Chapter 4
Vico
The woman from earlier remains in my thoughts for the rest of the way. There was something about her that I can't grasp. Something I can't explain, yet I know it exists.
However, she can no longer distract me now that I'm forcing my camper into the driveway. My palms become instantly sweaty, and I grip the steering wheel tightly. I only have to cover a few hundred yards of gravel road lined with an avenue of cypress trees and knee-high grass, and then I’m here.
I'm back home.
Directly in front of me stands my family's mansion. Camilla's separately built carmine-red bungalow also appears next to the tall trees. Relieved that I don't have to enter the main house, I stop at the back of the bungalow. I turn off the engine, and the hip-hop music stops, leaving an eerie silence where I can hear my heart pounding.
I feel sick.
Nothing would please me more than turning back. But that's not an option. It's better to get it over with quickly, so I step out of the van and walk straight to the wooden front door. Before Ican knock, it opens. However, Camilla’s not standing in the tiled hallway. It's my youngest sister, Alessia.
With a sweeping gesture, she brushes her hip-length curls aside, her oversized neckline exposing her shoulder. "He's here!" she calls into the house before rushing into my arms.
I lift her and twirl her around, just like we used to do. And for a moment, it feels like the past.
Warm. Safe. Affectionate.
"Hey, little whirlwind." I can't help but smile.
"Finally." She sighs deeply, then breaks away from me, blinking rapidly. "Come inside," she says, turning on her heel and disappearing into the house.
The carefree moment is abruptly gone. I immediately feel like a storm is brewing inside me. It takes an effort to kick off my flip-flops and follow my sister into the modern, spacious kitchen. I spot Camilla sitting on a cream-colored armchair in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding her round belly with rosy cheeks.
Damn, that thing is huge. Are those twins? More like quadruplets.
"Don't worry, I'm staying away from the beach," she quips, playfully rolling her eyes at the ceiling fan, which is not usually needed in March but is lazily spinning today.
I give her a mischievous grin. "Good, then I don't have to call Greenpeace either." Camilla chuckles amusedly, and I walk toward her, giving her a cautious hug. She feels as warm as a radiator in the dead of winter. "How are you doing?" I ask. The pregnancy must be taking a toll on her.
Instead of answering, she nods against my shoulder. Then out of nowhere, she breaks into sobs.
First Alessia, and now Camilla. Every woman I embrace today is either on the verge of tears or actually crying. For a split second, the sea-green eyes of the Austrian woman flash throughmy mind as if they could be my lifeline to avoid thinking about my sisters' behavior. But I have to address it.
Gently, I stroke Camilla's back. "What's wrong?" I try to keep my voice steady because I want to be there for her. "Is there something wrong with the babies?"
She waves it off and signals for me to sit on the blue-checkered corner sofa. Alessia hands me a tall grappa glass and places the bottle of clear marc brandy right next to it as if she's certain I'll be pouring myself a drink soon. I shake my head silently. No matter what they have to tell me, I can handle it without alcohol.
She doesn't look me in the eyes. Instead, she exchanges meaningful glances with Camilla and finally settles on the opposite side of the coffee table on the bright tiles of the floor. The fan rumbles on. The sofa creaks with every movement.
My God, can someone finally say something?
I look at Alessia, then at Camilla, urging them to speak. "Thank you for being here," she says with a fragile voice as if she's been practicing the lines. "We need your help." She pauses, swallows hard, and breathes shakily.
I slide closer and take her hand in mine. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."
"There's something you need to know. Something… I've kept from you. And I'm sorry for not telling you earlier…" Camilla seeks help from Alessia, who seems to be the prompter trying to save her.
The uncertainty gnaws at my stomach and now my lungs as well. I feel like I can't get enough oxygen.
"Alessia, go ahead and tell her," Camilla finally says.
With a sudden burst of courage, Alessia blurts out, "Father is sick. And the business is bankrupt." As soon as she says the words, she jumps up, walks to the window, and turns her back to us.
I'm unable to gather my thoughts coherently, so I turn to Camilla, who has buried her face in her hands. Thick teardrops slowly trickle down the inside of her forearms, disappearing into the crooks of her elbows.
