Unbroken, page 3
“It’s nothing,” she muttered in English, hoping Gianni would take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about it. She stirred the shrimp again before tossing her spoon aside and pushing the pan off the burner. Her cheeks turned pink as Gianni watched her.
“This is not nothing,” Gianni said. She had forgotten he understood a little English. Sadness tinged his voice. “You, my finest student all those years ago, ruining a simple arrabbiata?” He stepped close enough to look her in the eyes. “What is the matter?” he asked so sincerely Naomi couldn’t look away.
“I saw her at the market this morning,” she whispered, staring down at her apron. “Evelyn.”
It took a moment, but Gianni’s eyes opened wide. He was the only one at Bella Fonte who knew about her past. When he had asked her why she had changed her last name, she had told him everything. “The woman you spoke of,” he said in a dramatic whisper. “One of your captors?”
“Yes, her.”
“How?” he gasped. “I thought they were all in prison—except for the one who broke his parole.”
“Evelyn and her husband were released early,” Naomi explained. “They live here now, and I have a feeling I’m going to see them again—or at least her.” She met Gianni’s concerned gaze. “And I don’t want to,” she whispered. “I really, really don’t want to see her again. Ever.”
Gianni’s expression softened as he ran a hand through his white hair. “I can understand your fear,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her skin prickling with unexpected anger. “It’s not fear,” she said sharply. “It’s … I don’t know what it is, but I’m not afraid of her. I’m … I’m … disgusted by her. I don’t want to be, but that’s what I feel. It’s like I owe her something, and I hate that feeling. I hate it so much I want to scream.”
Her body turned hot as she spoke. Until now, she hadn’t been able to put what she was feeling into words, but now she knew what it was: she felt horribly guilty.
Gianni lifted a measuring bowl filled with tomatoes Naomi had blended up and stewed with some of the hot peppers an hour earlier. Taking a deep whiff, he closed his eyes and set the bowl back down. “I know you don’t want my advice,” he said, opening his eyes and gripping the edge of the counter, “but you should probably see her. You should talk with her and resolve this emotional turmoil in your heart.” He looked over at her, his eyes brimming with empathy. “I can see how it hurts you, and you must lay it to rest. I don’t think you can do that on your own.”
Naomi’s expression crusted into a scowl. “Are you serious? I’m supposed to forget them and move on, not bring them back into my life!”
Gianni shook his head. “No, no, that is not what I meant. I only meant you should resolve your emotions with them. In person. That is all.”
Turning away, Naomi snatched the frying pan off the stove and dumped the warm contents into the large sink nearby. The partially cooked food splattered against the stainless steel. “I don’t know how to resolve anything,” she mumbled to herself in English, feeling like she was twenty years old again, sitting in her therapist’s office back at Harvard. “I’ve tried for so long, and I thought I was there. I thought this was over. I was happy.” She turned to face Gianni again, her vision blurry with tears. “I was happy,” she repeated in Italian. “I was so happy, and now I feel like it’s slipping away.”
Gianni looked at her for a moment, his mouth opening a fraction of inch before he closed it again. “It’s late,” he sighed. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. You know where to find me if you’d like to talk.” He touched her arm briefly, and then turned and left the kitchen.
Naomi stared down at the mess in the sink, her fierce desire to refine the arrabbiata sauce dissolving into nothing.
VI
November
As much as Naomi loved to cook, she loved managing even more. Standing at the front entrance to the dining room of Bella Fonte, she surveyed the full room with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. The restaurant hadn’t been this full since she had started working. Everybody was eating or talking or drinking. The sound of cutlery clinking against plates and bowls flitted above the din of chitchat.
“This was simply charming,” an elderly woman said as she and her husband exited the dining room after their meal. Naomi had visited their table half an hour earlier and they had told her it was their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Now the woman gathered Naomi’s hands in hers and squeezed gently. “Please tell Gianni he has turned this place around. Our food and experience were beyond compare.” She winked and released Naomi’s hands.
Naomi smiled and slightly bowed her head. “Thank you, I will tell him,” she said, savoring the feel of how quickly the Italian language rolled off her tongue now. It had been coming to her more quickly in the past few weeks as she had begun to consciously pick up on the local dialect.
The woman in front of her was from Sicily. Her accent was a little difficult for Naomi to understand as she jabbered away about the changes in the restaurant. She was expressing her appreciation for the new wine menu when Naomi looked up to see Elena opening the door for a middle-aged couple dressed in formal evening wear.
It was Evelyn and Steve.
Naomi’s breath caught in her throat as she stumbled backward into the greeting counter behind her.
“Dear, are you all right?” the woman asked as her husband reached out to steady Naomi.
She righted herself and gave the elderly couple an embarrassed smile, her eyes flitting to Evelyn, who was looking straight at her. Steve, dressed in an inky black tuxedo, looked much like Naomi remembered him, only older of course.
This could not be happening.
“I’m fine,” she answered, and then realized English had left her mouth instead of Italian. Her high heels felt unstable all of a sudden, as if the heels had grown four more inches in the past few seconds. “Excuse me, I think I need to sit down” she said in Italian, and spun around to leave.
