Sweet Karoline (11 page)

In
a fierce spring rainstorm I headed south toward the airport, feeling very alone. After the whirlwind of the days in my sister's company I was bereft of her voice, face and the dual exploration we'd experienced. Now I headed back to my home that was no longer a home. A friend who was no longer my friend but my betrayer. The certainty welled up inside. I had to confront Karoline.

The
feeling of anger smoldered until I was back in L.A. When I stepped back into our place I didn't know what to do with the leftover rage. The apartment was warm, clean and refreshed. Every sign of Glenn Simpson was gone. Karoline had left me a note.

"
Anne, I'm sorry things have been so messed up lately. I'm off on another art buying trip for Daniel. I'll be gone til Friday. When I get back, we'll talk, OK? Love you, K. PS I kicked Glenn out."

I
still had questions. I still had a few days' vacation. I booked a flight for the following morning.

Dear Diary,

Their
level of trust is not an indication of how deserving I am. Rather, it is a measure of their lack of intelligence and the desire to question. They accept everything at face value. See everything from the shallow pools of their catered lives. Like children—believing in fairy tales, in happily ever after. She is such a cruel bitch. Did she think I was going to allow her to get her nasty little hands on him so she could twist his heart into pieces all over again?

Chapter
13

My route through Cleveland Ohio sprawled out on both sides along a steep hill. Once I'd rollercoastered from top to bottom to top again, I followed the directions I had cobbled out from my maps and took an exit into a leafy wooded neighborhood. This was clearly an older wealthier area. The houses were primarily red brick but all designed slightly differently, perhaps forty to fifty years old. Well-kept, with large yards and gardens, shrubbery, wide porches with swings or inviting chairs. Children's playthings suggested that a younger crowd had moved in.

The
first street on the right was the one on the letters Giulio had sent. Here the houses were slightly smaller, perhaps a bit older. The kind built for families once the Second World War was over. I crawled along carefully, aware that children might be coming home for lunch. Until I saw number twenty.

A
one-story clapboard house, it was surrounded by rose bushes. They blushed with the first hints of red and pink against the prim white walls. Along the short walkway lovely greenery marched in perfectly straight lines toward the entry. The front door was painted a deep rich red to match the roses. The cement porch was armed on two sides with black wrought iron. Lace curtains were pulled over the windows but there was a car in the driveway.

I
could imagine Giulio here. His designer's touch, his love of dramatic color and flora, his regimented yet creative style. In my imagination I pictured him arriving home from his pharmaceutical research job where he bent over a microscope all day surveying dead cells. He would shed his white coat for shorts and t-shirt, his microscope for a trowel and spend time with insects and growth.

In
my mind he was still lithe and athletic, his small dancer's body well coordinated and shapely. He'd probably have treats for the neighborhood kids and play kick ball with them. Winter would mean snowmen in the yard or hockey in the street. In my ears I heard his laughter, loud and delighted, unabashedly joyful and who cared if the people in the next block heard it?

I
wondered what his neighbors thought of him. Were they open and accepting? Did they love him? Trust their kids with him? Play cards with him and Paolo? Or were they suspicious and critical of his nature, of his lifestyle?

I
parked the car a short distance from the house, locked it and walked back. A lion's head knocker graced the door and suddenly a memory flooded back. Karoline, Giulio and I sitting in one of our living rooms watching Frankenstein with Gene Wilder. Over and over again we howl at the line, "Nice knockers". I almost laughed out loud again as I let the lion's head fall onto the brass plate.

A
man did indeed open the door but he was certainly not Giulio. Nor was he Paolo. Even given that I'd only met Paolo once and that years had passed by, I still could not have mistaken him for a nearly six-foot tall man who clearly had Oriental roots.

"
Hello," I said, stammering in surprise. "I was wondering if Giulio and Paolo Ricci still live here?"

Looking
at me with the kind of appreciation most men threw at me, he looked puzzled for a moment, wordlessly telling me volumes. But he wasn't bewildered by the names.

