Page 6 of Burning Caine
Good thing I didn’t introduce myself.
Chapter 3
Antonio
Ishiftedthecarinto park and pressed a button to put the top up, music humming in the background. Anyone who knew me would ask what was wrong if I was listening to something so quietly. I turned the stereo off and closed my eyes, focusing on the vibration of the engine in my chest. This day was not going according to plan.
Bobby Scott had texted me yesterday about evaluating some artwork he was considering selling, which may have needed cleaning prior to auction. His collection was small, but well-curated. He had an excellent eye.
And now he no longer did.
It was not as if we were friends, but I was shaken. Getting back to work would help.
None of my three co-workers in the main studio budged as I slipped in through the back door. The space was airy and industrial with six ten-foot long, wheeled tables in the main area. Each was open underneath with space for various tools of our art conservation and restoration trade. To the left, the small wood shop; to the right, the kitchen. Large overhead lights added to the brightness from the skylights and rear windows.
I wound my way between the tables, passing Zander and his giant headphones, stopping to put a hand on Alice’s back before I continued. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
She was a petite blond who carried what she called an extra thirty pounds, although I thought they suited her perfectly. She looked up and shook her head. In front of her, a wood-backed trompe-l’oeil of a snake winding around a tree. Her gels, solvents, and cotton balls surrounded the painting. “Frank helped me.”
My cousin Gianfranco sat at the table next to her. Dark hair and olive skin like me, he also claimed to carry an extra thirty pounds, but refused to join me at the gym. He smiled without taking his eyes off the painting in front of him. “We had to give up on removing all the overpaint. It’s so old some of it’s cross-linked, so we’ll just glaze over it.”
I nodded and continued toward the lab, where my father stood over the hot table. Dominico was five inches shorter than me, but with a personality which barely fit in any room.
He turned as I neared, a beaming smile on his face, as usual. “Antonio!”
“Is my painting done yet?” I stopped next to him at the large table, running a hand over the warmed layer of mylar film covering the painting I was conserving. Heat soaked through my hand but was unable to warm the chill which had settled inside me.
“What are you doing back so soon? Did Bobby cancel?”
I flipped the heat off. “He passed away.”
Papa sucked in a quick breath and clutched my arm. “He what?”
“This morning. House fire.”
We stood silently for a moment, the only noise the gentle hum of the vacuum on the table, keeping the painting sandwiched tight until it cooled.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Papa’s voice snapped me out of my reverie.
“I barely knew him. I don’t need time off.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He touched a light hand to my upper arm. “To be honest, Bobby’s death is a reminder not to ignore what’s important. I’ve been thinking about your future a lot, and I want to talk about. Working with me isn’t what you trained for, my boy. All your years in school, your research, your brilliant dissertation…you wanted to do postdoctoral work. Why are you here?”
“I love working with you.” I turned to face him, clasping him by the upper arms, and he held my elbows. “And Sofia and everyone else. Europe is too far away from you all. That’s what’s important.”
“Frank will finish school soon enough. He can take over for me when I retire. Or one of your cousins in Roma can move here. Don’t feel like you need to stay for that.” He furrowed his brow. “You seem…unfulfilled here.”
I shook my head and released him, running a hand over the film again. He was right in many ways, but I spent six years in Italia and almost as many in Delaware. A decade away from my family was too long. “I love working in restoration.”
“But your studies?”
Holding up a hand, it was my turn to shake my head. “Compromise. If I promise to plan a few months with Mario in Napoli next year, will that make you happy?”
My cousin Mario worked at the Pompeii Archaeological Park, where I had done a great deal of my research. Surely they would welcome me back as a visitor, if not a temporary worker. Or perhaps he was right, and I could resume my research.
“Perfetto!” The smile returned, but softer than when I first joined him. “Exactly what I was hoping for.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I slid it out to peek at the screen. Victoria was returning my call. “Scusi, Papa. I have to take this.”