“As many times as needed,” Giada hastens to reply, fearing I’ll have a cynical response likeEvery time it breaks, it works worse and worse.“But ... to put it back together properly, we need something else!”
My sister rushes into her room and comes back waving a CD with a cracked cover. “The Backstreet Boys!” She blows on the disc and puts it in the old stereo on my bookshelf, presses Play, and then grabs a hairbrush and starts singing.
We find ourselves improvising a makeshift concert, complete with choreography, until all three of us collapse on the bed, panting.
“We are a really nice family,” says Linda. “Strange but beautiful.”
“Strange but beautiful,” I repeat. “I like it.”
“But I miss Michael a bit. He made me laugh,” she says, unaware of the bullet that shoots straight into my chest. “Don’t you miss him, Mom?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?” she insists.
“Not even a little.”
Good thing I promised not to tell her any more lies.
53
Michael
“I was hoping your holiday would make you appreciate a slower pace, but now that you’re back, you’re working three times as hard as before,” Saxton remarks as he passes my office and notices I’m already up to my neck in work. “What time did you get here?”
“Seven.”
“If you’re not on the edge of a nervous breakdown at all times, you’re not happy, right?”
“I won’t dignify that question with an answer,” I mutter.
“Have a good day yourself,” he walks off, shaking his head in obvious disappointment. But he’s a stronger person than I am. Work is the best medicine I know for dulling the pain I’ve been feeling since I’ve been back in London.
The problem is that I have a tolerance for it now: As the pain increases, I have to work harder to suppress it.
The phone on my desk rings, distracting me from the computer. “Hi, Penny.”
“I have a call for you. Can I pass it through?”
“Who is it?”
“Miss Benetti, from Italy.”
It takes me a few seconds to realize what I’ve just heard. Elisa is calling me? Here? I fight with my conscience, which is shouting:Answer, by God! Answer!
“I don’t know any Miss Benetti,” I tell Penny, impassive. As usual my pride gets the better of me.
“Are you sure? Because she says she’s your niece.”
“Linda?” I exclaim.
“So you do know a Miss Benetti! Of course you do have a very unique definition of an acquaintance ... like with your girlfriends.”
“Look, Penny, if I were you, I wouldn’t bring that up. I’m still considering whether to forward your termination letter or not. It’s saved in my drafts, ready to go,” I threaten her.
“So, what should I do with this call?” she asks, impervious to my threat.
“Put her on.”
