Chapter 12 - THE TRUTH ABOUT MICK'S DEATH
The medical examiner's report arrived in early spring.
Mick Callahan had died of natural causes.
A sudden cardiac event.
No evidence of foul play.
Dante read the report twice.
He hadn't realized how badly he needed to know.
For weeks, he'd feared Aldo might have silenced Mick.
But the evidence didn't support it.
Mick had died on his own sidewalk.
Carrying trash.
Living an ordinary life.
And leaving behind an extraordinary secret.
Dante visited Mick's widow, Nora, in Boston.
She welcomed him into the small house.
The dog barked.
The garden was still frozen.
Nora made tea.
They sat at the kitchen table.
Dante looked at her.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Nora sighed.
“About West Virginia?”
He nodded.
She looked toward the window.
“Because he was ashamed.”
Dante swallowed.
“He saved Hannah.”
“Yes.”
“He helped the family.”
“Yes.”
“Then why shame?”
Nora studied him.
“Because he knew what he'd helped build before he learned to say no.”
Silence.
Dante looked down.
Nora continued.
“He loved you.”
His eyes filled.
“He raised you like his own.”
Dante nodded.
“But he was afraid you'd become like Aldo.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Nora reached across the table.
“He didn't know how to stop it.”
Dante looked at her.
She smiled sadly.
“So he tried to teach you small things.”
He frowned.
“Small things?”
“Be on time.”
Dante smiled through tears.
“Read carefully.”
He nodded.
“Don't leave people waiting in the cold.”
His eyes filled.
Nora continued.
“He hoped those habits would become something bigger.”
Dante stared at his hands.
For years, he'd thought Mick was teaching him how to be efficient.
Now he understood.
Mick had been teaching him how to be decent.
One ordinary lesson at a time.
Dante took out the letter.
He placed it on the table.
Nora touched the paper.
Her eyes filled.
“He wrote that after his last visit to Briar Hollow.”
Dante looked up.
“When was that?”
“Two years ago.”
He frowned.
“He went back?”
Nora nodded.
“Every few years.”
Dante stared.
“He never told me.”
“He didn't want credit.”
Silence.
Nora looked at him.
“Dante, he didn't leave you that letter because he wanted you to repay his debt.”
Dante frowned.
“Then why?”
She smiled sadly.
“Because he wanted you to understand that a man can spend his whole life becoming better.”
Dante began crying.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
He bent forward and covered his face.
For the first time since Mick died, he let himself grieve.
Nora sat beside him.
And when he finally lifted his head, she handed him a handkerchief.
“Mick would have told you to blow your nose.”
Dante laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
May you like
He nodded.
“He would.”
