Watching the golden orioles flitting among the trees, Ruby smiled. Before they had parted last night, Niccolò promised to call her at noon today. I don’t think either of us will sleep much tonight, he’d told her, as he held her in his arms on the swing at his farmhouse among the grapevines.
“Scusi, Signora Ruby,” Livia said as she stepped onto the terrace from the kitchen. “A woman is at the door. She says she is your niece. Mari?”
Ruby bolted upright. “Mari is here?” It wasn’t like the perennially scheduled Mari to show up unannounced. “Don’t wake Ariana, but when you hear her rustling in her room, warn her that her mother is here. I’ll talk to Mari first. Let her know that.” Ruby rushed from the terrace to the front door.
“My dear Mari,” Ruby cried, swinging the door open. “Come in, come in.”
Mari stood at the door dressed in black, looking worn and frazzled, no doubt from an overnight transatlantic flight.
“Hello, Aunt Ruby,” Mari said. “Do you have any coffee? What I had on the flight was dreadful.”
“Of course, put your things down there. Livia will see to them.” Ruby noted how thin Mari was. She’d always worked out hard, but she looked haggard. “I wish I’d known you were coming.”
“I booked the flight yesterday,” Mari said, efficiently propping her designer purse and a laptop bag on top of her matching suitcase. “You said you wanted to see me. Sorry if I’m late, but I was having a tough time at work.”
“I’m so glad you came.” Ruby hugged Mari, and she was met with a limp embrace. “Let’s get your coffee. We have breakfast, too, if you’re hungry.”
Mari followed her to the terrace and flopped sullenly onto a chair. Livia hurried out with a large cup of coffee and a pot for refills.
“Thank God,” Mari said, cupping her hands around the earthenware mug.
“I’m glad you managed to take time from work,” Ruby said, easing into the conversation she knew was coming.
Mari cringed. “I got fired two weeks ago, so I’ve had a lot of unexpected time to sort through my mess of a life.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” Ruby said. “I know how much that job meant to you.”
“It was my life. And it’s sad to admit that.” Mari pulled out a folded paper. “I didn’t have time to read your letter until after I left the company.”
Ruby recognized the stationery she’d bought for Patricia years ago. “You visited the bank?”
“Just recently. Do you know about this letter my mom left?”
Bracing herself, Ruby nodded. “I imagine she shared some information with you.”
“I feel…manipulated,” Mari said, angrily pushing her hand through her short brown hair. “Mom was always the softie, and then, well, you know how she deteriorated. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t come between you and Patricia,” Ruby said as gently as she could. “I had promised her I’d honor her request.”
Mari removed the letter from the envelope and handed it to Ruby. “You might as well read it. And then tell me if what I suspect is true.”
* * *
My dearest Mari,
I take no pleasure in writing this letter to you, but I cannot rest until I do. As you must know by now, I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. My memory has been fading, and when I think of what lies ahead, it is quite humbling. I vacillate between sadness and fury at this dreadful disease that will rob me of the time I have left. However, if you’re reading this, it means I am finally free of it and at peace in heaven.
It also means that Ruby has decided to share our story with you. I have given her this discretion.
You have been my most beloved child, dear Mari, and I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without you. While we haven’t always agreed, I admire your drive and courage. After that husband of yours left you with little Ariana, you did what you had to do. Although you and I had our share of arguments, I hope you’ve never doubted the love I’ve had for you. From the first moment I saw your sweet little face, you were the child of my heart, loved even more because I could not have children.
Yes, you read that correctly.
You see, I could never carry a child of my own. And yet, I have loved you as if I had. Despite our disagreements, you have shown me your love in countless ways. I want you to know that I forgive every harsh word between us, and I hope you do the same. Let us only recall the good times; there have been so many.
Reading this, you might be angry with me that I have kept this secret for so long. Please forgive me, but it was not only mine to keep.
I am sure your next question will be about the circumstances of your birth. For this, you must speak to my sister. Ruby will answer all your questions because that is her story to tell. She became the star of our family, and I was determined to keep her starlight bright.
Thank you for caring for me all these years, as you must have. I can only imagine what you will have gone through by the time you read this letter. Please know that I am genuinely sorry for this disease that will rob me of precious moments with you. Undoubtedly, I will have been a burden on you, and for this, I ask for your understanding and forgiveness.
I love you always and forever, my darling daughter. And into eternity, I will remain your mother.
Love, Mom
* * *
Ruby lowered the letter. Mari was efficient; she dealt with facts. Ruby had to be direct with her. “You should get comfortable. It’s a long story.”
“Don’t forget I’ve come a long way to find out,” Mari said, crossing her arms.
“First of all, you are indeed my daughter,” Ruby said. “I married when I was seventeen, and you were born when I was barely eighteen. By that time, I’d already worked on three films and had to support the family. Your parents included. There was a drought in Texas that left them penniless.”
“And you’ve accused me of being all about the money,” Mari said. “It’s hard work supporting a family.”
“Yes, it is,” Ruby said, deflecting Mari’s snide remark. “You’ve carried that burden a long time.”
Mari frowned with annoyance. “So, who was my father?”
“Niccolò Mancini. I met him on a film set in Rome, where he lived. After I returned, a series of events occurred, contact ceased, and I could only assume he was dead. I gave birth to you at your parents’ home.”
“Prematurely,” Mari interjected. “I knew that part. But did this Niccolò know you were pregnant?”
“Back then, times were different. Communication was difficult. I had his address in Rome, but that was all. We didn’t think we would be separated very long.”
“Why couldn’t you keep me?” Mari narrowed her eyes. “Or were you too busy going to glitzy Hollywood parties? I’ve seen the photos.”
“It was never like that.” Ruby glared at Mari. “I didn’t have a copy of my marriage certificate, so when someone tipped off the press that I had a child, word spread through the media that I had an illegitimate baby. The studio immediately invoked the morals clause in my contract to terminate me. I would have lost my career, but more than that, your parents—and mine—would have lost their homes and their livelihoods. They’d already been struggling. Those were lean drought years on the ranch.”