Stumbling down the hallway toward her tiny office, she nearly tripped three times before reaching the door and rushing inside. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving. Why was she so shaken up? She had already spoken with Evelyn once. It wasn’t as if the woman was here to hurt her. It had been over a month since they had seen each other in the market. Naomi had thrown herself back into her work and convinced herself she would never have to see Evelyn again.
She should have known better.
Or maybe not. Naomi didn’t have to confront Evelyn. She could avoid the dining area for the next hour and a half. She was in charge. She could do whatever she wanted.
Brushing a hand across her damp brow, she peeled herself away from the door and walked over to her desk, sinking into her chair with a heavy sigh. Her cell phone lit up, and she grabbed it. It was a text from her mother:
Happy Thanksgiving! I know nobody will be celebrating it over there, but I thought I’d use it as an excuse to say hello. I just tried to call, but you didn’t answer. You must be so busy with that restaurant! Your father has to work in the German office in two weeks, and I’m thinking I might come with him and pop on over to Rome to see you. What do you think? I miss you! Love, Mom
Naomi looked at her watch. It was late morning over in California. Her mother was probably working in her home office instead of enjoying a day off for Thanksgiving. Naomi wondered if she would ever retire. Probably not. Both of her parents would have to be buried with their briefcases. She typed a response to the text:
Yep, it’s the dinner rush right now, but I’d love it if you came here. We can go see some sights and I’ll make you a meal you’ll never forget. Have a great holiday. Please don’t work too hard. I miss you too. Love, Naomi
And that pretty much summed up their entire relationship—sweetly polite. Naomi loved her mother, but they had always struggled to bond on any sort of deep level. Naomi had finally realized that was normal for a lot of people, so she had stopped worrying about it for the most part. They both tried, and that was all that mattered.
A light knock on her door made her jump. She set down her phone. “Yes?” she asked, her voice cracking.
The door opened, and Elena poked her head in. “A couple is asking to speak to the manager,” she said delicately. “It sounds like they know you.”
Naomi groaned and rolled her chair back from her desk. Of course Steve and Evelyn would ask for her. That was why they had come here, to see her for some ungodly reason Naomi couldn’t fathom. She didn’t buy Evelyn’s excuse of simply wanting to apologize. It seemed a lot deeper than that.
“Please tell them I’m unavailable at the moment,” Naomi responded, her voice weak.
Elena’s thin lips parted as her jaw dropped, probably because Naomi was constantly drilling into every employee’s head that they should never, ever be unavailable to a customer. Naomi believed that with every fiber of her being, but Steve and Evelyn would have to be an exception.
“Yes, ma’am,” Elena finally said, and backed into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Naomi let out a sigh of relief. She had escaped. For now. She wasn’t a fool enough to think people like Steve and Evelyn would give up easily.
*
Steve and Evelyn showed up for dinner a few days later and asked to see Naomi, and again a few days after that. Every server and greeter on the floor now recognized them and knew that Naomi was avoiding them. On the third night, she escaped into her office yet again and sat down at her desk only to be greeted by a handwritten note on top of her keyboard. She lifted it and rubbed her thumb over the thick, creamy paper. The note was in muddled English and signed by Gianni. He knew her verbal Italian skills were far better than her written skills.
Elena told me about how you refuse to see those two. I imagine it to be difficult, so I'll have her give this to you when they come again. All I can tell you is to be brave. Gianni
Heaving a sigh, Naomi tossed the note back onto her keyboard and put her head in her hands. This was crazy! The worst thing was that she knew Gianni was probably right. She had to muster up the courage to face them or nothing would ever change. Steve and Evelyn knew it. Gianni knew it. She knew it.
“Fine,” she muttered, and stood. She pushed back a stray lock of hair and tucked it into the clip at the nape of her neck. She would go out there and meet with them and get it over with.
“They are waiting for you,” Elena said as Naomi came out of her office.
Naomi gave her a soft smile as she stopped in the hallway. “Thank you, Elena.” She peered into the dining room and caught sight of Steve and Evelyn at a table in one of the quieter corners, their eyes fixed on their menus.
“I’ll send Maura to wait on your table in a few minutes,” Elena said.
Naomi put a hand on her arm. “Wait a little longer than that,” she urged. “If I have my way, I’ll be in and out of there in ten minutes.”
Elena nodded slowly. “I understand.”
Naomi straightened her shoulders and walked into the dining room, making her way over to the table. Steve and Evelyn looked up from their menus, their faces lit with relief. Naomi’s stomach flipped over. She was a wreck inside. Guilt swam through her veins, chilling her skin. Fear dried out her mouth. Anxiety shook her fingers.
She was frustrated with herself for feeling any emotion at all. She wanted to be dead inside so she could get through this as easily as possible.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Evelyn said in English as Naomi walked to an empty chair at the table and sat down. “I know it must be hard, but—”
“Can we make this quick?” Naomi interrupted, surprised at her own rudeness. A new emotion crept into her system, tainting all of the others. She felt angry. What made these two think they had the right to demand her company in this way? They had manipulated her out here to the table, just as they had always manipulated her.
