Fiona looked around at all the bottles stacked up against the walls. “I admit, I did think about it. It didn’t take long for an agent to call and make an offer, but I never called him back. Now I know what I want. Iwant to keep this place because it feels like home. And if your husband won’t give you the money to buy Connor’s share of your London house, I’ll give it to you. You won’t lose it.”
“Seriously? Fiona, are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She moved to the collection with her mother’s name on it. “Our father made an exceptional wine, and this place was special to my mom. She was never able to come back here, but she dreamed about it until the day she died. I think if she were here, she’d want me to enjoy it and share it with you.” Fiona picked up one of her mother’s bottles and dusted off the label with the palm of her hand. “I say there’s no time like the present. How about we enjoy this bottle, right now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. I feel like celebrating. I want to raise a glass and toast to the fact that I have a sister and a niece and a nephew—and a brother, if he ever decides to lay down his sword. What do you say? We can go sit by the pool and pop the cork.”
Sloane smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Let’s go find the kids.”
Together they walked out, and Sloane held on to the bottle of wine while Fiona closed the big oak door and locked it securely behind them.
CHAPTER 28
FIONA
The flight home across the ocean was far less plaguing than the red-eye I had endured on my journey to Italy. Somehow, I lucked into a direct daytime flight from Rome to New York, with a brief one-hour layover at JFK, no delays, and I flew first class all the way. Whenever the flight attendant offered me something delicious to eat or refilled my glass of wine, I couldn’t stop pinching myself. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Time in the air also provided precious opportunity to reflect upon what I had learned about myself since my arrival in Tuscany. I was relieved to know the complete, unspoiled truth about how I had come into the world. It had not been an assault upon my mother or any other form of seduction or ravishment. It had been an act of love, and even the keeping of secrets had been an act of love, in its own complicated way, stirred together with guilt. A wife had hidden something from her husband to protect him from further heartbreak following a terrible trauma. She had buried the truth to give him a reason to live. She had sacrificed her own desires in the process.
I now understood that my silence had been a continuation of that act of love—to protect the father I’d always adored and idolized for hiscourage and fortitude in challenging circumstances. At all times, my mother and I had placed his happiness and well-being above our own. We did everything in our power to shelter him from further injury, both physical and emotional.
Had it been a two-way street? Had he done the same for us?
No. I understood now that he had not. He had allowed us to make those sacrifices, and he had been doing that to my mother since the day they met—long before her infidelity and the tragic accident that changed his life. In the beginning, he’d needed her to support him while he wrote his book—not just financially but emotionally as well. He needed her to provide for him and build him up and ignore her own dreams. When she wanted to have a child, he was reluctant because it would have gotten in the way of his writing, and it didn’t matter to him that my mother had deep, genuine longings for motherhood.
After the accident, his needs morphed into something else. He needed her, and me, to remain at his side and never leave him. He needed us for his own physical and mental survival.
As I looked out at the breathtaking view of white cottony clouds just below the aircraft, I didn’t know what to do with my thoughts and feelings. It was a complicated situation, and I had no idea how Dad would react when I told him where I had been for the past week. What would he say when he found out I had been to Tuscany and uncovered all his secrets—and that I had lied about where I had gone?
I supposed I was in no position to judge him for keeping secrets. I had kept secrets too.
After collecting my bags at the airport, I took a cab home and walked into the house where I grew up. Instantly, I detected the familiar sound of light fabrics spinning in the dryer in the laundry room. It was a constant in our home: the washing and disinfecting to guard againstinfections. Having been away for a week, I realized how much the house smelled like a hospital.
I dropped my keys onto the breakfast bar, then moved down the hall to my father’s room, where he was sitting up in bed and Dottie was giving him a shave.
“Hey there,” I said from the doorway.
Dottie jumped with surprise and set the razor down on a stainless steel tray. “You’re back!” She moved to hug me. “How was your trip?”
“Amazing,” I replied. “Exhausting. Enlightening.”
“I want to hear all about it,” Dottie said, “but I should let you two say hello first. He’s only half-shaved, as you can see.”
“I’ll finish up for you,” I replied, for I had shaved Dad many times. I knew the drill.
“Wonderful. I’ll go pour myself a cup of tea.”
Dottie left us alone. I moved closer and kissed the top of Dad’s head. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, sweet girl,” he replied. “I’m glad you’re home. How was the flight?”
“Wonderful,” I said. “No delays. And the sky was blue over the Atlantic. I could see for miles.”
Standing at his bedside, I picked up the razor. The scent of the shaving cream was as familiar to me as the humid Florida air.
“How did you make out while I was gone?” I asked.
