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‘This was the season of her expectancy,’ Geo explained. ‘She was aglow, her heart alight with your coming.’

Eduardo came in, and Maria, but then with tears in their eyes stepped outside.

‘Gabriel, please don’t make decisions too soon… Wait a year, that is what they say—you shouldn’t rush into things after a death.’

‘I shan’t rush into anything,’ he lied.

‘When people are grieving they make mistakes, and some you can’t take back.’

‘I’m not going to rush into anything.’

‘Promise me.’

He met pale tired eyes that soon would close. ‘I promise.’

Gabe would lie through his teeth if it helped.

‘I worry,’ Geo said.

‘It’s time to stop worrying now,’ Gabe told him.

‘Please…’ He turned his head and his fading eyes met Gabe’s. ‘Were they fighting, Gabriel, please tell me the truth.’

‘I’ve told you the truth. They weren’t fighting. They were singing. We were all singing.’

‘I’ve never heard you sing, not since you were little.’

‘No.’

‘What was the song?’

Gabe had never answered that question. He didn’t want to go back to that time, the last moment of happiness, but then he stared out at the cliffs and a more recent pleasure somehow kept him composed and strong enough to give his grandfather the peace he deserved.

‘Volare.’

‘Your mother loved that song.’

‘She did.’ He was as close to crying as he’d ever been, and held his grandfather’s hand.

‘Sing it for me, Gabriel.’

He would do this only for him, then he paused, for he had sung for little Beatrice also, a gentle rhyme.

Tonight, Gabe sang once more, his deep baritone voice bringing a smile to il Conte’s lips, as he sang about endless blue skies and hearts soaring, and dreams never to return…

Only for his grandfather, he lived that moment again.

The moment before.

* * *

There were two losses that day.

Stella this morning, and his grandfather late that night.

Both hurt more than he’d expected them to.

Chapter Eight