Shards of Crystal

He didn't turn around to face her. She was being honest. The photos her people had taken showed him to still be a vigorous man, in excellent shape.

"I'm fine, Amanda." He stood watching the softball field scouting the Zephyrs, his back to his ex-wife. His team would be playing them next week. After Rebecca had moved passed playing softball, Manny continued coaching.

"Can we talk? Civilly?"

"I don't like you, but we're not enemies. We haven't been that since she turned eighteen and you were no longer a threat to steal my daughter. I can be civil."

"Tell me what I can do to improve our daughter's life."

"Give her the medical information she wants."

"That's a given, Manny. What else can I do?"

"I don't know. I'm not trying to freeze you out. I really don't know. She makes a good living, she doesn't live extravagantly. Maybe help with her college loans?"

"That's a good idea. Can you let me know if you think of anything else?"

"No. I'm not going to be rude if I see you, Amanda, but I have no interest in speaking to you."

"I... I understand. You've done a great job with her. She seems to be an amazing woman. Thank you for listening to me."

She headed back to the limousine as her security detail fell back to their cars.

REBECCA

One of Marco's relatives had a mother-daughter house and was looking for a renter. His parents were in the market and never told us. They shocked the heck out of us when they showed up for dinner at one of the relative's house. They walked in with a bag filled with loaves of fresh Italian bread and a box of cannoli, as if they were there every weekend.

Mr. Bianchi was a tall thin older version of Marco. He spoke with a smile. "Who brought you up, boy? Get up and get your mother a seat."

Marco jumped from his seat, rushed over to his father and hugged him, lifting him from the ground. "Pop! When did you guys get here?"

His mother grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down far enough to be able to kiss his forehead. "Your father has decided he loves New York. We're splitting a house with Rosemary on the weekends."

He pulled her into a hug. There was no questioning of motives, no scrambling for missing pieces of this puzzle. She was simply his mom, and she wanted to be near him. I didn't realize I was crying until I reflexively reached up to wipe away the tears.

Mrs. Bianchi came with me the next time I volunteered. She had taught high school English before she had children and she had a keen eye. She edited while I wrote, and we spent a few hours helping with the communication of the NYPD. We chatted as we worked and consumed bad coffee and excellent biscotti.

"Marco said you don't speak with your mother."

I wasn't sure how to answer. She needed to know that it was a specific situation that didn't expand beyond my mother. I'd never hinder his relationship with his Mom. Never. "Uh, yeah, it's a complicated situation. She'd been out of our lives since I was four. She has a home here in the city and another in DC. And I guess a few others. I reached out to her after we got engaged to get some medical backgrounds from her side of the family and we've spoken a few times since then."

"She got you what you needed?"

"Yeah, that's an understatement. Tons of information. I think she had medical professionals put it together. Sort of overkill."

"Maybe she's trying to make amends?"

"I guess. Maybe. A little late for that, though."

"Can I get a jumpstart on the interfering mother-in-law cliché? It never hurts to have too much information. If you have to, keep your distance emotionally, but keep the lines of communication open. That's all I'm going to say. Mouth shut, I promise."

We sat and worked in companionable silence until she spoke again. "So, is my Marco still having those dreams?"

"Dreams?"

She put her pen down and looked over to me. "He's found a new therapist down here, right?"

"Physical?"

"No, he... Rebecca, he's seeing someone, right? To deal with what's happened?"

"Actually, I don't think he is. Was he before he moved?"

"Yes, every week. Does he still have the nightmare?"

"I don't know about any nightmare." How did I not know about any of this?

"Maybe he's trying to be strong for you and doesn't want you worrying about him or thinking less of him. Men can be extremely stupid. He's had this reoccurring dream where he is running the marathon on one leg, sort of smoothly hopping along. People keep rushing out to hand him water or towels or a protein bar, but they are all wounded somehow. Some are missing an arm, others are profusely bleeding; some have horrible head wounds and Marco just keeps going on and on and on, not stopping. Somehow, he knows as he passes them by that once he can't see them, they die."

My hands reflexively covered my mouth as I muttered. "Oh my God!"

"They say it's some sort of survivor guilt thing. Rebecca, talk to him. If he's not in therapy, get him to start."

