Sal’s Bugatti was still there. Which meant he hadn’t left for Phoenix yet. Which gave her some solace as she jumped out of her car. But she was still in a fog as she ran up the steps.
In her tight skirt-suit and heels, she ran like a track star up those steps, across their big porch, and up to the double doors so fast she nearly slid up to those doors. And as soon as she opened them, and hurried inside, she was calling his name.
“Sal,” she cried. She needed him. “Sal! Sal!”
She ran up one side of their double staircase, across the huge landing, and into their massive master bedroom.
“Sal!” she cried as she entered. But there was still no Sal.
When she finally stopped yelling long enough to realize the shower was running, she hurried into the master bathroom.
“Sal!” she cried, and this time he heard her.
Sal quickly opened the shower’s glass door. When he saw his wife, and especially the state she was in, he frowned. “Gemma?”
Gemma, as if so outdone she could barely hold up her own weight, fell against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.
Sal, his heart now hammering, jumped out of the shower and hurried to her. His wife was not an emotional woman. He was the hot-headed, hot-tempered one. She was the cool-headed one. What in the world had happened to her?
He fell on his knees and placed both hands on her small shoulders. “Gemma, what is it?” he asked her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Even though his penis ended up between her legs, pushing against her panties, he didn’t even realize it. She was in pain. The love of his life was hurting. He was too busy looking over her entire body to make sure she wasn’t injured. “Gemma, what?” he asked her. “What is it, baby?”
Gemma finally looked at him as if she was just realizing that he was right there with her.
“What happened?” Sal asked her. His face was unable to conceal his anguish. “What’s wrong?”
Gemma shook her head. “She’s alive,” she said.
“Who’s alive?” Sal asked her.
“She might be alive.”
“Who might be alive?”
“She’s alive, Sal.”
Sal was so worried that the lines of age began to crack his skin. Was his wife having some kind of mental breakdown? “Who’s alive, Gemma?” he asked her.
Gemma shook her head again as tears appeared in her big, beautiful eyes.
“Gemma, tell me who. Who’s alive, baby?”
“My daughter,” Gemma said.
Sal frowned. “What daughter?”
“My daughter.”
Now he was really worried. “Gemma, we have a son.”
But Gemma was shaking her head again. “My daughter,” she said again. “My daughter might be alive out there.” She grabbed Sal by his muscular biceps. “Don’t you hear me, Sal? My daughter is out there. My daughter might be alive out there.”
Then Gemma, unable to face even her own words, threw herself into Sal’s arms.
Sal held her, as she sobbed uncontrollably. But his face could not hide his anguish. He was as confused as she was. What daughter could she be talking about, he wondered. What daughter?
Had his wife, his beloved wife, gone mad?
CHAPTER TEN
They sat on the window seat in their bedroom. Sal, now in his bathrobe, sat with his back to the arm of the bench and his legs up on the bench. Gemma, no longer sobbing but now sitting in quiet devastation, sat between Sal’s legs, her legs up on the bench, too, and her back against Sal’s chest. Sal had poured her a glass of wine. She held the glass with both of her hands. She felt unsteady.
Although Sal was anxious to know just what was going on with his wife, he was patient with her. She must have sipped on that glass of wine three or four times before she spoke.
“I was sixteen,” she said. “He was twenty-three. He was a brand new teacher at my high school that they hired after our regular teacher suddenly retired. He was supposed to be helping us on this science project and he told me that he wanted me and three other students to come to his place one Saturday evening to discuss it. He figured I could join forces with the other students who were struggling with their projects too. So I agreed. I was happy to go. I needed the help.”
Her face frowned, as if she was thinking about that evening all over again.
Sal was already frowned. He could hardly breathe.
“I had a job at McDonald’s and I got off at six,” Gemma continued. “After work, I went on over to his apartment. He said three other students were coming, but none of them had showed up yet. I should have left right then and there.”
Sal was astounded. “Wait a minute.” He looked at her. “Are you telling me it’s true? You do have a daughter?”
“But Sal,” Gemma started saying.
But Sal’s anger flared. “Don’t Sal me!” he said. “Answer my question, Gemma. Are you telling me that you have a daughter in this world?”
Gemma could hardly admit it to herself. “I believe so, yes,” she said.
But Sal could hardly believe it for a different reason. “And you never told me?” he asked. “I thought Lucky was your first child. Why didn’t you tell me you had been pregnant before, Gemma?”
“I didn’t want . . . I didn’t know. I mean, I knew. But I didn’t . . . It’s complicated, Sal.”
“Like hell it is!” Sal angrily moved her aside and stood up. “You could have told me, I don’t care how complicated it was! You fucked around with some joker and got pregnant, and you didn’t bother to tell me about it? After all these years?!”
Gemma was still too stunned by the news to even explain herself properly. She just couldn’t take more drama!
“Gemma?” He yelled her name. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gemma couldn’t say why. The shame. The fact that she thought it was all over that day on the delivery table. She couldn’t say why!
But her silence said it all to Sal. And he couldn’t take it. He thought he was the first. He thought he was the first and only man on the face of this earth to ever impregnant the love of his life. And he was hurt that she knew better and didn’t bother to tell him. It hurt him to his core.
And he stormed out of the French doors that led to the sweeping balcony off from their bedroom, slamming the door so hard that one of the panes shattered.
And he paced the floor of that balcony and paced it. He felt wounded, and angry. How could she keep something like that from him? He thought he was the first and only man to impregnate her. He thought he was the only one! But he wasn’t? He wasn’t?
He couldn’t take it. He wanted to jump in his Bugatti and speed off forever. Fuck her! She could have told him the truth!
But then he caught himself. In the middle of his rage, he stopped. This was Gemma he was talking about. His Gemma. He stopped thinking about his bruised pride and how she should have told him, and thought about Gemma. And how she felt! And suddenly, he was worried about her. She was devastated when she arrived home. She was calling his name as if he was the only person who could help her. But he was out there, on that balcony, too busy worrying about himself!
He went back into their bedroom.