He touches my shoulder and leans in to murmur in my ear.
“I love you, Eva. I do. Please do this for me. Please have a happy and glorious life. It will make me happy. I’ll send Adrian to retrieve your bags and take you to your cottage. You’ll be safe there now that you know that the danger is me.”
“No, Luca!” I clutch at him but he pulls away and walks out and there isn’t anything I can do but watch him through my watery eyes.
He’s gone. And it feels like he took my heart with him.
I sit still for a while, soaking in his scent from the room around me, absorbing him as much as I can. I look at the walls, at the priceless pieces of art that I know he chose himself. At the silver cufflinks that I have seen him wear a hundred times. They are laying on his heavy mahogany desk. A pair of soft leather loafers peek from under the desk. Bits of him are scattered throughout this room and I try to memorize every bit of it before I finally get up and leave, turning only once to look behind me before I close the door.
I make it to my room before I fall to pieces. I collapse onto my bed and cry until I can’t cry anymore. I don’t have any more tears left, and my eyes are red and hot and burning. I picture Luca here, in this room with me. I remember him smiling over me, his smile white against the dark shadows of his eyes. I remember him laughing as we rolled in the bed, twisted in the sheets.
I remember him squeezing my throat. I remember his eyes as he looked into mine. I remember the look on his face when I found him in the stables, so shattered and alone. And I don’t want to leave him here. He’ll be alone, with no one close to him but Adrian.
But I have no choice. As I sit up and wipe at my eyes, I know that I have no choice. He has decided and I will not be able to change his mind. It’s done.
I get up and fold my clothing and place them into my bags. I gather my research and my notes and my laptop and put everything into a pile to load into the car. With each thing that I place on the pile, I feel my heart breaking just a little bit more. I don’t know how much more it can take until it shatters into a million jagged shards.
There is a knock at my door and I open it, hoping to see Luca, but knowing that it will be Adrian. And it is.
Adrian is apologetic and sympathetic as he carries my things to the Mercedes. I look behind me as we get into the car and I think that I might have seen a movement at a window, that Luca might have been watching, but I can’t be certain. As quickly as I see it, it is gone. I close my eyes, fighting the hot wetness that I feel building there.
We are silent on the way to my cottage and I force myself to not cry. Not in front of Adrian. I am stoic like a stone as I look out the window, watching the greens and blues blur past. We pull into the drive and Adrian unloads my things from the car, carrying them into the house. We are still silent.
As he leaves, I walk him to the door, standing silently, willing myself not to break down.
He pauses, touching my cheek for a brief moment. “Eva, please let me know if you need anything at all. Luca is not abandoning you. He just can’t be with you. It’s for your own good.”
A lump forms in my throat and my eyes fill with tears and I nod.
I know what’s good for me, damn it. But I don’t say that. I just nod. I can’t open my mouth and speak or I will collapse into tears. Adrian nods and leaves.
And I am alone.
Utterly alone.
I look around the tiny cottage and for the first time, it seems enormous in its solitude. It seems enormous because anywhere where Luca isn’t seems so very lonely. I open the back doors to allow fresh air to blow through, then curl up on the couch. I don’t feel like doing anything else today but wallowing in my own misery. I decide that I have earned a day of doing exactly that, so I cover up with a blanket and close my eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Days pass.
Each day seems cold and empty without Luca. On the fourth day, there is a knock on my door and I open it quickly, hoping to see that Luca has relented. It isn’t him.
A courier waits on my porch with a slim package in his hands. I sign for it and take it inside. After I cut the top open, I find a CD and a note inside, written in Luca’s scrawling handwriting.
Dear Evangeline,
I want you to know that I miss you. I never expected to meet someone like you, and now that I have and you are gone, your absence is almost too much to bear. Yet I know it is necessary, as I am certain that you know, as well. I cannot bear the thought of something happening to you, something by my very own hand. It would be the death of me. I know that much is true.
I have recorded a few things for you on this CD to help you sleep. It makes me happy to envision you safe in your bed listening to my music. When I play now, it will always be for you.
I will always picture you happy and safe, Evangeline. Please endeavor to remain that way.
All my love,
Luca
My eyes are burning and hot and I close them, feeling the warm wetness slide down my cheeks and onto the linen stationery in my hands. I shakily put the CD into a player and the sounds of Luca’s hands, the music that he makes with them, fills my house. It is haunting and beautiful, just like the man who is created it.
I spend hours listening to it, surrounded by memories of him. The fourth day is a sad day.
More days pass. They are empty and difficult and I find that I am numb, that I simply move through the motions of life without feeling them. I know now why I created the barrier around my heart so long ago. It hurts so very much when something breaks it down and I feel something.
I cannot bring myself to leave Malta, not yet. Even though I have finished my dissertation. I don’t feel anything at all as I push the ‘send’ button and email it to my mentor, the head of the Psychiatry program. I know I will have to return to the states to defend it at some point, but I don’t think of that now.
