Chapter 22: The Elevator

My father stopped in front of room 412 and leaned on his cane.

He had aged in seven months, and the white handkerchief in his breast pocket was crooked.

"Giulia," he said.

"Papa."

"I came to see my granddaughter."

"She isn't your granddaughter," I said.

Declan rose from the chair beside me, but I put a hand on his sleeve, and he sat again.

My father took a thick envelope from inside his coat.

"For the girl," he said. "A house in Oak Brook, in the baby's name. The name on the deed is Brandolini."

"Paola doesn't want your house."

"Paola wants whatever she is told to want."

"Not anymore."

He turned his head toward the door of the room, and his voice went soft and coaxing.

"Paola. Cara. Your mother's treatments are still on my account. Open the door."

For a moment nothing came through the wood.

Then Paola's voice came, thin and hoarse, but quite clear.

"No, Don Emilio."

My father's hand tightened on the cane.

"I am speaking to you."

"I heard you," Paola said. "My mother's treatments are paid by Giulia, and my daughter has her own name. Please go away."

The elevator opened again.

Three old men came down the corridor in their Sunday suits, with the foreman from Calumet a step behind them and two others from the crew.

They had come to bring flowers.

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