AMANDA

"Is this your new hobby, Amanda? You have your people help you stalk me?"

"No, nothing quite as dramatic as that. May I sit down?"

"A coffee shop's not really in your league, is it? Whatever. Grab a chair, it's not my place."

"Manny, this young man, why won't he marry Rebecca? She's pregnant for crying out loud. Is he stringing her along? Is he going to run out on her?"

"I shouldn't be talking to you about this at all. If you want to know, you should speak to Rebecca, but I guess you'll find out one way or the other. He won't marry her until he can dance with her at their wedding."

"He... what? He won't marry her because he's a bad dancer? So, they're waiting on dancing lessons or something?"

"Not exactly. He lost a leg in the Boston Marathon bombing."

REBECCA

Dad had a perpetually bemused look as he was roped in by Mrs. Bianchi to scout out wedding venues. It was as if he was engaged in something so utterly foreign that the best response was detached amusement. There was a squad of a dozen women from the Bianchi clan and Dad, the epitome of the steady reserved tough guy.

He dutifully texted me photos of what he termed the initial scouting results. He made his own hours while I was at the beck and call of the NYPD. If I liked a place from the pictures, we would arrange for a second visit.

I was confident that Marco's mom was hoping to set Dad up with one of the rotating circle of women with whom she traveled. She had one cousin who couldn't have been more than 10 years older than I was. Sofia was a stunning woman who through some amazing coincidence always seemed to be seated near Dad at any event where he joined us with Marco's family.

She looked like a 50's movie star and he would have had to be a statue to not be affected by her. Tall and dark complected, she had more curves than a mountain road. Hell, if I wasn't with Marco and I swung that way, I'd want to be with her. I never saw any signs of interest from him, but I didn't see him moving away, either.

When I was able to get the extremely rare three days in a row off, Marco bought me a plane ticket to Logan International. We were going to meet with Nana D'Angelo, which apparently was a big deal. She was a matriarch for the family and wasn't able to travel well, so if the Nana can't go to the mountain, the mountain will go to Nana. I had no idea if we were supposed to get her blessing or why this was so important, but it meant a lot to Marco, so it meant a lot to me.

Michael, Marco's brother, met me at baggage claim. My fiancé had been in Boston and Brookline all week, touching base with customers and spending time with family.

"Hello, beautiful! Didja check any bags?"

"Yeah, two." We waited for my bags, found his car in the labyrinth of a parking lot and headed out.

"So, what's it like being a New York cop?"

"Honestly? Boring."

"Really? Seriously? Not like the TV or movies?"

I laughed. "Not at all. Once in a while it's a disturbing the peace or domestic abuse call. That can get a little hairy, but it's mostly routine boring every-day stuff. Sorry to disappoint. Outside of the range, I've never shot my gun. Never got in a fight. Just put my time in, do the best job I can and hope to build a good enough record to get promoted and transferred."

"I guess that's good, right? Getting shot at or something might make for a good story, but who would want to live that way?"

We drove for half an hour before he pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of a large Chinese restaurant.

"Getting dinner?"

"No. Marco is meeting us here. Listen, it's not as bad as it seems, but it's a celebration for his ex. He knows her parents, and, well, he really wanted to be here."

"What? Are you out of your mind? Why the hell is he going to something for his ex? Okay, that... that's crazy. And springing this on me right after I got off a plane? Why are you telling me about this and not my fiancé? I fly up here and he pulls this crap?"

"Look, please, just... Just come in with me. It will be cleared up in a couple of minutes. This was obviously a bad idea. You're not going to be pissed, I promise."

"Too late." Grabbing my purse, I pulled out some make-up and touched up my face. "I can't believe the two of you didn't say anything. All right, let's go." I opened the door and started towards the restaurant.

Michael caught up to me and opened the door. He escorted me to a large private room. As I entered, I saw a banner hanging from the ceiling that read 'Congratulations Melissa!" My heart was beating a mile a minute as I looked across the large tables and saw Marco sitting not too far from Melissa, the little girl from the hospital.

Leaning in, Michal whispered. "She's officially in remission. She goes back to school on Monday."

