76:Juliana's

September 7

Jon slid out of the Lincoln’s back seat, and then reached in to withdraw his guitar case before turning to face Chiara’s brother’s restaurant.   Juliana’s was a little gray place fronted by a cheery red awning and, through the two front windows, he could see that the place was filled with people.

Those people were supposed to only be family, according to the counselor, and he hoped that hadn’t changed since they last spoke three days ago.  They weren’t on the best terms right now, but he’d like to think she hadn’t taken his personal favor of doing a couple songs and promoted it into a private, intimate show.

She didn’t and you know it.

Chiara wasn’t the type to take juvenile revenge, even if their last conversation on Friday morning had ended in an argument because she was the most fucking stubborn woman he’d ever met in his life.

She still wouldn’t listen to logic and reason when it came to cutting Owen off at the balls.  Jon told her time and again that it was for the best – she would feel better about it, the boys wouldn’t resent her as much now as they would later, and their relationship could continue on a relatively normal path.  The counselor wasn’t having any part of it though, contending that he wasn’t in a position to make those decisions.  He still didn’t know all of the psychological baggage that hindered her, she wasn’t ready to tell him and, after all, it was her life. 

Jon had managed to keep from yelling “it’s now or never” at her, by literally biting his tongue before leaving her house.  He had subsequently decided that it would be good for both of them to take a step back and breathe, so he hadn’t called or texted during his weekend with Jake and Romeo. 

She obviously felt the same way, because he didn’t hear from her either.  It was debatable as to whether she would even be here today.  She’d remarked at least once that it would be easier on both of them if she didn’t come, so he may be spending the evening with her entire family but not her.

Easing open the front door of the restaurant, he managed to slip unnoticed into the intimate restaurant whose brick pizza oven was no more than forty feet away from the entrance and had room for only three rows of tables across.  He glanced around, hoping to see Luke or Chiara, but neither seemed to be among the crowd of approximately thirty people. 

There was one man who finally noticed Jon’s presence, and he pasted on a big smile to work his way over with a noticeable limp.  Jon took a mental stab in assuming the curly, salt and pepper haired guy was the retired cop brother who owned the restaurant. 

“Hi,” he welcomed with a warm handshake.  “It’s probably polite to ask if you’re Jon, but since I know you are, I’ll just thank you for coming.  I’m Luke and Charlie’s oldest brother, Dominick.  It’s my wife’s party tonight.”

“Dominick, it’s a pleasure to meet you, man.  Is there someplace out of the way I can put this?”  Jon held up his guitar case.

“Sure, yeah.”  Turning, he pointed toward the left-hand side of the pizza oven.  “Down that little hall next to the bathrooms is an unmarked door that’s the office.  It’ll be safe in there.  Or I can take it if you want?”

“Nah, that’s okay.  I can do it.  Be right back.” 

He didn't decline the offer because he was the prima donna type with his guitar.  Following Dominick’s directions with his eyes gave Jon his first glimpse of the counselor, and he wanted to say hello and test the waters. 

She must have spotted him, too, because Chiara was waiting in front of the office door with her arms folded, and under those folded arms was the blue and white dress he’d shoved up to her waist behind the guest house. 

“You came,” was her quietly reserved greeting.  Evidently, he wasn’t the only one testing the waters.

“I told you I would.”  He tipped his head toward the closed door behind her.  “Dominick said I could put my guitar in the office.”

She immediately stepped aside to turn the knob and wave him inside the room that wasn’t much bigger than a broom closet.  Jon slid past her, subtly snagging her wrist in a move he hoped would entice her to join him.

“Close the door,” he said quietly while propping the case in the nearest corner. 

“Not a good idea.” 

Turning back toward the open doorway he shook his head with a sigh.  “You’re still pissed at me, I see.”

“My feelings are irrelevant tonight,” she countered in a soft voice.  “In this setting, you and I are acquaintances.  Nothing more.”

He’d known that was the game plan going into this thing tonight, but in light of their semi-estrangement the last few days, it pissed him off to hear her reiterate it.  “If I didn’t have a fucking ego the size of the Chrysler Building, I’d say you think you’re too good for me.”

“I don’t think any such thing,” was her testy denial.  “You knew the lay of the land before you got here, so stop being a drama queen.”

