Chapter 17 - Beatrice's Last Dinner
Beatrice died at eighty-six.
Peacefully.
At home.
No conspiracy.
No mystery.
No hidden final evidence.
Chloe was with her.
Gabriel was ten minutes away.
For years he feared being late again.
Life did not promise otherwise.
When he arrived, he stood in the bedroom doorway.
Chloe walked to him.
He looked at his mother.
Then signed, though she could no longer see:
I'M HERE.
Chloe took his hand.
At the funeral, no one called Beatrice voiceless.
No one called Chloe her voice.
Daniel Cho interpreted.
Several speakers signed for themselves.
Gabriel did too.
His hands shook.
He said:
"My mother spent the last years of her life teaching me that listening is not a personality trait. It is a behavior."
Pause.
"I failed at it for a long time."
He looked toward Chloe.
"Then I practiced."
He did not mention Dominic.
Or the forged documents.
Or Salvatore's plan.
Those things belonged to the record.
Not the whole person.
He talked about Beatrice stealing bread from his plate.
Hating veal.
Loving red wine.
Cheating at cards.
Calling him an idiot.
The room laughed.
Good.
Afterward, Gabriel and Chloe went to Il Canto.
Table 7 was available.
They sat.
No private security inside.
The server asked what they wanted.
Gabriel signed to Chloe:
RISOTTO?
She nodded.
"Barolo?"
"Obviously."
Then he ordered bread.
Chloe smiled.
"Your mother would complain."
"She'd eat half."
True.
They sat quietly.
Gabriel touched the table.
"The first night, I thought you embarrassed me."
"I did."
He laughed.
"Yes."
Then:
"I thought the worst thing I learned was that Dominic lied."
Chloe waited.
"It wasn't."
"What was?"
Gabriel looked at his hands.
"That my mother had been speaking the whole time."
Chloe reached across.
He took her hand.
Not because he needed translation.
Because he wanted contact.
They ate.
The risotto was better than the veal.
Beatrice had been right about that too.
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