"
Are you a friend of theirs? I thought Paolo told all his friends…"

"
I am a friend of his partner, Giulio. Paolo and I aren't..."

Aren
't what? Little did this man know.

He
opened the door wider.

"
Come in. My name's Phil Kwan. My wife is here, too, just in case you don't want to enter a strange man's house."

He
grinned and the lines around his eyes crinkled. He was used to smiling. Around thirty, he was a good-looking man with pleasant welcoming brown eyes and straight black hair cut short and fashionable. He was wearing a black t-shirt and track pants, comfortable attire for sitting around the house.

"
Alison!" he yelled, turning his head toward the back of the house.

I
stepped inside just as a short blond woman appeared in the living room. She was very pretty and very shapely. Dressed in tight shorts and a sleeveless fuchsia top, Alison looked healthy and friendly.

"
Hi," she said, coming toward me and holding out her hand.

I
shook it. "My name is Anne Williams. I'm a friend of Paolo's partner, Giulio Ricci."

"
You are Anne?"

Phil
Kwan's outburst froze our handshake into a clutch of astonishment. A silent exchange between husband and wife, the kind that only truly intimate people are capable of giving, silenced him. Alison dropped my hand and took the lead.

"
We know who you are, but obviously, for some reason, you don't know who we are."

She
gestured to a big, comfortable chair opposite the sofa on which husband and wife then sat, staring at me as curiously as I stared at them.

"
Let me explain. Phil and I lived across the street from Giulio and Paolo for a number of years in an upstairs apartment, which we rented. We love this neighborhood. Everyone is friendly. We have street parties, lots of kids, barbeques in each other's yards, that sort of thing. Paolo and Giulio fit right in and we became very close. That's how we met Karoline."

"
You met Karoline?"

"
Of course. Every time she came to visit, we had barbeques and dinners or played cards," Phil answered.

"
She came to visit? But the only times Karoline and I have been apart are for business trips."

I
was beginning to sound stupid, but my brain had slowed to a sluggish, slack-jawed crawl.

Alison,
unlike her husband, was patient and linear.

"
She came to visit fairly regularly. Perhaps she was also in the area on business. That's why we know all about you. What's puzzling is that you don't know all about us. I mean, Giulio said that the two of you kept up a correspondence. We naturally assumed that he would've mentioned us or that Karoline would've shared her visits over the years."

As
I shook my head tears began to slide down my cheeks. Alison got up and handed me a box of tissues. I said nothing.

She
continued. "When Giulio got sick with cancer, Karoline was here right away, even though she couldn't stay long."

There
was an implied criticism that only made me choke with more gulped sobs. You never came to visit him, even when he was sick.

"
He was very brave, in and out of the hospital. Finally, Paolo nursed him here at home with our help and some of the other neighbors."

"
Alison's a nurse," Phil said. "And I'm a paramedic. That's why we're home during the day. We both do night shifts. We were able to assist Paolo during the day and some of the neighbors took turns if he needed them during the night."

"
Sounds like a loving community," I managed to say between swallowing hiccups of anguish.

"
Giulio eventually seemed to get better. We knew it was just a remission, but it was wonderful to see. His color returned. He was planting in the gardens again. Then suddenly, he was gone. Paolo found the bottle of pills. He was absolutely devastated."

Giulio
was gone. I was in danger of losing complete control here so I focused on the fact that Paolo had turned out to be a good guy. At least Giulio had experienced true love before he died. I was able to calm down somewhat, though I continued to require tissues for sopping up the grief.

Alison
's eyes were full of tears by now, too, so this time I was the one to hand over some tissue.

"
After Giulio died, Paulo sold their house to me and Alison. We loved this little place and he knew we'd keep their roses healthy and their garden going. He hadn't decided where he was going to go, so we kept the apartment even after the house became ours, to give him lots of time to decide. We were happy to have him stay here as long as he needed."

