The Last Promise Read Online Free PDF Page B

the couch next to him. She put her arms around him and pulled him close. “He must have gotten caught in some traffic.”
    She felt stupid offering the same worn excuses for her husband. She should be good at covering for Maurizio by now, but she wasn’t. It just seemed to get harder.
    Alessio’s face was still bent in dejection. “I don’t like traffic,” he said sadly. “It’s always catching Dad.”
    Eliana would have smiled at his observation had she not hurt for him. “Why don’t you go outside and play?”
    “Dad told me that we’d go to the park and kick goals. He was going to teach me how to play.”
    “He’ll be home soon, honey,” she said, hoping it was true. She honestly had no idea if he would be home or not. There was no telling with Maurizio. “Why don’t I go out and kick the ball with you?”
    “Moms can’t do that.”
    “Of course they can.”
    “Dad says girls can’t play soccer.”
    “He did, huh?” She didn’t doubt it; it was typical Maurizio. “Well, there are women who can play soccer better than your father.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.”
    “Can you play better than Dad?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
    He thought about this. “We can play if you want.”
    “Okay. Let me check dinner first. You go get the ball.”
    “It’s right there.” A fluorescent yellow-and-black soccer ball was sitting on the floor next to the couch. “Can I wear my Totti shirt Dad gave me?”
    “What’s a Totti shirt?”
    “You know. Totti. He plays on Team Italia,” he said, incredulous at his mother’s ignorance of one of the country’s best players.
    “Yes, you may.”
    “Can we go to the park?”
    “I would, honey, but I’m still making dinner. We’ll just play in the courtyard. Now go change your shirt while I check the oven.”
    Alessio ran upstairs. Eliana lifted her laundry basket. Why do you make promises you can’t keep, Maurizio? she thought.
     
    It was dark outside. Eliana was reading in the den when she heard the gravel crunching beneath the Alfa Romeo’s wheels as Maurizio drove his car up the driveway five hours later than he’d promised to be home. Alessio had been fed, bathed and had gone to bed. Their dinner had gone cold.
    The front door opened and he announced his return, dropped his suit coat on the sofa, loosened his tie and then, with a loud sigh of exhaustion, collapsed in front of the television. Eliana put down her book, and went to the kitchen to reheat their dinner. She did not greet him, certain that anything she said would come out more as a rebuke than a welcome. He had been gone for two weeks this time. She didn’t want to start fighting the second he got home.
    With the exception of a load of wash and forty-five minutes of soccer with Alessio, she had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen preparing a special meal for Maurizio’s return: spinach-pear ravioli in walnut cream sauce, bresaola with rucola, mushroom crostini and broiled Chianina steak. There was a bottle of their own best wine, L’incanto, in the center of the table, next to a sterling silver candelabra.
    The food wasn’t all Eliana had paid special attention to. She had painted her nails, taken a long bath with scented oils and carefully shaved her legs so they’d be smooth for him. She had also spent extra time on her hair, but she was now regretting all of it. With each minute he’d been late, her mood had deteriorated still more. By the time dinner was served, she did not even bother to light the candles at the table.
    She called him to dinner. A minute later he walked in, looked over the spread. “You shouldn’t have gone to this much trouble,” he said, acting magnanimous.
    Eliana looked up at him, bridling her temper. She picked her words carefully. “I wanted to do something special for you.”
    “You shouldn’t have troubled,” he repeated as he sat down.
    She watched him for a moment as he picked at his food. “Did you already eat?” she