Evelyn’s expression crumpled. “Oh,” she whispered with a quick glance at Steve. “Yes, of course we can.”
Naomi gave a curt nod, noticing a string of freshwater pearls around Evelyn’s neck. They shimmered next to the collar of her deep red sweater.
“Please give us a few minutes, at least,” Steve said, lifting his eyes to Naomi for the very first time. He was dressed in a charcoal suit and tie, his hair more gray than the dark brown she remembered.
Naomi fought hard to keep her eyes on his. He had always been the quiet one. Quiet, but clever and determined. It wasn’t until the trial that Naomi had discovered how large a part he had played in her kidnapping. Eric had wanted to kill Naomi and be rid of her, but Steve had been the one to convince him to keep her alive. Evelyn had always wanted a child, and in a sick, twisted sort of way, Naomi fulfilled that role. The last thing Steve had wanted was to rip a “daughter” away from his wife.
“A few minutes,” Naomi said, nodding her consent as a shiver ran through her. She shouldn’t feel cold. The November air outside was cool, but the restaurant was warm.
“Very well, then,” Steve said. He placed his elbows on the table and looked Naomi straight in the eyes. “We’ve made this effort to see you because closure is what Evelyn and I need right now”—he gave Evelyn a knowing glance—“and we’re thinking you probably need some closure with us, too.”
Naomi ground her teeth, wondering if Steve’s words were all they seemed. She had never thought facing two of her former kidnappers again would fire up such feelings of distrust. Steve and Evelyn had, after all, served twelve solid years in prison. And they had been released early, which meant the state of Colorado thought they had learned their lesson. Naomi wasn’t quite so sure.
“I have a friend who insists I do need closure with both of you,” Naomi said as her distrust and anger sifted a false sense of courage into her heart. She leaned forward and folded her arms on the table, clenching her hands into fists in an attempt to stop the trembling. “So what do we do now that we’re here?”
Evelyn cleared her throat. “I was hoping to sit down and have a conversation,” she said. “That’s all. We can answer any questions you have.” She leaned forward too, her eyes pleading. “And I’d love to know how you arrived at being a restaurant manager, why you decided to come here …” She looked away, her expression suddenly contrite. “If you want to share, anyway.”
The trembling in Naomi’s hands finally ceased. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking from Evelyn to Steve. “Why do you two need closure? Didn’t prison give that to you? All those treatment programs you mentioned before? You’ve paid your dues. Righted your wrongs. It’s over.”
Steve looked confused. He leaned away from the table and placed his hands in his lap. “I wouldn’t exactly call that closure,” he said. “We changed your life. You changed ours. Don’t you think that requires some reconciling between the three of us?”
Naomi shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. She understood exactly what he meant, but her emotions were so all over the place she couldn’t seem to line any of them up to make sense of them. Her eyes stung with tears. Her heart pounded. Finally, she stood. “I’m finished here. I’ll make sure Maura comes to get your order.”
She started to walk away, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. She reached up to swipe them away before anyone in the restaurant noticed her distress. She was a wreck. A complete, disastrous wreck. She couldn’t sort anything out. Was she supposed to feel angry with Steve and Evelyn? Or happy that they were trying to change? Or should she be irritated that they seemed the same even after everything they’d been through?
“Wait, Naomi,” Evelyn said, bringing Naomi to a stop. “Please don’t let it end this way. Please. Don’t you have questions for us? Are you too afraid to ask them?”
Confused, Naomi turned around. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “There’s nothing I’m too afraid to ask you two.” It was true. She wasn’t frightened of anything that had to do with Steve and Evelyn. Except her own guilt. She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
This wasn’t closure.
Far from it.
What this had to become was a milestone. It had to be an experience that would cement itself in her mind forever—something that would change her clear down to the essence of her soul.
Or she would never, ever be able to move on.
Her shoulders slumping, she returned to her chair and sat back down. This time she slowed her thoughts enough to sort through them. Her emotions finally fluttered into a little pile, still mixed up, but at least calm and manageable now. Her tears dissolved.
“All right,” she said, “I suppose I should give this a few more minutes.”
Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but Maura came to their table just then to take their orders. When she was gone, the conversation lulled for a bit. Gradually loosening up, Naomi shared a few things she had done over the years. She talked about her degree at USC and then culinary school in New York and the time she’d spent in Parma.
“I’m so happy to hear all of this,” Evelyn said after Maura had brought out their meals. “Is there anything you’d like to know about us?”
Naomi shrugged as she took a sip of wine. “Where are you living?”
Evelyn lowered her eyes. “In a small apartment a few miles away. I had hoped to keep my grandmother’s house, but we ended up having to sell it to pay some debts while we were in prison.”
Naomi figured those debts were legal fees from the trial, among other things. And then there it was again—the guilt. Her heart broke a little knowing Evelyn had given up so much of what she loved, but looking at her now, she saw that Evelyn had also gained much more than she had lost. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason, but Evelyn seemed stronger somehow.
“At least you’re here,” Naomi said, picking up her fork. “Italy is your home.”
Evelyn smiled gently. “It really is. We’re happy.”
“So, you know about my job,” Naomi said, her curiosity growing. “What about yours?”
