Serial: Down the River – Chapter Forty-Four

I’m finally revisiting the characters from The River City Chronicles nine years after their original timeline. I’ll be running the series weekly here on my blog, and then will release it in book form at the end of the run. Hope you enjoy catching up with all your faves and all their new secrets!

Today, Diego takes a walk down memory lane and thinks about all he missed when Gio was growing up in Italy…

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Chapter Forty-Four
Images of a Missed Life

“I gotta go, Babbo. Love you.” The connection cut out, and Diego was left staring at his phone.

“Love you, topolino.” My little mouse. Diego shook his head. He had to stop thinking of Giovanni that way. His son was a grown man now, a good man. An intelligent man. Someone with dreams and ideas and a life all his own. I kept you tied to me for too long. Time for you to fly.

Luna had raised him well. For all her flaws, she had been a good mother, and she’d left Diego a precious gift in their son.

“Com’è il nostro topolino?” Matteo closed the door to the downstairs and took off his shirt. Even at fifty-five, he was still a handsome man, his figure trim, bits of gray at his temples only adding to his allure.

“Not a little mouse anymore. Maybe a… how you say proccione?”

Matteo grinned. “A raccoon. Yeah, that sounds about right—he’s an enterprising little one. So how is he?”

Diego snorted. “He’s all right. With Valentina now. He goes to his mother’s gravesite today. Tomorrow, our time.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. We ripped him away from everything and everyone he knew—”

“You did the right thing, tesoro.” Matteo settled in next to him and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve given him a good life. He’s thriving here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went on to open a restaurant of his own one day.”

Wouldn’t that be something? Diego was both thrilled and scared at the prospect of Gio moving on. “You don’t think I’ve tied him down too much?”

Matteo laughed, but it was a kindly sound. “Oh, you absolutely have. You’re a mamma Italiana.” He squeezed Diego’s hand to take the sting out of the allegation. “And he’s a real mammone. But even a mamma’s boy needs to spread his wings eventually. You did the right thing. He’ll find himself there. Look what coming here did for us.”

His husband was right. Coming to America—even with all of her flaws—had changed their lives. “How about you? Good night at the restaurant?”

“Good enough.”

There was an undertone in his voice that Diego recognized. “What?”

“It’s… nothing. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He crossed his arms, and Diego knew from long experience he’d get nothing more out of Matteo on the subject. “What are you planning for class tomorrow?”

Diego’s spirits lifted. He loved his Sunday class, even if most of the originals had moved on. “Something new.” He showed Matteo the photo for the dish he was testing.

“Oooh. So purple. Cabbage?”

Diego nodded. “Squisito, no?”

“Yes, it’s exquisite. Just like you.” Matteo got up and extended his hand. “Andiamo a letto?”

“Go ahead. I’ll goin you in bed in a little bit.”

“Okay.” He knelt to kiss Diego on the lips. Then vanished down the dark hall toward their bedroom, whistling Funiculì, Funiculà.

Diego smiled. He leaned forward to pick up the photo album from the low glass coffee table. An image of Gio at about five years old stared back at him, mouth open in delighted laughter and eyes a twinkle, his dark hair spiked like a rock star.

Gio as Diego had never known him.

He’d rescued a bunch of old photos after Luna had passed on, memories of a life he’d missed.

He leafed through it, stopping to gaze at Gio on his ninth birthday, sitting at a wooden table with a bunch of his school friends, blowing out candles on a bright yellow limoncello cake.

A few pages later, Gio in his Bologna FC outfit at maybe eleven, holding up a grass-stained football proudly.

So many missed days. He’d long since given up on being angry at Luna for keeping Gio from him. What was the point? She was beyond regret or retribution. He still wished he could have been there. And now I have to let him go.

The last photo—Gio with his mother, a few months before she died. She looked sad, but resigned. Had she known then that the end was coming?

“Good night, bright moon.” He leaned forward and kissed the last photo. Then he set the book down. Matteo was right. Gio had made a life for himself here, though he would always carry his mother—and Italy—in his heart.

Why hadn’t she told him? He supposed he would never know.

Maybe she hadn’t wanted to disturb his life with Matteo. He supposed he should be grateful. The revelation that they’d spent the night together might have broken up an already fragile relationship.

Or maybe she’d wanted to keep Gio all to herself.

Luna had been unstable when he’d known her, though in Gio’s telling, she had straightened out her life after he had been born, and had become a model mother. Of course, no child wants to see their parents’ faults.

He hoped Gio found what he was looking for at his mother’s final resting place.

With a heavy sigh, he got up, his middle-aged Italian bones creaking under his weight, and headed for bed. He’d find solace for his aching heart in Matteo’s arms.