I also fill my days trying to find answers for Luca. There have been no more killings in Valletta, so I have to assume that he has been secluded in the cave, which makes me want to weep. I throw myself into trying to help him, even though it must be from afar.
There are so many things that his affliction could be, so many things that it could be part of. Mental illness is fluid, it can bend and morph until one disorder can actually be components of several others. Without having Luca in front of me, it is hard to diagnose him with anything. I still refer to his problem as the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde disorder.
I finally hear back from my mentor concerning it and he doesn’t have much insight on the subject as he’s never seen such a thing before. Although he is fascinated as well and cannot wait to read my research, which is not really any help at all. He suggests, as I already suspected, that the disorder is something comprised of components of several other disorders. I begin researching them yet again, trying to patch together what it might be.
I eat with Marianne several times, although I am not hungry. I feel pathetic, like a lovesick schoolgirl who cannot come to terms with a breakup. But this thing that Luca and I had was so much more than a relationship. I can’t even define it, yet I grieve the loss of it.
Marianne force feeds me. She comes to my cottage and demands that I eat, bringing with her pasta and wine and bread. She sits with me sometimes, having coffee on my patio and chatting with me, filling the silence. She is a good friend.
It is she who makes the deduction that I am pregnant.
I had been nauseas and emotional for a week or two and I attributed it to stress and nerves, which is completely plausible in this situation. But as I struggle to eat pasta without vomiting, Marianne looks at me in concern.
“When was your last period?” she asks me gently.
Her words stun me.
“I don’t know,” I stutter. And I feel foolish because I am a physician and I didn’t see this. My hand automatically grazes my flat belly, shielding whatever might be inside. I feel something for the first time in weeks besides grief and sadness.
/> Wonderment.
“It’s not possible,” I say without conviction.
Because I know that it is.
That first night, the night that Luca came into my room when he wasn’t himself, I wasn’t on birth control and he didn’t use anything either. He wasn’t himself. He didn’t even think to use it. I went into town shortly after that and filled a prescription, but that first and second time, we didn’t use anything at all.
Two times.
My hand rests against my belly, against what might be my unborn child. And Luca’s. That realization brings with it so many thoughts. Happiness, although it is bittersweet. I am strangely happy that I might have a piece of Luca. Which brings with it the darker thoughts, the realization that the child within me might inherit the dark affliction that is born in the Minaldi men.
I don’t focus on that, however. I can’t. I will deal with that when the time comes because that is all that I can do. In the meantime, I revel in the idea that I will bear Luca’s child. It is a sense of wonder, a sense of awe.
Marianne becomes a mother hen and her sense of protection where I am concerned kicks in to overdrive. She comes over almost every day, bringing with her fresh food and conversation, making sure that I am okay. Every day, I am. Every day, she tells me that I must tell Luca. Every day, I balk. I know what his answer will be. He will want me to terminate the pregnancy. He won’t want to risk having the affliction pass to yet another person.
The idea of terminating this pregnancy leaves me feeling sick with horror and sadness. I would never do it, no matter how much Luca begged. So it seems easier to not tell him, for now. And to hear his voice might be my undoing, anyway. I have become stronger in these past few weeks, but it’s a tenuous strength. I don’t know how long it would last if I were once again face to face with that which I cannot have.
Luca.
I sigh as I turn to Marianne today.
“I know,” I answer her familiar plea. “I’ll tell him.”
“When, bella mia?” she asks, her attractive face concerned. “It has been six weeks already. In another month or two, you will be showing because you are so thin. It will be difficult to hide. If you remain here in Malta, it will come to his attention. Someone will see you and rumors will fly. He will hear of it and it should be from you.”
“I know,” I tell her. And I do.
That night, I write him a letter. I can’t bear to do it in person or to tell him over the phone. That seems inhumane. He shouldn’t hear it on the phone. If I can’t do it in person, he should be able to read it, instead, which allows him the privacy to absorb the words alone before he has to process them and discuss it with me.
I drop it into the mail the next morning and butterflies surround my heart. I can’t imagine what he will feel like when he reads it. He feels guilty enough already for involving me, for becoming close to me. I pass the day nervously, doing anything that keeps my mind off of Luca’s reaction.
Because I’m too anxious and filled with nervous energy to do anything else, I sit on the patio in the fresh air and sift through baby name websites. I don’t see anything I like, however. I finally decide that it is a boy. And that I will name him Luca after his father. I don’t even look at girl names, even though I know that Luca will probably pray that it is a girl.
I am exhausted and go to bed early. I lie awake and concentrate on the life that grows within me. I hope that it is strong and thriving. I meant what I said in the letter. This baby is part of Luca and part of me and I just know that it will inherit the very best parts of each of us. And now that Luca will know, I am free to go into town and find a physician. No more hiding. I need regular check-ups from someone other than myself.
I fall asleep with my arms wrapped around my stomach.
* * *
I am walking on the beach the next day when I see him.
