Page 171 of Ricardo

I stand in the middle of my study with blood in my mouth and my son’s words lodged in my chest.

For a long moment, I do nothing.

Then I move to the window.

Dante crosses the drive fast, shoulders rigid, head down. He gets into his car and pulls away too quickly, gravel spitting beneath the tires.

I remain where I am until the taillights disappear.

Only then do I lift my hand to my mouth.

My fingers come away red.

Marisa appears in the doorway, pale with worry.

“Signor Ricardo.”

“I am fine.”

She looks at the blood, then at my face.

I do not have the strength to make the lie convincing.

Her eyes soften.

“Should I bring ice?”

“No.”

“Ricardo.”

I close my eyes for a second.

“Please.”

The word stops her.

She nods and leaves me alone.

My phone is still on the desk.

Julia has not called.

Or perhaps she has, and I did not hear it.

I cross the room and pick it up.

No missed calls.

I stare at the screen for several seconds, thumb hovering over her name.

I don't know how much better or worse the confrontation between them was, but bad enough that she didn't call me after.

But I know my son. I know Julia. I know the wreckage between them is still fresh, and if I call now, she will hear the blood in my voice. She will blame herself for his pain, for mine, for a fracture none of us know how to mend yet.

I set the phone down.

For the first time in years, I do not know the next right move.