“You’re still with me, Brando Piero Fausti. You’ve never left.”
“I never will. My heart is better, too, but only when I’m with you—because you take it with you wherever you go.”
We pulled in even closer, trying to melt into each other, before we started walking again, heading toward home.
For a while, we let the silence come between us, but it was comfortable, our thoughts easy and smooth.
“Remember that Snoopy quote, baby?”
I smiled. “I do. You told me the night we walked these same tracks, heading to the same place,keep looking up…that’s the secret of life.I had no idea who had said it. I figured it was some brilliant mind. Then you told me. Snoopy.”
We both laughed, and he kissed the top of my head.
“It reminded me of you. Always looking up at the stars. Figured it was a good sign. No matter what I did to drive you insane, you’d look up and find strength. Then you’d still love me when you looked back down.” He took another lick of his sucker. “Snoopy is fucking brilliant. That dog has some deep thoughts.”
I took his hand and brought it my mouth, taking a lick of his sucker, since I had destroyed mine. “I love you even more,il mio angelo fuorviato,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. What was it you said earlier? If we don’t bleed for the rose, sacrifice for its thorns, it wouldn’t seem as beautiful, would it? Pain makes us feel alive. Sacrifice makes us appreciate.”
“We’ve both sacrificed. We’ve both bled for this love.”
“We’d both die for this love,” I said.
“Yeah, and almost did. I don’t regret a fucking second.”
“Me either. Not a second of it.” I entangled our fingers together, holding on even tighter. “I love you, Brando Piero Fausti.”
“What’s a word that means the same thing but more?”
“Always,” I said.
“Sempre, mia moglie. You go where I go.”
“And you go where I go,” I said.
We walked through the night, as quiet as the air around us, holding on to one another.
The whistle of a train sounded in the distance before its fastclack, clack, clackinggained on us, the wind from its massive girth blowing in our faces. We watched as it sped by, its heavy bulk reminding us of the dangers this life could bring. After it disappeared like a ghost in daylight, our eyes met in understanding.
My husband cleared his throat and offered me more of his sucker. “How should a story end after years of sacrifice—blood, sweat and tears—leaves the two main characters more in love than when they first started their saga?”
“They ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after,” I said, holding on to him tighter. “The end.”
“Not ours. The beauty and her beast hold hands in the darkness, preparing for the light of a brand-new day,” he said. “Our beautiful years have just begun.Just the fucking beginning.”
37
Brando
Watching my wife dance was still one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed. I knew it always would be. A gateway to peace for a man like me.
Standing with my back to the wall of the studio, I watched as she danced with Maestro, holding his head close to her heart, moving with so much grace that he was tempted to sleep.
He knew he was being held by a woman created in heaven, and he had given over to her. His big green eyes blinked at me, his little mouth repeatedly yawning as she cradled him close, almost rocking him with her movements. Her lips were pressed to his head—so much black hair that he almost had a mohawk—and I could tell she breathed him in, craving his essence, yearning for it to touch her lungs.
She did this with each of our children.
