Chapter 2 - The Question No One Could Answer
The first thing Lorenzo heard outside his study was a woman begging someone not to touch her stomach.
He opened the door to find Mrs. Gable standing over Nora, who was gripping the banister with both hands. A suitcase sat beside her feet. Snow blew through the open front entrance.
“Explain,” Lorenzo said.
Mrs. Gable turned with astonishing composure. “A regrettable matter, sir. She stole from the household. I was dismissing her discreetly.”
Nora stared at the suitcase. She had never packed it. Her pink baby blanket hung from the zipper, soaked with melting snow.
“What did she steal?” Lorenzo asked.
“A gold watch belonging to your father.”
“Show me.”
Mrs. Gable opened Nora's coat pocket and produced an antique watch. Nora's breath caught. She had seen that watch before, on Giovanni's bedside table, but it had disappeared weeks ago.
“I didn't take it,” she whispered.
Lorenzo examined the watch. On the back, beneath his father's initials, was a tiny dent from the day Lorenzo had dropped it as a boy. He closed his fist around it.
“Why would a woman stealing valuables leave with a suitcase full of baby clothes?” he asked.
Mrs. Gable blinked. “I couldn't say.”
“Then you won't say anything else until I finish asking questions.”
He turned to Nora. “Who has been feeding my father?”
Silence swallowed the foyer.
Mrs. Gable recovered first. “Our trained caregivers, naturally.”
Lorenzo looked at Nora's apron. A small orange stain marked its pocket. He recognized the scent of minestrone from the bowl balanced on a nearby service cart.
“Who feeds him?” he repeated.
“I do,” Nora answered.
“Why are you crying?”
She looked toward Mrs. Gable, then at the snow outside. “Because if I tell you, she'll make sure nobody hires me again.”
Lorenzo's expression changed. “Nobody in this house will threaten your employment while I'm standing here.”
“Sir,” Mrs. Gable interrupted, “this girl is unstable—”
“Leave us.”
The housekeeper didn't move.
“Now.”
She retreated, but not before giving Nora a look so cold it seemed to freeze the room.
Lorenzo took Nora upstairs himself. On the landing she paused to breathe through a tightening pain in her back. He offered his arm; she refused it, then accepted when another cramp struck. He didn't comment.
Room 4B smelled of fresh soap and wood smoke. A blanket covered Giovanni's knees. Beside him stood a plate of carefully cut toast, a water pitcher, and a little drawing Nora had made of a pink crib.
“Father.” Lorenzo crossed the room.
Giovanni's eyes moved toward his son, then toward Nora. He blinked rapidly.
Lorenzo crouched. “They told me you couldn't communicate.”
Nora spoke quietly. “He understands much more than they think.”
Lorenzo studied his father's face. “If you understand me, look at the window.”
Giovanni did.
For the first time in years, Lorenzo's carefully controlled face cracked.
“Did someone hurt you?”
Giovanni stared directly at the doorway.
Mrs. Gable stood there holding a silver tray.
The old man's eyes filled with tears.
Lorenzo rose slowly. “Put that down.”
She did.
“Now tell me why my father is afraid of you.”
Before she could answer, Nora swayed. The room tilted. She grabbed the back of Giovanni's wheelchair and felt warm liquid run down her legs.
Lorenzo caught her before she hit the floor.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted.
May you like
Giovanni's gaze dropped to the tray. Beneath the silver lid was a syringe.
And Mrs. Gable, seeing where he looked, quietly reached for it.
