Chapter 2 - THE EMPTY CHAIR
Roman did not go to Italy.
Camille did.
Alone.
At 6:10 the next morning, Roman canceled his ticket, the hotel reservation, the yacht, the photographer, and every plan attached to the trip.
It changed nothing.
Elena did not come back.
She had moved into the small brick house belonging to her widowed aunt, Marianne Russo, in Tarrytown.
Marianne had raised three children, survived breast cancer, buried a husband, and developed very little patience for powerful men who believed apologies were substitutes for consequences.
When Roman’s black SUV stopped outside her house Friday afternoon, Marianne was already waiting on the porch.
Roman stepped out alone.
“I need to see my wife.”
“No.”
He blinked.
People rarely told Roman Caruso no.
Marianne did it before he had reached the first step.
“She’s sleeping.”
“I’ll wait.”
“No.”
Roman looked toward the upstairs windows.
“Marianne.”
“Roman.”
His eyes narrowed.
She folded her arms.
“Elena’s blood pressure was high at her appointment.”
His anger vanished.
“What?”
“She needs rest.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Marianne stared at him.
“You were apparently very busy planning Italy.”
Roman absorbed the blow.
“I canceled Italy.”
“Would you like a medal?”
He looked down.
“No.”
That answer surprised her.
Roman asked quietly, “Is the baby okay?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“But stress is not helping.”
Roman nodded slowly.
“I won’t upset her.”
“Your presence upsets her.”
“I’m her husband.”
“And she is more than your wife.”
The words stopped him.
Marianne softened only slightly.
“You forgot that.”
Roman remained on the sidewalk for nearly an hour.
He never knocked again.
Upstairs, Elena stood behind the curtain and watched him leave.
Part of her wanted him to turn around.
That frightened her.
Because betrayal did not erase love on command.
Sometimes love survived long enough to become the most painful part.
Sunday came.
At five o’clock, Teresa instinctively drove toward Roman’s estate for the family dinner Elena had hosted every week.
Halfway there, she pulled over.
She stared at the container of lasagna beside her.
Then she called Gia.
“Where are you?”
Gia answered, “Going to Roman’s.”
“Don’t.”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“We’re having dinner at Elena’s aunt’s.”
Gia understood immediately.
“What about Roman?”
Teresa looked toward the road.
“For once, Roman can figure out his own dinner.”
At 5:30, Roman walked into the formal dining room.
The table was set.
Seven places.
The chef had prepared roast chicken.
Nobody came.
At 5:48, he called Gia.
“Where is everyone?”
“At Aunt Marianne’s.”
Roman became still.
“Why?”
Gia’s answer was quiet.
“Because Elena is there.”
Roman looked at the table.
“You chose her?”
Gia sighed.
“This isn’t a war.”
“It feels like one.”
“Maybe because you’ve spent your whole life thinking everything has sides.”
Roman sat down.
“Is Mom there?”
“Yes.”
“Uncle Frank?”
“Yes.”
“Leo?”
“Yes.”
Even his fourteen-year-old nephew.
Roman looked at the empty chair where Elena usually sat.
For years, Sunday dinner had happened automatically.
He had assumed it was tradition.
Now he realized tradition had a name.
Elena.
At Marianne’s house, eight people squeezed around a dining table designed for six.
Nobody complained.
Teresa brought lasagna.
Gia brought salad.
Leo brought a science project he had once expected Roman to help build.
Elena sat in the middle wearing soft gray maternity clothes, her feet elevated on another chair.
For the first time all week, she laughed.
Then Leo asked, “Is Uncle Roman coming?”
Silence fell.
Elena looked at him.
“I don’t think so.”
Leo nodded.
He tried to hide his disappointment.
Elena recognized it immediately.
She had hidden Roman’s failures from the boy for years.
This time she didn't.
“He promised to help with your model tomorrow, didn’t he?”
Leo nodded.
“Did he call?”
“No.”
Gia looked uncomfortable.
Elena resisted the old instinct to invent an excuse.
“Then you should tell him you’re disappointed.”
Leo stared at her.
“Can I?”
“Of course.”
That night Roman received a text.
You promised.
I waited.
You didn’t even remember. —Leo
Roman read it three times.
Then he looked across his study.
On a bookshelf stood photographs Elena had framed over the years.
His mother’s birthday.
Gia’s graduation.
Leo’s first communion.
Christmas.
Thanksgiving.
He appeared in almost every photograph.
Yet he could not remember organizing a single event.
Elena had created all of it.
His phone rang.
Camille.
Roman let it ring.
She called again.
Finally he answered.
“What?”
“So that’s it?”
Roman rubbed his forehead.
“What are you talking about?”
“You canceled everything.”
“My wife left me.”
Camille became silent.
Then she said something Roman was not prepared to hear.
“You told me you wanted that.”
He straightened.
“What?”
“You told me the marriage was finished.”
Roman stared through the dark windows.
“You said you were staying because of the pregnancy.”
“I said things were complicated.”
“No, Roman. You said Elena and you had been strangers for years.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because he remembered saying it.
It had sounded convenient when Camille needed reassurance.
Camille continued.
“You told me after the baby came, you were leaving.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Did you mean any of it?”
He could have lied.
Roman had become very good at compartmentalizing truth.
Instead he said, “I don’t know.”
Camille laughed bitterly.
“Then congratulations.”
“What?”
“You lost two women in one week.”
She disconnected.
Roman placed the phone down.
He expected anger.
Instead, shame arrived.
Across town, Elena sat at Marianne’s kitchen table completing an online application.
Hudson Valley Medical Center.
Registered nurse.
Part-time maternal health coordinator.
She attached her résumé.
Eleven years earlier she had been an emergency nurse.
She had loved it.
Then Roman’s life grew larger.
His mother became sick.
His father’s health deteriorated.
Gia’s marriage collapsed.
The Caruso family needed someone stable.
Without realizing it, Elena had slowly become that person.
Then she quit working.
Roman told her she would never need a paycheck again.
At the time, it sounded romantic.
Now it sounded dangerous.
Elena clicked SUBMIT.
Marianne placed tea beside her.
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Elena looked up.
“Good?”
“Means you’re doing something important.”
Elena smiled.
Her daughter moved beneath her hand.
Marianne glanced at Elena’s stomach.
“You have a name?”
Elena had never told anyone.
She hesitated.
“Lucia.”
Marianne smiled.
“Beautiful.”
Elena’s phone buzzed.
Roman.
She ignored it.
Another message arrived.
I remembered Leo too late.
Then another.
I’m beginning to understand how many things you carried for me.
Elena stared at the screen.
Marianne asked, “What did he say?”
Elena placed the phone face down.
“Something he should have understood years ago.”
Twenty-four hours later, Hudson Valley Medical called.
They wanted an interview.
Elena accepted.
For the first time since leaving Roman, she felt something stronger than heartbreak.
Possibility.
She did not know that Roman had just made a very different decision.
At 9:00 Tuesday morning, he entered the conference room of Caruso Holdings, placed his phone on the table, and looked at twelve senior executives.
“I’m taking a leave of absence.”
Nobody moved.
His attorney, Vincent Hale, frowned.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Roman, we have three acquisitions pending.”
“Handle them.”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“This is about Elena?”
Roman looked at him.
“Yes.”
“You can’t abandon the company because your wife is angry.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“She isn’t angry.”
Vincent waited.
Roman stared at the rain beyond the glass.
“She’s done.”
The distinction frightened him more than anger ever could.
May you like
And for the first time in his career, Roman Caruso chose not to fight for control.
He chose to find out why everyone he loved seemed able to live without him.