“I wouldn’t have to be a fucking drama queen if you’d stop being a chicken shit and cut that leech off your ass.”

Her mouth tightened into a flat line and she issued a mutinous glare coated with poison.  “I’m not doing this.  When you get back from your road trip, call me.  Maybe then we can sit down and talk like adults instead of hurling insults.”

“Chiara…” 

She stalked the short hall without acknowledging that he’d spoken, and Jon silently went through his entire fuck-cabulary, applying the curses to both her and himself, as applicable.  It hadn’t been his intention to start another argument – or continue the previous one. 

“Well.  That looks unfortunately familiar,” Luke observed dryly, after Chiara breezed past him in the hallway without a second glance.  “I thought you two were past that.”

“Obviously fucking not.”  The words were snapped out before he could censor himself, and Jon was forced to apologize.  “Sorry.  We’re having a continued difference of opinion.”

“Ah.  Well, welcome to life with Charlie,” came the sympathetic reply that accompanied an equally sympathetic clap on the shoulder.  “Get used to it and come on.  I’ll introduce you around, since it doesn't seem like she's planning to.”

Jesus.  Jon hoped this wasn’t going to be a regular and recurring theme in his relationship with the counselor.  Staying pissed off for the foreseeable future wasn’t appealing, and he couldn’t see subjecting himself to it.  Loneliness was preferable to this shit.

“Yeah, okay.”

Thirty minutes later, he’d met the entire Del Vecchio clan, each time being introduced as a friend of Luke.  The only one who blatantly refused that description was the psychiatrist friend – Izzie.  She drew her mouth down in a show of disgust and said they could tell everyone else whatever they wanted, but she was not among the ranks of the ignorant.   

Jon left with the idea that she wasn’t any happier with him than the counselor was, and maybe she wasn’t.  God only knew what she’d been told. 

Now, though, he was sitting against the wall with a glass of wine, listening to Luke and Vince shoot the shit while he tried not to be obvious about watching his clandestine girlfriend socialize with the women of her family.  It was only the mention of her name at that drew his full attention back to her brothers.

“Who’s spending Friday with Charlie?” was Vince’s question to Luke.  The two had the same coloring but, beyond that, they didn’t appear related.  Luke with his overlong hair and three days’ scruff was a distinct contrast to his balding, clean-shaven cop brother.

“I dunno.  Not me.” Frowning with distaste, Luke shook his head and came back with his own question.  “Is that really necessary this year?  She seems to have finally put it behind her.”

“Did you see the way she looked at Joseph when he came in at the last family dinner?  Like she’d seen a freaking ghost.”

“Yeah, well, he looks like his dad.  That’s understandable and unrelated, in my opinion.”

“She was in tears, dumbass,” Vince berated with an open palm tossed in the air as though he couldn’t believe such an idiot was in his family.

“What’s going on?”  Dominick took the only remaining empty seat at the table.  He was joining the group after ensuring that the staff was handling the food according to his wishes. 

“We’re talking about Friday.  Luke doesn’t think anybody needs to stay with Charlie because she’s finally at peace.”

“Bullshit,” the oldest Del Vecchio sibling declared flatly.  “I went by her office a couple weeks ago.  She went ballistic, yelling and physically shoving me out the door as fast as she could.”

Vince tapped their younger brother on the back of the head.  “Told you.”

“So, at the risk of butting in where it’s none of my damn business, what’s the story here?” Jon inquired casually.  Was this simply a case of overprotective siblings or did these men have a legitimate reason for keeping an eye on the counselor?  “Why does your sister need a babysitter?”

Three pairs of brown eyes exchanged questioning looks, but it wasn’t long before Luke nodded.  “It’s cool, trust me.  Tell him, Dom.”

Despite the assurance, his brother wasn’t quite ready to leap on the bandwagon.  “Why should I trust you?”

“Because I know shit you do not,” Luke informed him with a mocking smile.  “Just trust me for crying out loud.  They’re friends.  She’d be fine with it.”

There was still a guarded hesitation about Dominick, as if he wasn’t sure the celebrity guest should be invited into the midst of family business, but he ended up inhaling deeply through his nose and looking Jon right in the eye.  “Friday is 9/11.”