He is so beautiful. He is striding toward me on the beach, the sun bathing his perfect face in golden light. Grendel is with him, but I don’t focus on the dog. I can only see Luca. His face is drawn and tight and I start to run, my feet sinking deep in the sand with each step. Before I know it, I am in his arms. He smells of woods and musk and Luca. I inhale him, as though I have been holding my breath for the past few weeks and am only just now able to breathe again.
It might as well be true.
Luca’s strong arms encircle my back, pulling me to him, kissing me fiercely. He has missed me too. I can feel it. Just as I can feel the sadness within him. It surrounds us now, ever present.
“What have we done?” he asks, his voice steeped in angst. He scoops me into his arms, carefully as though I am so very fragile. He carries me gently back to my cottage and into the house, sitting me on the sofa. He situates himself with my feet in his lap. His eyes are so tortured, so stormy as he watches me.
“Eva, we can’t bring a child into the world,” he tells me painfully. Each word rasps from his lips like broken glass, like it is painful for him to even think it, much less say. And it is. “We cannot bring my child into the world.”
I stare at him, the pain welling in me like a cresting wave, even though this is exactly what I knew he would say. I was expecting it, but suddenly I realize that it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
“Luca,” my voice breaks, so I try again. “Luca, I cannot harm our baby. I can’t. Perhaps it is a girl and so it won’t matter.” He is already shaking his head.
“Even if it is a girl, she can carry the anomaly,” he says. “She can pass it on to her male children who would pass it onto theirs. Eva….”
He drops his head into his hands and I grab one, pulling it from his face and forcing him to look at me.
“Luca, you haven’t given me a chance to help you. You simply sent me away. I’ve been doing research and there are so many things that this might be. They are all treatable with medication. You can be helped, if you will just give someone a chance to try. If you give me the chance to try. Please let me try.”
He looks at me, his face contorted with his angst.
“Eva, I belong in prison. I don’t deserve to walk free or to sit here with you. Or to have a life with you. I don’t deserve it. Don’t you see that?”
His fingers are so long and slender and strong. I focus on them, holding them tightly in my lap as I gulp.
“These are not the hands of a killer,” I tell him softly. “Luca, whatever you have done, it wasn’t you who did them. You didn’t. Your affliction did. Not you. You would never consciously hurt anyone. I know that. Let me find a way to help you. Let me discover what is wrong. We can treat it and pretend that nothing ever happened. We can be happy, Luca. No one will ever know.”
He stares at me calmly, his dark eyes shining.
“I would know,” he says softly. “And you would know.”
I’m crying now, my shoulders shaking as I sob into my hands. Luca pulls me to him and I cry against his chest. He is so strong and warm, but his warmth doesn’t pass into me. I am chilled to the bone with the realization that he will never let me help him. He is condemning himself to a life alone, an empty life without me.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so sorry to have hurt you this way. I never should have come near you. It’s my fault. Everything is my fault.”
“No.” I am fierce now. “I will never be sorry. You have changed me, Luca. And I am not accepting this as an answer. I never want to be without you. I won’t let you do this.”
He grabs my hands and holds them, clutching them to his chest, pulling the rest of me there as well.
“Shh,” he whispers into my hair. It is now that I realize that I am crying yet again. I fall limply against him and allow him to hold me. The hormones from this pregnancy are wreaking havoc with my emotions. I hate that I feel so weak and weepy.
“Let me take care of it,” Luca says. “I’ll set up everything up and you won’t have to even think about it. I’ll do it.”
I pull away and stare at him incre
dulously as I realize that he is speaking of our child.
“I won’t have to even think about it? You think I can abort my child, your child, and not even think about it? Are you insane?”
I get up and stalk backward, my heart frozen as I stare at his expression. He is quite convinced that we will be aborting our baby. And suddenly, I feel as though I need to get away from him. I don’t know why, I only know that the maternal instincts inside of me are telling me to run.
Luca follows me as I back away from him, watching me carefully.
“Eva, that’s not what I meant. But I’m trying to be frank with you. We can’t have this baby. Trust me, no child would want to live the life that I’ve lived. I would never wish that on anyone. There’s no way that you can understand. But I understand. I’ve lived it. I’m still living it. And I would never put a child through it.”
His voice hardens toward the end, growing even more determined.
I stare at him again in disbelief. “You are telling me that you would rather be dead than the person that you are?”
Luca says nothing, but his silence says everything. And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I have to listen to my instincts. They are screaming at me and I can no longer tune them out.
Run.
I whirl and race from the cottage, down the paths leading to the beach. The trail is uneven, filled with rocks and pebbles and roots. I stumble, then right myself. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay there with him. I hear him behind me, calling for me, but I don’t stop. I reach the rocky incline that slopes steeply to the shore before Luca catches up with me and grabs my arm.
“Eva! What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”
The sea is crashing below us and I turn, staring Luca in the eye.
He is desperate and anxious, two things that I have never seen on his face before. I don’t know his motives. Is he scared that I will hurt myself or scared that I will get away and he can’t force me to abort our baby? The wind whips my hair around my face and I impatiently push it out of the way.