Chapter 15 - The Place Where the Vase Used to Be
Four months later, the walnut console table in Domenico’s living room was still empty.
He had considered replacing the vase.
He had considered having the largest pieces restored.
In the end, he did neither.
The empty space bothered him for several weeks.
Then it became ordinary.
DeLuca Architectural Millwork survived.
The stopped equipment payment had strained scheduling, but they eventually purchased the CNC router under a new approval process requiring two unrelated managers for large vendor changes.
Sharon helped Domenico rewrite purchasing controls.
No family exceptions.
No shared passwords.
No assumption that trust replaced procedure.
Marco’s first repayment arrived on time.
So did the second.
Then the third.
Eric Nolan’s company refunded part of the disputed invoice amounts under a separate agreement.
Other discrepancies remained unresolved and were written down exactly that way.
Not every dollar came home neatly.
Real damage rarely did.
Camilla found a job with a commercial interiors firm in Madison.
The position paid slightly less than she had earned working for her father.
She accepted it anyway.
On her first morning, Domenico almost called to remind her to leave early because traffic on Route 24 could be miserable.
He stopped himself.
She was twenty-seven.
She managed.
Their relationship changed too.
Camilla no longer dropped by the company three afternoons a week.
Instead, she and Domenico had dinner most Sundays.
Sometimes they discussed Marco.
Sometimes they did not.
Marco had moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Morris Plains.
He attended individual counseling.
Not perfectly.
Not heroically.
He missed one appointment, rescheduled it, and told Camilla instead of pretending he had gone.
She noticed that more than she wanted to.
They met twice a month with a marriage counselor.
They were still separated.
They had not decided whether separation would become divorce.
Domenico never asked after every appointment.
That required effort.
Gina came for dinner occasionally.
The first time, she stood in front of the empty console table.
“You’re not replacing it?”
“No.”
“Teresa loved that vase.”
“I know.”
Gina looked at him.
“She’d probably yell at all of us for turning it into a family archive.”
Domenico smiled.
“She’d yell at me for not checking underneath it once in twenty-five years.”
Gina laughed.
It was the first time Anthony’s name could exist near humor without anyone defending him.
The old envelope now lived in a fire-resistant document box with the company’s historical records.
Not hidden.
Not displayed.
Preserved.
One Sunday in January, Camilla arrived carrying a small cardboard box.
Domenico was setting the table.
“What’s that?”
“Something Marco gave me.”
Domenico stopped.
Camilla opened the box.
Inside was Anthony Bellini’s old wristwatch.
Gina had offered it to Marco at Christmas.
Marco had refused it.
“He told her to keep it,” Camilla said. “Then she gave it to me because apparently nobody in that family can handle an heirloom normally.”
Domenico smiled despite himself.
“Why did he refuse it?”
Camilla turned the watch over in her hand.
“He said he spent too much of his life trying to inherit his father’s anger. He didn’t want to start wearing his watch while he was still figuring out what else he had inherited.”
Domenico sat down slowly.
That was the final surprise Anthony’s letter had created.
Marco had spent years believing loyalty meant defending his father’s version of the past.
Now he was learning that loving a parent sometimes meant refusing to continue what they had handed you.
Camilla put the watch back in the box.
“Gina wants me to keep it until he changes his mind.”
“And will he?”
“I don’t know.”
Domenico nodded.
For once, neither of them treated uncertainty like an emergency.
After dinner, Camilla carried plates into the kitchen.
When she returned, she paused beside the empty console.
Months earlier, Domenico had pulled her away from broken porcelain there while Marco lunged for a sealed envelope and Camilla begged her father not to open it.
Now there was nothing to protect.
Nothing hidden beneath a decorative base.
Nothing waiting for the next generation to misunderstand.
Camilla ran her fingers lightly across the wood.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Marco asked if I’d have coffee with him tomorrow. Not therapy. Just coffee.”
Domenico waited.
“I haven’t answered yet.”
He could see that part of her wanted advice.
Another part needed him not to give it.
So he only said, “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
Camilla looked relieved.
She placed her house key on the console.
Domenico frowned.
“What’s that?”
“My old key.”
“You don’t need to give that back.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“I rented an apartment.”
He stared at her.
“For yourself?”
“For myself.”
Not Marco’s townhouse.
Not Domenico’s spare bedroom.
Her own place.
“When?”
“I signed Friday.”
Domenico looked at the key again.
It was not rejection.
It was independence.
A boundary neither man in her life had chosen for her.
Camilla picked up her coat.
At the door, she turned.
“I might have coffee with him.”
Domenico nodded.
“And I might not.”
“That sounds fair.”
She left.
The old house became quiet.
Domenico carried the key to the walnut console and set it in the exact place where Teresa’s vase had stood for twenty-five years.
Once, that spot had held something beautiful with a secret hidden underneath.
May you like
Now it held one plain brass key in full view.
He left it there.
