“Ah, and that’s why you looked disappointed when I told you my father’s name was Gio.”
“Exactly. It’s kind of personal, so we didn’t want to say anything then. But it sounds like your uncle may be the man we’re looking for.”
He nodded, chewing his food thoughtfully. “Understood. Why do you think my uncle is a match?”
“We have a bunch of clues,” Dev said. “We know he lived in Positano, his name began with R, and he had a boat here. He’d give tours and do some fishing. He seemed to be crazy in love with our mother and they had a passionate affair. She came every summer to see him for a good four years. Then they seemed to break up, but we think she returned to see him again about thirty-five years ago.”
“Could be Uncle Ray. What else?”
They all shared a look. “That’s it,” Bailey said. “We don’t have that many details.”
Hawke cocked his head. “Do you have specific dates they met? That might help.”
Bailey sighed. “Nope. The letters are full of emotion but little detail. At least, no detail as to where he lived, who his family was, or his permanent job. But if we met him, we’d know his heart and soul.”
Hawke smiled and his voice was gentle. “I bet you would. Letters can get extremely personal. Much deeper than an email or text.” He took another sip of wine. “Let me tell you what I can about Uncle Ray. Like I told Dev, I always suspected he had a great love affair and something happened because he never got married. He spent every summer here with my dad in Positano and used the house in the off-season. He had a boat here, but touring wasn’t his full-time job. He just loved sailing and being on the water, so he’d take people he knew or tourists who he felt a connection to. Then, for some reason, he decided to leave. He gave up his share of the cottage to me, so I now own it in full. He moved to Sicily a while ago.” His eyes darkened. “Hmm, interesting. I always wondered why he suddenly left.”
Bailey dragged in a breath. Excitement prickled her nerve endings. It just felt right. “Mom wrote him a letter where he responded he’d meet her here on her sixty-fifth birthday. That was May fifteenth. Do you have any idea if he visited Positano then?”
“I don’t. I try to speak with him regularly, but it’s hard. Many times he doesn’t respond—he was always fiercely independent.” His gaze grew thoughtful. “I’m assuming your mom never got to meet him for her birthday?”
Dev shook her head. “She died a few months beforehand.” Her hand shook a bit as she raised her glass. Bailey had the same reaction as she thought of the heartfelt possibilities that had never occurred. “I wonder how that was for her. Did she worry that he’d never know she got sick? Or did it all happen so fast, she had no time to think about anything? She died of pneumonia. Unexpected. A cold turned serious and sent her to the hospital, and she was just . . . gone. We’re all assuming this man, maybe your uncle, never found out what happened to Mom.”
The dinner plates were cleared, and Sacher torte was served—a deep, rich chocolate torte with hazelnuts and strawberries. Vanilla bean gelato paired with the dense cake perfectly. Hawke switched to espresso, his fingers cradling the tiny cup with a simple sort of elegance.
“I think there’s only one thing left to do,” he said slowly.
“What?” Pris asked.
“I’ll call my uncle and ask him.”
Dev groaned and rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think about that. We are the worst detectives ever.”
He laughed. “Easy to get swept up in the glamour of a mystery.”
“We even brought the love letters in case you needed clues,” Pris added.
“I’m sure those letters are precious to all of you. Rarely does a child get to know a parent on such an intimate level. We’re too involved with the roles—we distance them from us.” His gaze warmed, maybe with his own memories. “Meanwhile, they’re only human.”
Pris sucked in a breath. The words hit her full force, stirring up the messy emotions in her gut. Hawke was right about the role she’d assigned to Mom. Bailey felt as if her relationship with Mom was so different from the others’. She didn’t have the trouble of seeing her through a lens. She’d spotted the sadness when Mom thought no one was looking. The letters only helped her make sense of it all. To Dev and Pris, the letters complicated things because then they wouldn’t be able to put her up on the high pedestal they loved so much.
Love was messy.
Hawke paid the bill and they all walked home happily. The orange half-moon glowed as if it were full of secrets and magic. Bailey fell into step next to Hawke, enjoying his masculine presence. She liked men: liked their smell and deep voices, muscled bodies and simplistic way they looked at the world. It was women who were the complicated ones, full of thorns and contradictions amid the pure passion toward the ones they loved.
Bailey was glad she’d never succumbed to the temptation of committed love. Her life was so much easier and happier than others’.
“I’ll call my uncle when we get home,” he said.
“Sounds good. I’m exhausted,” Pris announced.
“That was a long hike,” Hawke said. “You should sleep well tonight.”
Dev sighed. “I hope I do. Sometimes I get awful insomnia. I stare at the ceiling for hours and go over mathematical equations.”
Hawke laughed. “Better than sheep. I have bouts of that too.”
“Dev, you need to focus on your breath. Let your thoughts flicker across the movie screen in your mind without getting attached. Meditation and yoga will help you so much,” Bailey said.
“No, thanks. One sleepless night I came close to a breakthrough with the bell curve and the current securities issues.”
Hawke cocked his head. “Yeah? Now, that would be worth insomnia.”
“You two are hopeless,” Bailey said with a shake of her head. “I thought you said Positano changed you, Hawke. To become less attached to the trappings of the world.”
His lip twitched. “Oh, it did. But the bell curve is sacred.”
They laughed. The warm air caressed her skin, and the stars shone from the sky like diamonds. She felt drunk on being part of this place and knew it had little to do with the wine. Her nerves rippled with awareness. Her heart sighed. She craved to grab a bit of such vibrant energy and ingest it whole.
They arrived at the cottage and Hawke plucked his phone from his pocket. “Ready to give him a call?” he asked.
Bailey nodded, breathless with excitement.
Hawke dialed and, after a long pause, spoke in rapid Italian. Bailey loved the musical quality to the language and made a vow to learn it. His thumb slid over the button and he lowered the phone. “Sorry, but he’s not answering. I left him a voice mail it’s urgent. As soon as he calls, I’ll contact you.”