve been. Adrian and I are leaving tonight. I can’t hurt anyone on the water, away from the civilized world.”
“So, you’re just going to run?” I ask bitterly. “You’re going to hide away from the world, isolating yourself again?”
He shrugs, his shoulders elegant. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Let me help! I want to scream. But I don’t. It would be a waste of time and dignity. He’s made up his mind.
“I wish things had been different,” I whisper instead. He nods.
“I do, too.”
He reaches out now and grasps my hand, enveloping mine with his larger one. He is warm and strong and I ache to melt into his body. I know, from the way he is staring at me with
such stormy, dark eyes that he wishes nothing but the same.
“Please, Luca,” I whisper.
I don’t know exactly what I’m begging for.
Everything, I guess. Everything and nothing.
Luca stares at me for a moment longer, then gets to his feet, still holding my hand. He leads me through the crowds of people, ignoring the curious stares. He winds up the back staircases of the church, and through a hallway to a room upstairs. It’s a side room and I can tell that it isn’t used very often. I look at Luca questioningly. How did he even know it was here? He senses my question.
“I was an altar boy,” he says as he closes the door. “I know this church like the back of my hand.”
He turns to me and lifts me up, his mouth closing in on mine. It’s hot and needy and electric.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he growls into my neck. “Even though I know I should.”
“I know,” I whisper. My hands are in his hair, driving his head into my chest, into my neck. I want him everywhere, I want his taste, his touch, his tongue. I just want him. All around us, there is a lingering, overwhelming sense of sadness. We know that this will be the last time and it makes us ache.
He lifts me against the wall, pushing into me. There is no foreplay, because we don’t need it. We only need each other.
When I whimper, he gently covers my mouth with his hand and stares into my eyes. He rocks with me until I feel him explode. He quivers against me and then stills, still clutching me to his chest.
After a moment, he slides me to the ground.
“I love you.” His words are soft and quiet in this reverent place.
For the first time, I acknowledge that we just had sex in a church. I should feel guilty, but I don’t. I doubt that God cares.
“I love you, too,” I answer, grasping his hand as if I can make him stay with me. But I can’t. Finality is in the air between us. We are over and we both know it. All that is left is the goodbye. The very worst part.