“Tell me why,” Brando demanded, but in an even tone.
Brando’s “tell me why” seemed to take Marciano by surprise. He blinked at his father, perhaps trying to figure out how to explain something that he couldn’t express in words. He was only a baby in my eyes and had been through so much as of late.
I’d give him a few seconds to think, and if he couldn’t, I would say something. Damn Brando’s tough parenting. He was my baby. Just a child. But Marciano spoke up before I could.
“I do not know,Papà,”he whispered, but kept his eyes firm on his father’s.
“Ah,” Brando seemed to breathe out. He reached up a hand, tracing a vein that led to Marciano’s heart, and kept it there. “Did you miss me, son?”
Marciano seemed to process this for a moment. He nodded. “I like when you take me wimming,Papà.”
It was amazing how easily he could speak in Italian, but his words in English were rarely grammatically correct. He was naturally drawn to foreign languages. They slid off his tongue with ease, even though he had been doing better all around.
Guido had told me Dario had been the same. He even threw a tantrum once.
Once.End of story. Marciano was being inducted into this identical fate.
Brando nodded, serious. “You gave me a reason. You owned it. Don’t do it again.” He lifted a finger, demonstrating. “Once. Never again.”
“Yes, sir,” Marciano answered in Italian.
“Your mamma speaks to you, you do as she says without complaint, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered again.
“Your word.”
They stared at each other for a long minute.
“My word.”
Then in a rush, Brando brought him to his chest, kissing his head. “I missed you, my son. So much.”
Marciano rested his head on Brando’s shoulder, his long fingers tapping against his back. “You take me wimming,Papà? Not Alfonso?”
Brando turned his eyes toward mine and glared at me. I was glad I had my own Ray-Bans on. They deflected some of his harmful rays. It wasn’t just me that pulled out his mean jealous streak. We were all his. To the marrow.
Matteo ran up to us, dripping water, a big smile on his face. “Come with me, little brother.” He reached out his hand and took Marciano’s.
As naturally as if he were hugging me, Matteo touched Brando’s shoulder in passing. The sight made my heart hit a crescendo in the most joyous song. Brando had told me he brought Matteo along to Italy because they needed each other.
He had also admitted that he’d brought Matteo to see Nemours. He demanded to see the man who had hurt his mamma. But that was as far as it went. From there, Brando did what he had to do, and his brothers had kept Matteo busy while he finished what felt like a century-long battle.
Marciano got closer to his brother but stared at his father. “You come wit us,Papà?”
“In a minute. Go ahead.” He looked at Matteo. “Keep him close to the bank until I get in.” He spoke in Italian.
Matteo nodded seriously and answered with the ingrained, “Yes, sir.”
Mia and Mariano came closer to the shore, too, indulging Marciano. Brando and I sat staring toward them.From the corner of my eye, I saw him lift a water bottle and down half of it.
“I don’t like that another man took my son swimming,” he said quietly.
“I took him swimming, too,” I said, though I knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
“After another man tried to get close to you.”
I sighed out a heavy breath. “Are we going to argue about this?”
