Chapter 10: The Quiet After She Left
I didn't understand that leaving could be so quiet. I thought there would be more noise.
That morning Vittorio told me to stay in my room and play, but I didn't. I stood in the hallway by the half-open door and watched. Bianca came down the stairs with a dark rolling bag behind her. She wasn't wearing the pink satin robe anymore. She had on jeans and a cream sweater and her hair was pulled back, and I remember staring at her cheek because the redness was gone. It had healed like it was never there. She didn't look at me when she passed.
Vittorio stood by the front doors. Those white-trimmed double doors we never used except when someone important came over. He had his hands in his pockets. He didn't touch the bag. Bianca stopped in front of him for a second like she was going to say something. Her mouth opened and then closed again. I could hear the wheels of the bag click over the marble floor and then thud softly when they hit the rug in the entry. Vittorio reached past her and opened one of the doors. Cold air came in from outside and made the chandelier crystals move a little.
She walked out without looking back. Vittorio didn't follow her onto the step. He just stood there and watched until I heard a car door close out on the driveway and then an engine start and fade. Then he shut the door. The lock clicked loud. He turned around and saw me standing there in my socks.
"Hey, bug," he said. His voice was low. "You hungry?"
I nodded even though I wasn't sure.
The house felt bigger after she left. That was the first thing I noticed. Without her robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and without her perfume in the hallway, the air smelled like nothing, just clean and warm from the heater. Marcus's car was already gone from the circle in front. Emma hadn't been back since she held up the phone. I kept listening for footsteps that weren't going to come.
Vittorio made lunch because nobody else was going to. He put me on the counter in the kitchen the way he used to before Bianca moved in, and let me peel the cheese slices while he heated soup on the stove. He didn't cook fancy, just tomato soup from a can and grilled cheese in a pan, but he cut my sandwich into four little triangles the way I liked. He carried both plates into the dining room to the dark wooden table where the bowl had been.
It was gone. The mat was gone too. The wood was just wood again, with that long shine down the middle where the light from the chandelier hit it. I stared at that empty spot while Vittorio pulled my chair out for me. My feet didn't touch the floor.
We ate without anyone telling me to sit up straighter or use the right fork. Vittorio sat across from me, not at the head of the table where he usually sat when Bianca was there. He sat right across so his knees almost touched mine. The soup was too hot and I blew on it. I heard the clock ticking over the sideboard and the soft clink of his spoon against his bowl. It felt strange to hear how quiet chewing was.
Halfway through the sandwich I asked it. I hadn't planned to. The question just came out small.
"Why did she make me use the dog bowl?" I said.
My voice sounded too loud in that room. I looked down at my plate right after.
Vittorio didn't answer right away. He put his sandwich down. I heard him breathe in through his nose.
"Because she wanted to feel in charge of this house, and she picked the wrong way to do it," he said. "It wasn't because of anything you did, Lucy. Not ever."
He said it plain, like he was telling me what street we lived on. He didn't make it a big speech.
I nodded and picked up a triangle of sandwich again. I wanted to ask if she was sorry, or if she would come back, but I didn't. I could tell from how he was looking at me that he would tell me if there was more I needed to know. The soup had cooled enough to drink.
After we ate, Vittorio cleared both plates and put them in the sink. He didn't call anyone to do it. He went to the pantry and took out the plastic bin where he had put the steel bowl. I saw it for just a second before he slid it onto the highest shelf, way in the back behind the paper towels where I couldn't reach. He didn't wash it. He just closed the pantry door.
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"That's staying there," he said, more to himself than to me. "So we remember what happened and it doesn't happen again."
Later I sat on the rug in the living room while he folded laundry on the couch. The marble floors were still marble and the cream walls were still cream, but the house didn't feel like it was holding its breath anymore. I knew Bianca was out past those white doors and not in the pink robe, and that the dark wooden table was empty. I didn't feel healed or fixed. I just felt safe enough to finish my puzzle without checking over my shoulder. And that was the first normal day we had.