"
One day, a huge rental car showed up on the street. I happened to be looking out of the window…"

"
He's a self-proclaimed neighborhood watch," Alison inserted.

"
…and saw a woman and two men at Paolo's door. He let them in after some gesturing and shouting in Italian. I waved at Paolo, but he waved back, signaled with 'a thumbs up' that he was okay. Eventually they went inside and several hours later, the car left. We never saw Paolo again."

My
mind raced. I'd spilled my shock and sorrow, unclogged the dam so I could think again.

"
Are you sure he wasn't kidnapped or something? I mean, why did he just disappear like that? Maybe it wasn't his family…"

"
Karoline called Italy," Alison said. "She was able to talk to Paolo. Although she thought he sounded sad and somewhat strange, he was okay. Basically he had agreed with his mother and brothers to go back to Italy immediately. He said he'd send for anything he really wanted. Karoline did manage to get an address for him. We sent photo albums and some other things we felt were important, but he never replied."

Alison
looked like she was still upset. A shade of anger flushed her cheeks.

"
His family simply whisked him away, obviously ashamed of him, I suppose. It's been several months now, so…"

A
long silence allowed me to digest the bizarre circumstances. Phil disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a tray on which sat a large teapot, three mugs, the usual accompaniments and some banana bread. We sat for a long while munching and sipping. It felt like comfort.

"
We haven't heard from Karoline since then, either," Alison finally said. "She told us she'd be in touch, but that she was moving and she'd send her new address, which she never did. We were a bit hurt, to tell the truth, because although we knew she was Paolo and Giulio's friend, we felt close to her too. We tried calling, but she never returned our calls."

"
You don't have to tell us, obviously. But we're curious as hell about why you're here, why now, why not…then? And what about Karoline?"

I
was becoming used to Phil's bluntness. I knew I couldn't supply all the facts or implications so I simply responded with the same candor.

"
I …I don't know. Karoline's had a…"

I
almost choked, stumbling on how to explain.

"
She's had an emotional breakdown," I finally said. "She…she didn't even tell me about Giulio. I didn't know he was…gone. She's been…distant, different."

I
knew that I sounded very odd. I was in shock, mind reeling, senses overloaded. When I initially found those letters I assumed I could reconcile with Giulio. Let him know the truth about Paolo and me. I assumed he would help me figure out why our friend had done this. I assumed that he would help me fix Karoline.

Alison
and Phil clasped each other's hand. Clearly rocked by the news, they also looked uncertain as to whether or not they should believe me.

"
Has she sought treatment?" Only a nurse would pose such a question.

I
shook my head, my eyes on the floor.

"
No," I managed to say. "She hasn't admitted anything. I haven't…been able to help her. No one has."

Then
I cleared my throat. Ignoring their wide shell-shocked eyes I decided I had to tell some of the truth.

"
She also lied to you about me. I didn't keep up a correspondence with Giulio. I didn't know he was here in the US until recently. She kept all of that a secret from me. She told him I never wanted to see him again, but that I'd answer his letters if he insisted. Then she didn't even tell me he'd died."

There
was a deep silence in the room, a blanket of disbelief and suspicion. I could feel the air around my hosts change from curiosity to wariness. They exchanged that sideways look again, speaking without words.

"
I don't blame you for not believing me," I said quickly before they could respond.

I
reached into my purse and pulled out a few sheets of paper. "Maybe you'll understand when you see this."

Phil
took the page from me and held it so that both he and Alison could read.

My
dearest Anne, I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write. Many changes have happened since you left and I decided to stay. Paolo did not get married, as you know. We spent all the months talking. Finally he admitted that his sex antics were all avoidance. He did not wish to admit that he is gay and in love with me. It is a very difficult thing for traditional Italian males. We have really been in love with each other our whole lives. So you see that something very good came from your moments with Paolo.

We
have decided to move to Cleveland, where he has a job opportunity. I'm sure I will find something, too. Pharma gave me a very good reference and genetics is such a big, new field. So we won't be as far away from you once we return to the States.