I felt sore in every ounce of my being, but it was the delicious soreness that comes after a night full of making love. My mouth was parched, my skin was hot and already coated in sweat, and my heart—hurting.
Brando had only shared with me a small portion of what had happened to him. Now he was gone.
Looking down, I saw that I had kicked off the thin sheets that had draped across the lower portion of my body after falling asleep, but the cotton nightgown Brando had handed me last night was on my body. He must’ve dressed me before he left.
Raising a hand to my lips, I fought the thick fog that muddled my thoughts—he had kissed me and then whispered,dormire.Sleep. And I had, without much say in the matter.
Where had he gone? I had hoped that, after a long, hot bath, we would loaf around the house. Perhaps not even leave the room. We had been operating at one hundred for as long as I could remember. That day, I needed to be at five.
I lifted one arm and then the other, in some weird stretch that made me feel like a creature from the blue lagoon, newly awakened from the underworld it lived in.
On second thought, five was even too much. Zero would be perfect.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, teeth clean and mouth tasting of mint, I went in search of Brando. To change meant to use energy.No thank you.I had no plans of going anywhere else. Besides, the cotton allowed my skin to breathe.
I tiptoed out, hearing voices float all throughout the house. For whatever reason, I went to my brother’s room, the thought of him a magnet to his space. As hot as it was, I shivered, thinking about what Brando had told me. “He was standing over me.”
“I love you more than my heart can stand sometimes, Elliott,” I whispered, “but we have each other. All is good here.”
There was no real reason for me to say the words, but the dream—no, that wasn’t what it was—scared me. If I had woken up and Elliott had been watching over me, I’m not sure what I would’ve done either. When I’d experienced something similar the night of our wedding (I’d seen the ghost of my grandfather, the Italian painter Matteo Ballerini), it wasn’t an experience I wanted to have again. But I’d never been close to my grandfather, hadn’t even known him in life, so it was different from what Brando had experienced with my brother.
I envied Eva in that dreams seemed like a pleasurable way to meet loved ones who had passed on. It seemed safer, more comfortable, a neutral place that was neither for the living or the dead. It was a place where both worlds could meet in a harmonious atmosphere.
My feet came to a stop right outside of Elliott’s door. My parents usually kept it closed. It was cracked, and putting my fingertips to the wood, I gently pushed it open. My mother sat on his bed, her face turned toward the window, absorbed in something only she could see.
If the rest of the house was a steam bath, Elliott’s room was the core. She hadn’t opened the windows. Perhaps she was afraid some of his essence would slip out.
It was too late to turn back, so I kept quiet, staring at a single picture of Brando and Elliott that he had laid on his desk at some point in time. Sometimes, I yearned to see that same smile on Brando’s face—it was carefree.
“If you are looking for your husband, he went with your father to check the cabins. To make sure there was no damage after the storm. I found him here before they left.”My mother spoke to me in Slovenian.
Quiet had given me a false sense of being alone—I startled when she spoke to me. Brando would never tell my mother about the dream—he wouldn’t want to upset her—but him coming into Elliott’s room must’ve made her remember. Perhaps brought back memories of when Brando would come over to see him.
My feet padded against the floor, not a sound, but the feel of wetness beneath them seemed to make prints as I made my way deeper into his space. Even the wood was sweating.
“I didn’t just come to find Brando,” I replied in Slovenian. “Not entirely. I like to come in here from time to time. It makes me feel closer to Elliott.”
My father and sister mostly stayed away from his room. My mother and I came to find a sense of him, to be closer. It was easier for me than the grave. His room still seemed so warm, and not in temperature alone.
I was thankful for the fact that Charlotte kept her distance. He shared her blood and the same womb, but other than that, he was mine in the real sense of the word “brother.” We had laughed together, cried, cut up, and the only time I ever got angry with him was when he started to leave me behind for his friends.
Charlotte had fought with him as much as she had fought with me. The only difference was that he never had something she always wanted, so the fights didn’t last that long. I had a feeling that dance would always come between us.
My mother didn’t reply, her eyes still on the window. I wanted to say something to her, to touch her shoulder in acknowledgment, but it almost felt awkward and forced. Not the natural reaction a daughter would have to her grieving mother. I had longed to get over it time and time again, but could never seem to break the barrier between us.
Turning to go, I stopped on a dime. I knew all that Elliott had in this room, where it was placed and how. A row of built-in cabinets lined an entire wall, separated by a spot for his television.
I took a step closer and narrowed my eyes.
Where one area had been empty, a porcelain cross now took up space. It was the kind made for a small child, an infant. The white porcelain had light blue writing on it, hand painted, and a small candle done in gold.
I choked back the sob that threatened to burst free.
You hold him in your armshad been written, and underneath,Matteo Leone Fausti,along with the date that we had lost him.
“I did that,” my mother said in Slovenian. “I felt he should be here with your brother. “If you would prefer—”
“No,” I said, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the cool cross. “It’s perfect. Thank you,Mati.” It took all of the strength and determination in me not to cry, not to break down into a million pieces that I’d have to collect and glue back together over the next few weeks, the shape never truly right again.
