Page 42 of Redemption
Marco’s comment reminds me of the question I’ve been holding since before takeoff when I heard him speaking on his cell phone in Italian. More than ever, I wish I spoke the language.
“Did you tell her we’re coming? Our … mother?” The word comes out as though it were also of a foreign tongue. It’s not a word I’ve had much cause to speak during my life, especially in reference to myself.
I have a mother.
It’s still surreal to think about.
“Of course,” Marco replies. “I wouldn’t have lived it down if I hadn’t. But that also means I need to prepare you for what you’re about to experience.”
“Prepare me?” I ask, wondering for a fraction of a moment if I’ve somehow gotten us into a situation I finally won’t know how to handle.
“Given what I’ve learned about you today, I assume you’re the kind of man who prefers to know exactly what’s coming if you possibly can.”
“Undoubtedly.”
His smile widens, tugging at his cheeks in a way I don’t think my identical face has ever been tested. It’s odd to see the expression in the mirror sitting across from me. Something tingles within me, but I don’t have time to figure out what it is before he continues speaking.
“Borderline spectacle.”
The back of my head hits the pillowed headrest of the seat as I draw back in surprise. “What?”
Marco laughs quietly. “I know you have no frame of reference for this, so I’ll try to explain the best I can.” He pauses, as if searching for the words in English. “Our mother has waited over forty years for this day. She has dreamed of your homecoming for over four decades. You must understand that she is a very creative woman. Exceptionally creative. And combine that with the most closely held dream of her life coming true in your arrival, you must brace yourself because she will not be able to hold back from the pomp and circumstance.”
I raise a brow. “Pomp and circumstance? I don’t understand.”
Marco’s smile gives the indication of an inside joke, but it doesn’t feel like it’s at my expense.
“We’re meeting Mother on her island.”
“Her island?”
“Yes, it’s been in the family for nearly five centuries. She doesn’t leave it very often.”
“She’s a recluse?”
The beautiful woman I met in the hangar didn’t seem reclusive to me.
Marco tilts his head from side to side, still smiling so widely that his eyes are creased at the corners. “Ehhh … more or less. She’s an eccentric. She has no reason to want to leave often. It’s a beautiful place. Like Eden. She’s not wrong to stay there either. Most of the outside world isn’t nearly as beautiful as the world she inhabits daily.”
My mother lives on an island that’s been in the family for over five hundred years.
It’s mind-blowing information, but Marco stated it like it’s no big deal. I suppose for him … it isn’t. It’s normal.
“How big is the island?”
His shoulders shrug. “Big enough. But not too big. She has a villa and terraced gardens. Her favorite place is the conservatory, where she paints.”
“She’s an artist?” I savor the knowledge like it’s a treasure. My mother is an artist, an eccentric, and a recluse. I like her more and more by the moment.
“Oh, yes, a very accomplished artist. Her paintings are famous. They grace galleries, private collections, and museums all over the world.”
I’m taken aback by this admission. “Seriously?”
Marco’s nod is proud. Because he’s a proud son, and I’m growing prouder by the moment.
“Oh, yes. They’re highly sought after by collectors. Extremely valuable. She’s made the family exceptionally wealthy through her artwork. That’s what has kept her sane these last four decades. Painting.” He pauses, and I’m simply blown away.
I made my living in the darkness, and my mother’s artwork is world-renowned.
