There was a long moment of silence. “Do you want to try again?” she asked.

He looked at her and his eyes moistened. He nodded his head slowly. “No. It is who I am, Eliana. I would only hurt you again.”

Despite all that she had been through, she was suddenly filled with deep sadness. She wanted to weep for both of them. He stepped forward. He touched her hair, lifting it in his hand; then he stooped and kissed her forehead. He looked at Alessio for a moment. “Be a good boy, son. Obey your mother. She is a good mother.”

Alessio looked up at him, then back at Eliana, as if for an explanation.

“Bye, amore.” Maurizio smiled, then added, “Tesoro mio.”

Eliana remembered when he had first spoken those words to her. It was the first time he had told her that he loved her. The circle was complete. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she smiled and he smiled back. Then he walked from the room. Eliana laid her head down on the bed next to her son and cried.

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

“Quando l’amore vuol fuggire è inutile inseguirlo.” When love flees it is futile to pursue it.

—Italian Proverb

As soon as Alessio was sleeping, Eliana called Ross’s cell phone from one of the hospital’s pay phones. He didn’t answer. In all she called six times before she took Alessio back to Rendola the following afternoon. After he was settled in and watching a video, Eliana left him with Manuela and drove down to Ponte Alle Grazie, where she parked her car and ran to Ross’s apartment. She found his name and apartment number on a lobby mailbox and knocked on his door. A stout, elderly woman answered.

“Mi scusi, signora. I am looking for Mr. Ross Story.”

The woman looked at her blankly.

“The man who lived here.”

“Whoever was here has gone.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“No, signorina. Why would I know that?”

“May I look through his apartment?”

“No, signorina. You will have to ask the landlord. But there’s nothing in here.”

“Where can I find the landlord?”

“Sotto. On the ground level, apartment seven.”

Five minutes later Eliana knocked on the landlord’s door. A woman, pale skinned, broad as a wine barrel, opened. “Cosa vuole?”

“I’m looking for one of your residents. Signor Ross Story. Room five twelve.”

“Mr. Story moved out.”

“Do you know where I might find him?”

She gazed at Eliana for a moment.

“No. He left yesterday. He gave me his key and left. He seemed to be in a hurry. He didn’t even wait for his deposit.”

“Do you have a forwarding address?”

“No, signorina.”

“Anything at all with an address? A check or something?”