I’m finally revisiting the characters from The River City Chronicles nine years after their original timeline. I’ll be running the series weekly here on my blog, and then will release it in book form at the end of the run. Hope you enjoy catching up with all your faves and all their new secrets!
Today, Diego has his own encounter with Brad… and a couple other ghosts from his past…
< Read Chapter 54
Join my email list to get my weekly newsletter
with notifications of new chapters.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Let Him Go
Diego woke up, shivering. Which was strange, because it was the middle of May in Sacramento… well, almost the end of May… and he and Matteo had been keeping the thermostat high to save on utility costs.
Sacramento in the summertime wasn’t known for its cold weather.
He sat up and looked around. Golden light from the streetlamps outside and silver light from the half-moon blended to paint the bedroom with an almost magical glow, outlining the bed posts and making them seem to hover in the inky blackness behind them.
A clinking noise from down the hall caught his attention. Is someone else in the house?
He slipped out of bed, glancing over at his still-sleeping husband, and reached underneath the bedframe to grab the baseball bat. He always kept it there—it was an old habit, born from living in a bad part of Bologna, where it wasn’t uncommon to have your house broken into in the middle of the night.
Not so much here, because they were in a pretty good part of town, but there were always homeless folks down on Folsom Boulevard, and desperate people did desperate things.
If Gio were home, he would have figured it was just his son snagging a late-night snack in the kitchen.
He stepped as silently as he could around the bed, avoiding the squeaky floorboard next to the large armoire where they kept their clothes. Unlike apartments in Italy, this place did have actual closets, but old habits died hard.
Diego paused at the door, listening for the sound again. Nothing.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
He was about to go back to bed when he smelled the most amazing thing. It was one of his mother’s recipes—he would know that aroma anywhere.
He followed his nose down the hall to the kitchen, wondering who would break in just to cook him a meal? Maybe Gio came home early?
To his surprise, the kitchen lights were on. Someone was bent over the stove, stirring something in a big, battered metal pot, one that he recognized from his childhood. They turned to smile at him.
“Tesoro.” The woman reached out to pinch his cheeks. “You’re looking good, if a bit more ciccone than before,” She patted his belly and turned back to stir the pot.
“Mamma?” It couldn’t be. She’d been dead for years and years. The last time he’d seen her… well, the last time he’d seen her ghost was at their surprise wedding, downstairs at the restaurant, nine years earlier.
“Don’t ask questions, cucciolo. Just sit down at the table and get ready to eat.”
He had enjoyed a full meal a few hours earlier for dinner, but suddenly he was starving. He hadn’t had his mother’s cooking in so long.
He did as he was told, the dutiful son, even as he stared at her impossible presence.
“Your mother has a gift for cooking. I can see that you came by it honestly.”
Diego almost jumped out of his skin.
Seated across from him was another ghost, another very familiar one. “Brad?”
The man smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe just the product of your indigestion, after that huge meal you had just before bed.”
“Maybe.” While Diego was considering that, his mother plopped down a napkin, bowl and spoon in front of him, and three more sets besides. Before he could figure out why there were four place settings, she had filled his bowl with a ladle of her homemade, steaming passatelli.
He gave into the vision and breathed in the aroma deeply. Nobody made passatelli like his mother. Just as I remembered it.
He picked up a spoon and dipped it in the rich chicken broth. Steam rose from the surface, and the breadcrumb “noodles” swirled below. He lifted the spoon to his lips, his hand shaking a little, and blew on the surface to cool it off just enough to eat it. Satisfied, he engulfed the spoon ravenously, and sighed with pleasure.
“You taught our son well. He’ll be a fine chef, just like you. Just like your mamma.”
Diego’s eyes flew open. His mother had taken the seat to his left, and the seat to his right was now filled by his ex, Luna. Gio’s mother.
He blinked, half expecting the ghost of Gina Lollobrigida to show up too. But of course there were no more available chairs, so she’d have to stand. “Now I know I’m dreaming.” But if dreaming meant he got to spend a little more time with his mamma and enjoy her home cooking, he didn’t want to wake up. He took another bite, and then set the spoon down, sat back, and sighed. “So why are you all here?”
Ghosts always had a reason for visiting.
And if there was a reason, this strange dream would all make sense.
He realized he must be deep asleep for this whole affair to seem as normal as it did.
His mother reached out and took his left hand in hers, wrapping her beautiful, gnarled fingers around his, each one a testament to the life she’d lived and the things she’d learned on this green Earth. “In every parent’s life, there comes a time when they must let go of their children. It is never easy. We fight it for as long as we can.” She rolled her eyes. “Oddio. For me, I’m not sure I ever did, not until I was no longer with you to guide you. Lord knows letting go is not something Italian mothers are good at.”
Luna took his right hand, her soft, light skin a contrast to his chef hands. “You came running when I called, and you took my baby boy home with you. You provided him with a vibrant, magical life when I no longer could. I will be forever grateful to you for that. But your mother is right. The time has come to let him go.”
He looked from Luna to his mother and back again, out of sorts at being confronted by two women at once. “But I have. He’s in Italy right now. How much farther do I have to let him go?” I ache for him every day he’s not here. Maybe I really am an Italian mamma.
Ben replied with a sympathetic grin. “Things are a bit… clearer from this side. Soon, Gio will come home a changed man. It will be easy to let him fall back into his old habits. To let him live under your roof. To take care of him and treat him like a child. You have to resist. You need to let him go.”
The two women nodded. “Let him go.”
All three of them chanted it in unison. “Let him go. Let him go. Let him go!”
“But I can’t—”
Diego’s eyes flew open.
He was lying in bed, the early morning sun shining through the window. What a strange dream.
He glanced at the clock. 6:30 AM. Time to get up and get started with his prep for the day at Ragazzi.
He glanced over at his other half. Matteo was fast asleep.
He lay back on his pillow, savoring the remnants of the dream. He could still taste the savory broth of the passatelli on his tongue.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.
It was Gio.
You have to let him go.
The words hit him like a thunderbolt. I have to let him go.
He sighed heavily, accepting the wisdom of his ghosts, and tapped Matteo on the shoulder.
“Cosa?” Matteo looked up at him blearily.
“It’s Gio calling! Get up!”
As Matteo pushed himself up into a sitting position, yawning, Diego picked up the call, his heart hammering in his chest. “Gio! Come va?”
“Papà and Babbo, you won’t believe who I just met here in Bologna…”
Like what you read? if you haven’t tried it yet, check out book one, The River City Chronicles, here.