that her mama’s dead.”
“Does she know that I’m alive? That she has an aunt and two grandparents who love her?”
“A vague idea,” I said. “But I’m encouraging pure amnesia. Please don’t look pious. Last time I saw the people you just mentioned was in a South Carolina court of law. If memory serves, each one of you testified I was incompetent to raise my only child. I’ve raised a beautiful kid. A magical one. I did it without the help of any of you.”
“You think it’s right that you punish us the rest of our lives by refusing to let us see Leah?” she asked.
“Yes, I think it’s right. I think it’s justice. Do you remember the generous amount of visitation I’d have been allowed had your parents won their lawsuit?”
“They asked the court that you not be allowed any visitation,” Martha said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “They know how wrong they were. They would like another chance.”
At that moment Freddie arrived at the table with two grilled seabream. He prepared the fish for presentation at the table side, removing the head of both fish with a flick of the knife. Then he skinned the bream and lifted the backbone from each one of them as though lifting a violin out of its case. Preparing Martha’s first, he placed the white translucent fillet across her plate and moistened it with green olive oil and half a lemon. He performed the same ablutions for mine.
“You will cry,” Freddie said, “it is so good.”
“Did I order fish?” Martha asked when Freddie left the table.
“You looked like a fish kind of person. He has great intuition and he always likes to surprise me.”
As she ate, Martha frequently stared past me and when she talked, she was agitated and kept brushing an imaginary lock of hair from her eyes. Hers was a guileless face, registering every emotion, and I could read it like a page of newsprint. Something was not right with Martha that had nothing to do with the complex emotions aroused by our awkward reunion. The lines in her forehead warned me of trouble on my flanks. Since leaving the South, I had learned the intricacies and tricks of a life on the run and I knew well how to read the secret language of ambush.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said, rising and walking to the men’s room. I called home and talked to Maria and made her check on Leah. Maria returned to report that Leah was sleeping like an angel, and I breathed easier.
When I came out of the men’s room, Freddie motioned for me to come into the kitchen. Among the jostling disciplined movement of cooks and waiters, Freddie whispered: “There’s a man eating outside who asks many questions about you, Jack. He asks Emilio if you are bad to Leah. Emilio no like.”
“Tell Emilio thanks, Freddie,” I said as I moved out of the kitchen and passed down the entranceway of the trattoria, to where Signor Fortunato himself greeted his guests.
Looking outside to the enclosed area where tables were set up, I spotted Pericle Starraci looking into the interior of the restaurant. The private investigator was gesturing to someone on the inside.
When I returned to the table, Martha had almost finished her fish course.
“This is the best fish I’ve ever eaten anywhere. By far,” she said.
“That was Shyla’s favorite. That’s why Freddie brought it to you.”
“Why don’t you see anyone from your past, Jack?” she asked.
“Because I’m not fond of my past,” I said. “It fills me with horror to think about it, ergo, I don’t.”
Martha leaned forward. “I see. You’ve got a love-hate relationship with your family, your friends, even the South.”
“No,” I answered. “I’m unusual in that respect. I have a hate-hate relationship with the South.”
“It’s dangerous to second-guess where you were born,” Martha said, and again I caught her looking over my shoulder to the tables outside.
“When do you leave Rome, Martha?”
“After I see Leah and after you tell me
“Does she know that I’m alive? That she has an aunt and two grandparents who love her?”
“A vague idea,” I said. “But I’m encouraging pure amnesia. Please don’t look pious. Last time I saw the people you just mentioned was in a South Carolina court of law. If memory serves, each one of you testified I was incompetent to raise my only child. I’ve raised a beautiful kid. A magical one. I did it without the help of any of you.”
“You think it’s right that you punish us the rest of our lives by refusing to let us see Leah?” she asked.
“Yes, I think it’s right. I think it’s justice. Do you remember the generous amount of visitation I’d have been allowed had your parents won their lawsuit?”
“They asked the court that you not be allowed any visitation,” Martha said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “They know how wrong they were. They would like another chance.”
At that moment Freddie arrived at the table with two grilled seabream. He prepared the fish for presentation at the table side, removing the head of both fish with a flick of the knife. Then he skinned the bream and lifted the backbone from each one of them as though lifting a violin out of its case. Preparing Martha’s first, he placed the white translucent fillet across her plate and moistened it with green olive oil and half a lemon. He performed the same ablutions for mine.
“You will cry,” Freddie said, “it is so good.”
“Did I order fish?” Martha asked when Freddie left the table.
“You looked like a fish kind of person. He has great intuition and he always likes to surprise me.”
As she ate, Martha frequently stared past me and when she talked, she was agitated and kept brushing an imaginary lock of hair from her eyes. Hers was a guileless face, registering every emotion, and I could read it like a page of newsprint. Something was not right with Martha that had nothing to do with the complex emotions aroused by our awkward reunion. The lines in her forehead warned me of trouble on my flanks. Since leaving the South, I had learned the intricacies and tricks of a life on the run and I knew well how to read the secret language of ambush.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said, rising and walking to the men’s room. I called home and talked to Maria and made her check on Leah. Maria returned to report that Leah was sleeping like an angel, and I breathed easier.
When I came out of the men’s room, Freddie motioned for me to come into the kitchen. Among the jostling disciplined movement of cooks and waiters, Freddie whispered: “There’s a man eating outside who asks many questions about you, Jack. He asks Emilio if you are bad to Leah. Emilio no like.”
“Tell Emilio thanks, Freddie,” I said as I moved out of the kitchen and passed down the entranceway of the trattoria, to where Signor Fortunato himself greeted his guests.
Looking outside to the enclosed area where tables were set up, I spotted Pericle Starraci looking into the interior of the restaurant. The private investigator was gesturing to someone on the inside.
When I returned to the table, Martha had almost finished her fish course.
“This is the best fish I’ve ever eaten anywhere. By far,” she said.
“That was Shyla’s favorite. That’s why Freddie brought it to you.”
“Why don’t you see anyone from your past, Jack?” she asked.
“Because I’m not fond of my past,” I said. “It fills me with horror to think about it, ergo, I don’t.”
Martha leaned forward. “I see. You’ve got a love-hate relationship with your family, your friends, even the South.”
“No,” I answered. “I’m unusual in that respect. I have a hate-hate relationship with the South.”
“It’s dangerous to second-guess where you were born,” Martha said, and again I caught her looking over my shoulder to the tables outside.
“When do you leave Rome, Martha?”
“After I see Leah and after you tell me
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