“Sounds like a game.” He lifted a dark, thick brow at me.
I shoved his shoulder and he laughed.
“Ass,” I said, pulling him to me, hugging him tight.
“You’d tell me if you were unhappy. If something felt off.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I would. Was there a reason for this walk?”
“Yeah, just up ahead.”
Just ahead, a humongous chestnut tree stood all alone, shading the grass beneath its rustling leaves. From one of its branches hung a wooden swing.
“I’ve never seen this before!” I said, rushing over to it. We had taken many walks and runs around the property, and I knew for a fact I had never come across this magic.
“I made it. Thought you might like to swing here sometimes. Maybe the kids would too.” He shrugged.
It was a small thing that felt huge, like taking a nap in the middle of the day in a cool room during summer, finding a snack in your purse when you’re starving, or a friend buying coffee when life gets too hard to even comprehend without caffeine.
“It’s wonderful!” I said, sitting down, already putting my feet up. “Push me,mio marito!”
“Tutto per te, mia moglie,” he said, giving me a nice shove from behind.
My smile grew even wider.All for you, my wife, he had said.
“Weeee!” I said, reaching with my legs. “Grazie, mio marito!”
Brando laughed the kind of laugh where he threw his head back and the angels sang, rejoicing in the sound of it. He had a great laugh. The kind you felt the life in because it was never untrue.
He continued to push me until I had a good rhythm going on my own. He took a seat not far from me in the shade, one leg pulled up to his chest, picking at sprigs of grass.
“Sei felice, mio marito?” I returned his question from earlier. Was he happy?
“When you’re beside me, I’m the happiest man alive. Though I could do without a bunch of monsters wanting to hurt you.”
I nodded at this and squeezed the cross pendant, sending off a quick, silent prayer. “What do you want, Brando?” The swing slowed to a drift, and besides a hammock, I couldn’t imagine a simpler, sweeter gift.
He plucked a piece of grass, examined it for a moment, and then threw it to the wind. When he looked up, our eyes met. “I want us to go back home to Natchitoches. Life is simpler there.”
“It always has been,” I said. “Even during our hardest times.”
“Yeah,” he said, as quiet as the breeze that barely shimmied the leaves overhead.
He rose from his spot, dusted off his pants, and then took his spot behind me, pushing me again. Not as hard, but enough to set me into motion. I could smell his scent in the hot, dry air, full of spice and wood. The swing came to a slow crawl when we saw Vincenzo making his way toward us.
Brando stood in front of me, drawing my eyes up. Then he came down, taking one knee in front of me. He spoke in Italian and then repeated the words in English, even quieter than he had in his language.
“Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred; then, when we have counted up many thousands, let us shake it, lest we know, or lest some evil man be able to envy when he knows how many kisses there were.”
“Catullus Five,” I said. “When did you learn it?”
“On the ride over.”
Our eyes connected and held, and the world becameus—him and I. He stood, the connection still taut but open to what we offered to each other, and held his hand out to me. When I was up, he pulled me into him, leaning closer to my mouth.
“I have a thousand, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, and another thousand. Give me a hundred more.”
Then he kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that stops time and steals breath—the heart surrenders but the soul is stolen. The kind of kiss meant to mimic a taste of heaven. His tongue slid against mine, an invitation for more, yet it was so full of reason, the passion behind it was overwhelmingly condensed.