Punching him in the shoulder, I clamped down on some tears. Marco came around the table, pulled me into a hug and kissed me. I turned red when half the room applauded.

It seems that Marco had kept in touch with the kids he had given the computers to, and acted as their pro bono tech guru. Melissa's grandparents lived in California on a limited budget and he preloaded a bunch of software on a used laptop and sent it to them. They Skyped with her almost every day. Having arrived the day before the party, they couldn't stop praising him.

We sat, ate and talked for a couple of hours and I had to show everyone my ring at least once. As we left, I grabbed his hand as we walked out. "That better be the only ex you're hanging out with."

Michael waved as he drove off and we took Marco's rental to his parent's house. We were eating a light late dinner there, but sleeping at a hotel. Relatives came up from New York to see Nana and all the spare space was taken. I was sipping some red wine with my sandwich when Mrs. Bianchi's question made me almost lose the cabernet through my nose.

"Rebecca, is your father gay?"

"What? Where on earth did that come from?"

"Well, I never see him with anyone, he never mentions anyone, and we've introduced him to half the unmarried women in New York."

"That's uh, not really... Dad's problem isn't finding, uhm, companionship? I guess that's a good way to put it. Woman like Dad and he definitely likes them. What he doesn't like is getting entangled, getting close. He has colleagues that he, oh God, this is awkward. He's friends with benefits with some women he works with. They seem nice, but not too intimate, you know? I don't ask too many questions, but he's more, uhm, active, than most men I know."

She seemed to accept this revelation with equanimity. "All right then. We'll just keep looking."

I went back to my sandwich and hoped she'd never bring the topic up again.

The next day, the tents arrived. They were expecting upwards of 100 friends and family members, and the house wouldn't hold everyone. Mrs. Bianchi had her sons and nephews at hand as she acted as the event planner. The stoves, ovens and freezers of three neighbors were being used, and food prep was in full swing.

All for Nana. It was as if she were visiting royalty. It turned out that she was Dr. D'Angelo, renowned neurosurgeon. The eldest child in her family, she put her two youngest siblings, five nieces and nephews and four grandchildren through college. Nana lectured at the Harvard Medical School and was on staff at Massachusetts General. It turned out that I had seen her twice in Marco's room and didn't realize who she was.

Dr. D'Angelo was a doyenne in her field and family.

Nana was just a nice little old lady.

It seemed that Marco's entire family were huggers, and Nana pulled me in when we were introduced. Frail arms wrapped around me, she whispered. "You make him very happy. Welcome to the family."

AMANDA

"The year before I left, do you remember how many days you spent with Crystal?"

"It's Rebecca."

"Fuck you, Manny. If I'm talking to her, I'll respect her wishes and call her Rebecca. If I'm talking to you, I'll call her by the name we gave her when she was born. How many days?"

He sighed. "I have no idea, but I guess you do. How many, Amanda?"

"Six. Well, let's call it five and a half since you spent most of her birthday asleep, bleeding in our bed. But, yeah, you were a wonderful dad. She just loved spending time with your pictures. Remember when your photo took her to the park? What about when your picture sat up with her when she had mono? Great times." Her smile didn't mask her anger. "You were a ghost, Manny, not a father."

"And that gave you the right to take her from me? We agreed, Amanda. You wanted the beautiful house in the fancy zip code. The two-year commitment paid for that and the Mercedes you had to have. I gave up two years of my life and lived through hell so we could secure our future. In spite of you wanting me to take that contract, somehow I was the bad guy. How many days did I miss the next year?"

She didn't reply.

"C'mon, Amanda, how many days did I miss the next year?"

"I don't know. You'd taken her by then."

"I was there every day. Every fucking day. Until she left for college, I was never gone for more than eight days a year. Did you ever even think about talking to me? If I changed when I had to, why wouldn't I have changed a year earlier? That was the last long-term contract I signed. What about this man you loved, the one you left me for? The billionaire. Did you ever tell him what I really did for a living? Did he know what might happen to him? Was he able to warn his security people about what might happen to them?"

She blushed, unable to meet his eyes.

