He waited until Martina went outside before he raised his hand, making his brother halt. “Ante, keep your eyes open. Call if you suspect the slightest thing wrong. No one’s safe.”
Ante nodded. “If Martina packs for the trip, I’ll take her today and stay there. Her brother is between jobs, so he’s on the island too. If he’s away, I’d stay with her longer, but…he could get a bit pushy.”
“Right, you’re lucky he hasn’t broken your nose yet.” A silent shiver shot up Dario’s back at the
memory of Ante’s swollen lip when he first met Martina. As their relationship progressed, her brother eased off his control of his sister’s date nights and quit shadowing Ante.
“You’re a funny guy.” Ante hitched Jasmin higher on his hip, stepped out and closed the door.
“God, I feel awful.” Irena pulled her feet closer to her and leaned her forehead on her bent knees. “People must leave their homes, because of us.”
Dario wrapped his arms around his girls, who sat on either side of him. Now would be the perfect time to bring up his plan. “Don’t worry. Martina speaks her mind without thinking. The fact she wants Ante around is a good sign. Time alone will do them good.” He tickled Irena’s neck, making her squirm. “I’ve been thinking, how about we all get away to the island for a bit?”
Ella pivoted toward him, her eyes big and round. “Can we really?”
“Honey,” Irena said, wrinkling her forehead. “Not before we find out how Grandpa is doing. If he…” She cleared her throat. “If he…it wouldn’t look nice if we didn’t attend his funeral.”
“Irena, babe, how can you be sure that would happen?” Dario slid his hand down her arm, pulling her to him. “You said he’s been in and out of the hospital for the past two years. He may recover.”
“Not this time. His eyes were empty. His soul’s gone.” She drew in a long breath then let it out slowly. “Hard to believe, but he too had a soul. Not a good one, but a soul nonetheless.”
Dario frowned. Since when did Irena become so spiritual? Martial arts, yoga, and meditation must’ve
steered her toward Zen. “Did your mother say which unit he’s at? If you want, I can go in alone and maybe have a talk with the doctor.”
“He’s in the Internal Medicine ward. They are running tests, but cannot pinpoint why he’s coughing up blood.”
Irena caressed Ella’s arm. “Grandpa—”
“Right, Grandpa.” Ella’s sarcastic tone, followed by a long snort, stung Dario. “…they never sent me a gift or card, or anything.”
“Whatever the case, honey, let’s show them we’re better than stooping to their level.” Irena pointed to the photo album left open in the middle of the floor. “I’d like to have a look at those.”
Ella got to her feet, picked up the album off the floor and handed it to her. “You’re avoiding the issue now, Mom.”
Dario harrumphed. That was Irena, all right. Once she decided she had enough, she’d change the subject and the matter was no longer open for discussion.
Irena treated her daughter with a soft smile. “You know me, honey.” She flipped through the pages of the old photos and stopped by the picture of Dario on the deck of the tanker. “What sea are you on here?”
“The Northern Atlantic. The ship was tossed on the huge waves of a bad storm all through the night. You can see I’m not clean shaven and my stomach hadn’t returned to its rightful place.”
“Was it scary, Dad?” Ella pointed at the cresting waves of the ocean surrounding the ship.
“You bet, especially when you experience it for the first time. Though it wasn’t the first time I was on the stormy sea. Our Adriatic can get turbulent, but nothing
like the ocean. You think these are your last moments, but it gets easier. Our captain was an old sea dog. He laughed at us green faced novices.” He chuckled at the memory. “It’s the night I won’t forget. Spent it hugging the toilet in my cabin.”
Leaning over the album in Ella’s hands, Irena piped in, “The Adriatic Sea is a puddle comparing to the Atlantic.”
“Wow, you’re brave. We crossed the ocean on a ship but thankfully didn’t encounter any storms. The ship rocked one day. It was so cold. I couldn’t stay for long on deck, but the icebergs like distant mountain tops shimmered in the sun.” Ella shivered as if she remembered the trip, then tapped her mother’s hand, urging her to turn the page.
“Not unusual for northern Atlantic in February. I’m glad your voyage was calm.” Dario studied Irena’s face as her gaze locked on the last picture in the album. It was the only photo of the two of them, taken during their last summer together.
“I didn’t know you had this picture. We were so young, so carefree then.” She glided her finger over their smiling faces. “Oh, God, where did the years go? If we could turn back time and take what’s ours.”
“I wish we could.” He slapped his thigh, brightening the mood in the room. “Anyone hungry? I can whip up something.”
Ella pushed on his shoulders, preventing him from rising. “Can I take care of the lunch?”