“I’ll assume there’s more?” He still endeavored to keep his tone casual, but Jon’s insides were clenching.  If these men were making a big deal about it, the date of New York’s greatest tragedy had more significance to Chiara than he wanted to speculate without gathering more information.

“Charlie worked in a law office on the ninety-sixth floor of the north tower,” Luke somberly caused a new round of nausea to roll through Jon’s stomach.  It made him question whether he really wanted to hear this.  She was alive.  She was whole.  Wasn’t that all he needed to know?

Or was she?  Could this have something to do with her other “pocket of crazy”?  Jon's intuition told him to let them finish, whether he wanted to hear it or not.    

“If I’m telling it, let me freaking tell it.”  Dom cut his brother an angry glare before redirecting himself to Jon.  “Our little sister has a thing for cinnamon rolls – or she did – and our sister-in-law, Izzie, makes the best damn ones you’ve ever tasted.   Charlie hadn’t had any for weeks or months, I forget which, so she was hounding Izzie to make some for her.  Like every day, a couple times a day, hounding.”

“On the morning of September 11^th,” Vince solemnly picked up the tale.  “Iz made a double batch of the damn things, sending them out the door with her husband – our youngest brother, Joey – along with strict orders to take them straight to Charlie at the office, before they got cold.  Because he’d do anything Izzie or Charlie either one asked, Joey did what they wanted.  He got to the ninety-sixth floor shortly after eight-thirty that morning.”

So Chiara's best friend was also her brother's widow.  That added a new dimension to things, but Jon didn't waste time pondering it.  Not now when he needed to pay attention to what these men were telling him.

Taking his turn, Luke supplied, “She was thrilled and, as a thank you, she was going to get him some coffee and give him one of the precious rolls he’d schlepped over from Brooklyn.  Parking his ass right next to her desk, she told him to sit right there and wait while she went down to the first floor coffee shop for a cup of his favorite joe to go with it.”

Jon didn’t remember the precise timeline of the terror attacks, but he didn’t need to.  Dominick filled in the horrific blanks with, “The first plane hit between the ninety-third and ninety-ninth floor at eight forty-six, while Charlie was downstairs in the coffee shop and Joey was sitting next to her desk on the ninety-sixth floor.”

There was a moment of silence that may have been an intentional tribute to their deceased brother or simply a necessary pause to gather themselves.  Jon wouldn't deny them either, so he waited patiently for whatever else they might add.

“That's why Charlie blames herself for his death, and ever since, we’ve all been banned from her workplace,” Luke concluded.  “Every year, she locks herself in the house for the entire day, refusing to come out and acknowledge it.  No TV, no radio, no newspaper, no reading of the names.  I’m not even sure she’s ever been to the memorial.”

“It freaks us all out, honestly.”  Vince shrugged as his eyes slid across the room to land on their sister.  “So we’ve taken turns spending the day with her to make sure she doesn’t…”

“Go nuts while you're not looking,” Jon supplied quietly as his eyes followed Vince's and his heart ached for the hard-ass woman who refused to look this direction. 

She felt responsible the loss of a family member, and felt it deeply if her brothers were to be believed.  The thought of losing her sons and disappointing the rest of them on top of that was more than she was ready for.  While he still didn't agree with her tactics, Jon now understood her fear enough to back off and let her do this at her pace while he waited.  Patiently.

Slowly nodding his head, Dominick agreed, “Something like that.  She refuses any kind of professional help, so we do what we know to do.”

“You’re one to talk.  You’re as fucked up as she is,” Luke accused his brother bitterly before turning to Jon.  “Dom lost his leg on 9/11, trying to get people out of the second tower.  A beam came down on him.”

“And I cope remarkably well, Luca, so shut your ever-flapping lips.  We’ve aired enough family laundry.”  Turning to Jon, he apologized, “Sorry about that.  It’s hard to stop once we get started.”

“Nah, man.  I’m actually glad you told me.  Thank you.”  Slapping a light hand against Dom’s back, he looked at each man in turn and went a step further with, “Thank you for everything.  All of you.  It was a shitty, shitty time, and I know you did what you could.  People appreciated it, even if they never got a chance to say so.”

Jon had been unsure about what to sing as a second song this evening, but now he knew.  He wasn’t a guy who used the stage to spotlight his causes or make a personal statement.  It just wasn’t something he did, but tonight…  Tonight he was going to make an exception.