He continued. "Of course not. That might have upset your plans. Who cares if they die? You had some high-living to do. Fuck the little people. He was able to buy you all the fancy cars you wanted. And don't pretend you didn't know. If they stood between me and my daughter, I wouldn't have hesitated in killing every one of them. But you didn't care. Don't come moralizing to me trying to justify your actions twenty years later."

REBECCA

Her security team arrived before she did. That was surprising. I didn't know that she rolled that large. I assumed that they would arrive simultaneously. I was beginning to reassess how much money she had. They were unobtrusive, and I spent my time watching the softball game instead of them scouting the area.

Mom sat down on the bleachers next to me just as I leapt to my feet. "Slide! Slide! Nice!" My voice carried across the field. "Good call, blue."

"Rebecca, do you know these girls?"

"No, well, a little. NYPD PAL." She looked confused. "Police Athletic League. We sponsor the girls at bat. I come down and lend a hand sometimes."

"Oh. They look, uhm, very... organized, I guess? I'm sorry, I don't know much about softball. Is that a Louisiana accent?"

"Yeah, I grew up in a parish outside of New Orleans."

"Well, it's delightful."

I sighed. Everything about this was strained and awkward. "Thank you. I don't hear it. To me, everyone here has an accent."

"Rebecca, do you... do you think that you might be willing to meet with your grandparents? I haven't been able to speak to them once since we met at the restaurant without Mom starting to cry and asking to get together with you. Pop pretends to be a tough guy, but I know it's killing him to know that he's this close to seeing you, but he has to wait."

"I... Of course. I'm sorry, I should have thought about that. It's, it's just weird for me, you know? For the longest time it's just been me and Dad. Now it's Marco and his huge family and... of course. Get me their contact information and I'll reach out. Maybe we can Facetime or something until I can get to them. Where to they live? Do I need to fly somewhere?"

"Minnesota, but I have access to a plane, or I can get you a ticket, whatever you..."

"I don't need your money."

"No, I know that, I just thought..."

Trying to control my anger, I watched the girl at bat while speaking. "That's Bennet money, right? The guy you left Dad for? I'm doing fine and Marco is doing much better than fine. We don't need your money."

"Listen, sweetheart, I don't know what your father told you, but..."

"The truth. He told me the truth. Did you know that when we got to New York he brought me to an agency that does polygraphs and let me ask any question I wanted? He wanted me to be confident that I knew the truth. Even as a kid, he laid it out to me without emotion, without rancor. Real matter of fact. He never put you down, by the way. You should know that. I can't remember him saying something negative about you, ever."

"Is there... can I answer any questions for you, Rebecca? Was there anything you wanted to know?"

"Not a damn thing. I know everything I need to know." I had the feeling that she wanted to unburden her soul, to ask for absolution. She had abducted me and tried to change my identity. My mother was the architect of my broken childhood. I wasn't in the mood to hear confessions or offer forgiveness of sins.

"But... all right. If you change your mind..."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "Listen, I asked you here to let you know that we have a date and I'd like you to come to the wedding. Your parents, too."

Her starting to cry didn't make me feel any better about snapping at her. Mom paused before replying. "Thank you. I'd love to be there. They would as well. Do you think that maybe I could meet Marco?"

"Yeah, we can get dinner or something. I'll get you my schedule. You'll be in town next week?"

"Rebecca, if you give me a date and location absolutely nothing else matters. I'll be there. Can I ask... how are you doing? How's the baby?"

"Fine. Everything with the pregnancy is perfect."

That started the crying again. She tried speaking through her tears. "If you let me, I'm going to be the best grandmother to the child you're carrying. Please, please let me be a part of his or her life."

We watched the rest of the game and spoke of my grandparents until I had to leave to start my shift. We stood awkwardly near her limo until she launched herself at me, hugging me tight. I stood there, stiff and confused and hating that part of me enjoyed the hug, needed the hug. Did this woman ever stop crying? Parting, I reaffirmed that I would reach out with my schedule.

I took a few steps towards the subway, stopped and turned around. "Mom, what perfume did you used to wear?"

"Perfume? Let me think. I guess it was Dune, by Christian Dior. Why?"

"It's just... never mind. I'll get you the details on dinner." Starting to walk again, I once more stopped, turned and called out. "Mom, do you... do you know anything about flowers?"