The Last Promise by Richard Paul Evans Page B

business, where he’d been or what he’d seen. For the most part their talk had become pragmatic.
    But perhaps most painful of all was that Maurizio seemed to have lost interest in her physically. He had once raved over her beauty. Tesoro mio, he called her when they first dated. My treasure . Now he did not even seem to notice her. She had no doubt that she could dress in her sexiest lingerie and parade in front of the television set during a soccer match and he would only ask her to move. She wondered if her looks had changed that much in the last six years, or if she only failed by comparison to other women younger and without blemish. Women with firmer breasts untouched by babies, with hips unbroadened and skin unstretched by childbirth.
    This rejection hurt less when he was gone, and as lonesome as she was, she would take the loneliness to his rejection—a dull ache compared to a sharp sting. She could handle ache. Handling ache was simply a matter of distraction, and there was always something else to occupy her mind.
     
    Alessio fell asleep in front of the television set. His fever had not yet broken, but his breathing seemed calm. She put away her paints and, without waking him, brought him out to the living room sofa so she could watch him while she cleaned.
    Eliana kept an immaculate house. It was one part of her life where she felt in control, and as a result she had become compulsive about it. Afterward she pulled the clothes from the washer and carried them outside to hang on the line, thinking for the millionth time how much she wished she had a dryer.
    Then she went into the kitchen and made two trays of chocolate chip cookies, one for them and one for their new neighbor.
    As the cookies baked, she called Manuela, her nanny, on the telephone to see how she was doing. Her husband answered the phone.
    “ Ciao, Vittorio. How is Manuela?”
    “She’s still in bed.”
    “Is she feeling any better than she was yesterday?”
    “No, I don’t think so. She is still very sick.”
    “I’m sorry. Please give her my best.” She hung up the phone. It’s going to be a long weekend, she thought.
     
    A half hour later she heard the whine of a scooter outside the courtyard walls. She went to the window and slightly parted the sheer, embroidered curtain. She saw the front gate open and Ross cross the courtyard, removing his helmet as he walked. He must have bought a motorino, she thought. Ross unlocked his door and disappeared inside. She looked at the plate of cookies and suddenly felt apprehensive. Why would he want to talk to her? Maybe she’d wait until Alessio was feeling better and have him take the cookies over.
    Around eight, Maurizio called. His voice, typically low and calm, was difficult to hear beneath the sound of the restaurant.
    “ Amore, how’s your day?”
    “It’s okay. Alessio is sick.”
    “Is he okay?”
    “Yes. Where are you?”
    “I’m still in Genoa. Ascolta, I’m not going to be home tomorrow. I need to go back to Milano. One of my clients had a problem with an order. Seems half the shipment was corked.”
    “Can it wait? I really need your help. Manuela’s still sick. I don’t have anyone to watch Alessio so I can go out.”
    “Why do you need to go out?”
    Seven years ago the question would have astonished her. “To buy groceries, for one thing.”
    “Have Anna watch him for you.”
    “Anna left on holiday.”
    “Oh, that is a problem.” There was a long pause. “Well, what can I do, Eliana? I need to see the client. You have food in the house.”
    Eliana sighed. She had no fight left in her. “When will you be home?”
    “Next Wednesday. I am certain.”
    She ran her hand back through her hair. “All right. I’ll see you then.”
    She hung up the phone. Then she pounded the wall with the heel of her palm. “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”
     
    When she went back to Alessio, he was still asleep. She carried him up to his bed, pulled the blanket up to his chin, kissed