“Be my guest.” He arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Irena.
“She’s quite a master chef. Guess she took after you.” A proud smile lit Irena’s face for the first time since her mother’s unexpected phone call.
He climbed the two steps to the kitchen where Ella stood in front of the wide open fridge. The appliance emitted soft chimes, indicating the door stood opened for too long and the temperature inside would rise. “What culinary wonder would you like to prepare?”
“Mom and I love omelets, I hope you do too.” She pulled the milk carton out and shuffled the items on the shelf.
“Not something I eat often, but I love them.” He stepped to the window sill above the sink and checked on the herbs in his terrarium. The sorry state of the plants reminded him he neglected to water them in a while.
Ella inspected his kitchen cabinets. “Where are your mixing bowls?” She appeared next to him. “Wow, Dad. Are you a gardener too? Mom always says she ends up with plants with no will to live.”
“I can hardly call myself a gardener. This box of herbs is all I have growing.” The scent of rosemary wafted from the terrarium as he bent the branches to check the moisture of the soil. “But if you could’ve seen my mother’s orchard, she could plant a stick in the dry ground and it would bloom into a tree full of fruit.”
Ella nodded. “My mom told me. Too bad I didn’t get to meet her.”
“She would’ve been crazy happy to have you.” His eyes burned. The conversation was entering the emotional territory and he needed to change the subject. He focused on Ella who returned to rummaging through the cupboards. “Mixing bowls are here.” He pulled out a deep drawer under the stove. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
“No, Dad. Go sit down and relax. I’ll call you both to the table when it’s ready.” She pointed her chin toward Irena seated on the couch, flipping through the photo album. “Can I get another bowl?”
“One isn’t enough for an omelet?” he asked, but pulled a smaller bowl out of the drawer.
Ella broke the egg and dropped the yolks in a bigger bowl. “Mom can only eat egg white omelet. Would you have any spray on oil? It’s for Mom.”
Irena’s dietary restrictions returned to his mind. He’d meant to ask her about it, but with everything that had happened, the long list of foods she couldn’t consume slipped from his mind. Now the worry had returned. She must have some condition, but she may not want to open up to him. Perhaps he could test the subject with Ella.
He checked the cabinet opposite the stove, the last time he’d seen a can of spray on stuff was in there. “Here,” he said, handing her the yellow cylinder. “You’re lucky. I meant to throw it out. Why can’t Mom have regular oil?”
“This oil has less fat and Mom…um…she was sick.” Ella sucked her lower lip, not meeting his gaze. “She must be careful or she’ll get sick again.”
Irena couldn’t digest fats? His insides twisted. There were many conditions that could cause such inability. Each worsened with time if the affected person continued with their eating habits. Ella’s reluctance to talk about her mother’s condition was a clue not to prod deeper. He’d have to get the rest from Irena. He took a step down, halted and turned to her. “Holler if you need any help.”
“Oh, Dad, I’m fine. Trust me.” She didn’t spare him a glance while beating the mixture with a wire whisk.
He lowered to the couch next to Irena. “So, I hear, you didn’t have much luck with plants.”
Irena huffed. “Fred had us living in a one bedroom basement flat meant for a maid. There were two small windows. Little daylight came inside. It’s a miracle we survived, much less plants. His neighbors actually thought him gracious for taking in a single mother and her kid as his house cleaner.”
Wrapping his arm around her, Dario pulled her closer and inhaled her citrus scent. “Now you live in a beautiful penthouse with huge windows and plenty of light. I’m thinking it’s a bit small for the three of us. We’ll look for a house. What do you think?”
Her face fell and she let out a desperate breath. “Our love was doomed from the start. Please, don’t set your hopes up. I’d hate to see you get disappointed again. If we could start with a clean slate…”
“We can’t, and don’t need to.” Keeping his eyes on Ella who had her back to them, he placed a kiss to Irena’s neck, then trailed his lips down the soft skin. He gave a small bite to her shoulder exposed by the low cut neckline, making her flinch. That should shift her mind from her worries and to more pleasant things. Questions about her dietary restrictions burned on his tongue, but he didn’t want to dampen her mood. Still, he couldn’t resist. “Why are there so many things off your menu?”
She sat straight and drew in a long breath. “Life in Canada is hectic,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Rarely people sit down to eat meals. It’s easier to gobble up fast food on the go.” Reaching for her purse next to the couch, she retracted a photo. “I kept this as a constant reminder of what such lifestyle did to me. I never knew I could get like this.” After a long sigh, she handed the picture to him. “See for yourself.”
He took the photo from her. His eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be right.