Chapter 20: The Empty Grave

Santo's POV

Her mother's grave was in the Italian cemetery in Providence, under a plane tree, with a stone the size of a breadbox.

Marini, baker's wife, and under it two dates.

Beside it was another stone, for her father.

I had come to this place four times in four years, always with a driver, always with two men at the gate, and never once alone.

At six that morning I came alone.

I got down on my knees in the wet grass, with my arm strapped to my ribs, which made it awkward.

I had no speech.

"Signora Marini," I said. "I'm Santo."

A bird in the tree shifted and was still.

"Your daughter told me once that she cries when she's angry and laughs when she's frightened, and that I should learn the difference."

My voice came out rough.

"I never learned it. She asked me a plain question at my own table in front of all those men, and I looked at someone else."

The wind moved in the leaves above me.

"She got in a car and drove off a cliff to get away from me. She was carrying my son, and she didn't think I deserved to know."

I put my good hand flat on the wet stone.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. You can't, and it isn't yours to do. I wanted you to hear me say it first."

I stayed there a while.

Behind me, on the gravel path, I heard the cars arrive.

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