Chapter 9 – A HOME IS NOT A SHRINE

Luca stared at his mother.

Then he slowly sat down.

“What do you mean, Mom?”

Teresa reached for the garden cottage key.

“I know you’re trying to make things right.”

“I am.”

She nodded.

“But I don’t want to go from being ignored to having everybody make decisions for me.”

Luca looked confused.

Teresa smiled gently.

“I’m seventy-eight, sweetheart. I’m not a child.”

He gave a small laugh.

“I know that.”

“Then let me be seventy-eight.”

I watched Luca lower his eyes.

Teresa continued.

“Some mornings I want to sit in my favorite chair and listen to your father. Some mornings I want to go out with my friends and complain about the price of groceries.”

A few guests laughed.

She looked at Antonio’s photograph.

“And some days I don’t want to talk about him at all.”

Luca looked up.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

She touched his hand.

“Missing someone doesn’t mean you want to spend every minute being sad.”

That seemed to surprise him.

Perhaps because he’d spent seven years believing his mother needed the old recording to survive her grief.

But I’d seen another side of Teresa.

The woman who laughed at Mrs. Carter’s terrible jokes.

Who loved crossword puzzles.

Who complained when the roses were overwatered.

Who once spent an entire afternoon teaching me how to make lemon cake because she was convinced I hadn’t eaten enough.

Antonio was part of her life.

He wasn’t all of it.

“I thought you were lonely,” Luca admitted.

“Sometimes I am.”

Teresa smiled.

“Sometimes I’m perfectly happy by myself.”

He nodded slowly.

“I should have asked.”

“Yes, sweetheart. You should have.”

Then she looked toward the cottage key.

“I might spend an afternoon over there when the weather is nice.”

Luca smiled.

“I’d like that.”

“But I want my room here.”

“You have it.”

“And I’d like to decide which photographs stay out.”

“Of course.”

She pointed toward Antonio’s graduation picture.

“That one can stay on the dining room sideboard.”

Luca looked surprised.

“Not beside your chair?”

She shook her head.

“I have plenty of photographs beside my chair.”

Her eyes softened.

“I’d like everyone to see how proud your father was of you.”

Luca picked up the frame.

For several seconds, he studied the image.

Then he placed it at the center of the sideboard.

Not hidden.

Not displayed like a memorial.

Just part of the family.

He looked toward the restored cassette.

“Mom, I was thinking we could put a speaker in here so you can play Dad’s message whenever you want.”

Teresa shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

Luca blinked.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want my husband’s voice becoming entertainment for dinner guests.”

His expression changed.

She continued.

“Tonight was different. We needed to hear that it hadn’t been lost.”

“I understand.”

“But after tonight, I’d like to listen to it privately.”

Luca nodded.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Teresa smiled.

“And perhaps once in a while, you could come sit with me.”

His throat tightened.

“I’d like that.”

She gave his hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to say anything. Your father and I were married long enough that we didn’t always have much to say.”

Luca laughed.

“He talked constantly.”

“Only when he was complaining.”

She smiled at the memory.

Then her expression grew serious.

“There’s one more thing.”

Luca leaned forward.

“Anything.”

“Don’t turn this house into a place where everyone is afraid to mention Vanessa.”

His smile disappeared.

“Mom—”

“I know what she did.”

Teresa looked at the empty space where Vanessa had been standing.

“And I know you can’t marry her after what happened.”

Luca nodded.

“But we can be sad that something good was supposed to happen here tonight, and it didn’t.”

He stared at her.

She continued.

“You loved her.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re allowed to grieve that, too.”

For the first time since Vanessa left, Luca looked as though he might cry again.

Teresa touched his cheek.

“You don’t have to pretend she meant nothing just because she hurt us.”

He lowered his head.

I quietly looked away.

There was something deeply private about watching a grown man realize he didn’t have to choose between loving his mother and admitting his heart was broken.

When I looked back, Luca was holding Teresa’s hand.

“Thank you, Mom.”

She smiled.

“That’s what mothers are for.”

Then she added, “Well, that and reminding you to eat your vegetables.”

He laughed.

The room seemed lighter.

Mrs. Carter began clearing the unused dinner plates.

A few guests approached Teresa to say goodnight.

Peter Romano promised to bring her some old photographs of Antonio’s repair shop.

Teresa told him she’d rather he brought the pecan pie his wife made.

He laughed and agreed.

As the guests drifted away, Luca turned toward Mrs. Carter.

“Tomorrow, I want to review how household decisions have been handled.”

She nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And I want the staff to know they can bring concerns directly to me.”

“Of course.”

He looked at me.

“Emily, your regular schedule begins tomorrow. Nothing changes unless you want it to.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”

He shook his head.

“No more thanking me for correcting something that should never have happened.”

I smiled faintly.

For the first time that night, I began to imagine coming to work without worrying about Vanessa.

But Mrs. Carter was strangely quiet.

She stood beside the sideboard, holding the folded schedule.

I noticed her fingers trembling.

“Mrs. Carter?” I asked.

She looked at me.

Then toward Luca.

“Sir, there’s something I need to correct.”

Luca turned.

“What is it?”

She looked ashamed.

“I’ve allowed everyone to believe Miss Bellini made those scheduling changes entirely on her own.”

My stomach tightened.

Luca frowned.

“Didn’t she?”

Mrs. Carter shook her head.

“She ordered them.”

Then she looked directly at me.

“But I’m the one who signed the instruction removing Emily from tomorrow’s schedule.”