“Adrianna focused on Anthony, kept her eyes locked with his as she pushed and not a minute later their baby girl’s cries filled the room,” I whisper. “It was precious.”
“I bet it was,” he breathes, placing the photo of Victoria on the table before lifting the next one. “Luca is getting so big,” he marvels, laughing at the photo of our grandson with a backward Yankee cap, pointing to his shirt that read ‘Don’t even think about dating my sister’. “Anthony’s training him young,” he jokes, showing me the photograph.
“You’re not kidding,” I confirm.
“He’s a good father,” he says huskily, taking a deep breath. “A real good father.”
He placed Luca’s photo next to his sister’s and lifted the next.
“Look at her smile,” he whispers as he studied our daughter, Nikki’s, picture. I had taken it right after Michael proposed to her. I’m not sure she had even said yes before the flash went off.
Victor lifted his gaze to mine.
“Was she surprised?”
“She was shocked. I believe her first words were ‘get the fuck out of here’ and then she said yes,” I wink at him, sharing a knowing look that our daughter was a spitfire. “And then she cried.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael told…” I pause, blinking away the tears that suddenly fill my eyes as I recall my daughter breaking down after Michael revealed he had visited with Victor. “…he told her they had your blessing and he had asked you for her hand in marriage.”
He smiled widely as he wiped at his own eyes.
“You’ll walk her down the aisle won’t you?”
“Yes,” I promise.
He nodded.
“Get her whatever dress she wants. I don’t care what it costs, you make sure she has everything she wants. If you need extra money you go to Jack Parrish, he’ll give you whatever you need.”
“Okay, Vic,” I reply softly, watching as he looks away for a minute.
“You know I’m happy,” he whispers. “I am,” he assures me, turning around so I can look him in the eye. “I’m happy because I know that my two daughters will be taken care of, that they have men in their lives that will truly do anything to keep them happy and will love them like they deserve to be loved.”
“Yes, we’re very fortunate that our daughters have found happiness.”
“There is one girl I’m worried about though,” he confesses. “You.”
“I’m fine, Victor,” I admonish.
“No you’re not and it’s my fault. I promised to take care of you and love you all the days of my life. I vowed to share a life with you and left you to live it alone. I love you, Gracie, and I’ll never go back on that promise I made when I said I’d love you until death do us part.”
“I love you too, Victor,” I say quietly, reaching across the table to take hold of both his hands. “And our life may not have gone as we planned but I don’t regret a single thing.”
“I regret not being home as much as I should have been. I regret not enjoying the little things I took for granted, like tripping over your slippers on the way out the door or when I’d walk in and find you sleeping on the couch with a book tucked under your nose. I miss the little things, Gracie. I miss watching you sing on Sunday mornings while you made me meatballs. I really miss your meatballs,” he quips, winking at me before reaching across the table to wipe away my tears with his fingers.
“Life is too short for regrets, Vic, and while we may only have these visits now, we’ll have eternity together,” I vow.
“Grace,” he starts, dropping his hand from my face as he draws in a harsh breath.
“I mean it, Victor, I believe that with my whole heart. You have to believe it too because these visits aren’t the last of us,” I exaggerate.
“Gracie, they’re moving me again,” he says regretfully.
“What?” I swallow. “Where?”
“Down south,” he answers. “The lawyer will fill you in on all the details,” he adds as his eyes do a quick sweep of the room. “It’s the last leg of the plan.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I hiss. “To hell with the plan!”
“Lower your voice,” he pleads.
“No, Victor, I will not. Look at you, this is it, do you realize that? You keep digging your hole and for what? Some sick vendetta?”
“I gave my word.”
“You gave your word to me thirty years ago.”
“Gracie, you’re right this is it…look at me. You see where I am? There is nothing left. I love you, as God as my witness I love you with my whole heart but I’m being transferred, and it’s for the best.”
“How can you say that? How can you tell me you love me and choose this life over that love time and time again?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is,” I hiss.
“Gracie…I’m dying.”
Have you ever heard someone speak but felt like you were dreaming and the words were a nightmare? You wish to wake up, you beg for it, but it doesn’t happen. You think it’s your subconscious forcing you to live through the pain and anguish of the words but it’s not and then you realize you’re living not dreaming.
The knife twists.
The hope diminishes.
And the life sentence becomes shorter.