Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“I didn’t look. Since I technically won it, I didn’t have to check out. They all know I’m good for the money. It’s my nonprofit, after all.”
“I need to look into this,” he says. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“How about—”
“An Orange Crush?” he finishes for me.
I sigh, nodding. “Yes, please. I could use a drop of sunshine right about now.”
34
VINNIE
I’m still in the office when Phyllis peeks through my cracked door. “Mr. Gallo? Your grandfather is here.”
I rise from my desk, shuffling a few papers around. “Thank you, Phyllis. I’ll be right out.”
I draw a deep breath, getting myself ready.
Inside, my guts are in turmoil. I feel like I need to run for ten miles to take the edge off. But there’s no time for that.
I look outside my office window into our backyard. The pool house stands in the distance, the sparkling blue water beckoning me.
About twenty-five laps would take the edge off too.
Maybe this evening.
I walk out of the office, down the hallway, and into the living area where my grandfather sits.
“Vincent,” he says.
“Mario,” I return.
“What the hell did I need to come all the way out here for?”
“It’s a fifteen-minute drive from your office, Mario. This wasn’t a hardship.”
“My own daughter’s house,” he says, looking around. “Paid for with my money. And you know I was hardly ever invited here.”
“I’m not surprised, given what I know now.”
He glares at me. “Family is family, Vincent. You’ll do well to remember that.”
“Will I?”
“You will. Blood is thicker than water, as they say.”
I laugh, shaking my head. I learned so much during that time I spent in the Buddhist temple in Tibet. One thing I’ll never forget is learning the true meaning of the old cliché blood is thicker than water.
“I agree,” I tell Mario. “Blood is thicker than water. In the original meaning of the phrase, ‘blood’ refers to bonds formed by choice, such as those forged in friendship or battle, while ‘water’ refers to family ties, as in the amniotic fluid of the womb. Do you know what that means, Mario?”
“I know it’s bullshit,” he says.
“You’re short-sighted,” I tell him. “I learned the true meaning from the wisest man I’ve ever met. Bonds made by personal commitment or shared experience can be stronger than those formed by birth or family. And in my case, that’s certainly true.”
“Bullshit,” he says again.
I can’t help a smile. “Look it up. The first version is always the correct version.”
“So family means nothing then?”
“Family can mean everything,” I tell him. “But when you treat your family the way you’ve treated them, Mario, family has no meaning.”
He sniffs. “I’m not going to justify myself to you or anyone else. I’m over eighty years old. Now what the hell am I doing here?”
“Fair question.” I nod toward the stairway. “Follow me.”
Once we walk up the stairway, I head toward the room where Serena is staying. I knock on the door.
Renée opens it. “Yes, Mr. Gallo?”
“Is she doing all right?”
“Yes. She’s resting. She enjoyed her snack.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Would you mind stepping out for a moment? I have a guest who wants to meet her.”
“Yes, of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Just give us about an hour. I’ll call for you if we need you.”
“Absolutely.” Renée exits the room, widening her eyes a bit as she spies Mario, and then she goes down the stairs.
I open the door. “Mario, I brought you a gift from Colombia.”
Mario walks in and then stops, nearly losing his footing.
I instinctively put out a hand to steady him.
“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he says softly.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I don’t rightly care.
He walks slowly toward Serena. Her eyes hold no recognition, but she does not look frightened. We’ve made her feel safe here.
“My God,” Mario says. “Serena, my love.”
Serena tilts her head, her elderly eyes sunken. “Who are you?”
“It’s me, my darling. Mario.”
Serena’s eyes dart from Mario to me. “No… You…”
I clear my throat. “When I found her in Agudelo’s attic, she thought I was you. Apparently I look a lot like you did when you were young.”
Of course there’s no doubt about that, unfortunately. I’ve seen the photos. I’m a dead ringer for my biological father.
How can I not be? I’m the product of him and his daughter. No other genes had a chance.
Mario closes the distance between him and Serena and kneels—actually kneels—before her.
I’ve never seen Mario kneel before.
He takes her wrinkled hand in his own.
The years have been kinder to him then they have been to her. Of course, he’s lived a life of luxury. She’s lived life as a prisoner, subject to torture.
“I never believed I would see you again,” he says.
“Mario?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You… You look different. You’re an old man.”
Mario smiles. Actually smiles, and it seems sincere. “And you’re an old woman, my love, but still as beautiful as ever.”