Til You Come Back to Me Again

Til You Come Back to Me Again
A Love Story

J. Adams

Copyright © 2014 Jewel Adams
All Rights Reserved.


Orlando, Florida

I have been told that we all have defining moments throughout our lives. I can only recall two from my childhood. One was the car crash that killed my mother.

 That same crash left a long, horizontal scar just below my hairline. The second was the day my father and I left Italy and moved to the United States. For a fourteen-year-old, leaving my country was not a big deal. My family had traveled frequently, taking vacations for months at a time. Having inherited a fortune from his father, Papa provided us with a very comfortable lifestyle that we enjoyed. But Mama's death took away much of that joy. Papa said no one could ever take Mama's place in his heart and he never remarried.

The third defining moment came six months ago when Papa told me he had pancreatic cancer. At twenty-two, I was about to lose the only person left in my life. It was a day of devastation, not unlike the day I lost Mama. After a great deal of crying and almost two hours of sparring with my Jeet Kune Do instructor, I sat down with my father and listened with a heavy heart as he gave me instructions and delivered his business and fortune into my hands.

When we first moved to the States, we'd traveled for a few months before finally settling in Orlando. Using his degree in hospitality and management, Papa opened what is now one of the very few five-star hotels in Orlando. At seventeen, I began working at the hotel, receiving training from my father in every aspect of the business. During my senior year of high school, I began taking an online course in hotel management, quickly earning my degree. With the years of training I received from Papa, I helped him run the hotel. And oh, how I loved working along side him! His love of the business was my love. I aspired to be like him, a CEO and owner that the employees loved. Papa was such a smart man, a wise man. He also taught me about solid investing and had helped me to begin my own little nest egg.

Still, even with all the training and teaching, I felt unprepared to take on such responsibility. I felt unworthy of it all.

“You can do this, son,” he said, squeezing my shoulder with a hand that was already showing signs of frailty. “You not only have the knowledge you need, you have the heart.”
Wiping the tears from my face before they could fall onto the folder of legal documents, I nodded and smiled sadly. “I'll try to make you proud, Papa.”

Standing, my father pulled me up into his embrace. Even at fifty, he still matched my height of six-foot-two. “You've already made me proud, Angelo. You are a good man.” He smiled, his eyes still holding the spark that never seemed to fade. “And with God's help, you will find a woman that will make you a better man.” He rested his forehead against mine. “And though I will not be here, your mama and I will be watching you become that man.”

How quickly the time has passed, Papa.

I stood by my father's grave long after everyone else had gone, taking a last moment to gaze down at the shiny black casket before the workers began their job of covering it with the waiting dirt. Closing my eyes, I held a carnation I had taken from the casket spray to my nose, inhaling deeply. White carnations were Papa's favorite because they were Mama's as well. For a while after she died, he purchased a fresh one each week and wore it on his jacket lapel. He said he felt like she was with him because the scent always reminded him of her. Papa wasn't a perfect man. He had many faults. But his love for my mother was perfect–even when he sometimes did things that would make her shake her head in bewilderment–their love for each other was perfect. When he made the decision to leave Italy, I had asked him, “Do you think Mama is unhappy about us leaving the home she loved so much?” To which he'd replied, “Not at all. She is very happy because she will be in the States with us too.” I think that is why he purchased the four bedroom Italian style home in Winter Park, even though there was just the two of us. Mama could never have more children after me, but she'd loved her space. I guess her sentiments rubbed off on Papa.

But now I'm there alone, Papa. You should have thought of that back then.

Taking a deep breath, I tucked the carnation in my breast pocket, dried my face and slipped my sunglasses on before turning and heading back to the waiting limo.



Chapter One

A Moment In the Elevator
One year later

The morning had been filled with one long meeting after another. The first was with the management staff, during which we discussed the hotel and employees. Fortunately, there were no major problems and things were running smoothly as usual. The other was with my accountants. Going over financial reports was oftentimes a little tedious, but knowing that books were balanced and profits and investments were still holding firm always brought a feeling of satisfaction that could not be measured. I walked away from each monthly meeting with the inner thought of, I hope I'm making you proud, Papa. I kept the same meeting schedule my father always used–management meeting weekly and accountants meeting monthly–because it was familiar and it worked for everyone.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. De Luca,” Meg, the receptionist said with a smile as I exited the conference room.

“Thank you.” Meg had been with us since my father opened the hotel. A few years younger than my father would be, she was married to one of the housekeeping managers. They were the parents of five and grandparents of two. “Have you given yourself another raise yet, Meg?”

“Of course,” she joked. “That extra zero is gonna look good, as soon as the ink dries.”

I chuckled. Her answer was always the same. “Ciao, Meg.”

“Ciao.”

Waiting for the elevator, I pulled out my phone to check for messages. There was a message from the man coming to tune my piano. He was scheduled to come at two, but had to cancel because of a family emergency. My father bought the baby grand when I was sixteen and paid for me to take lessons. I still played every now and then, and I usually had it tuned three times a year.

There was a text from my good friend, Lee. We'd known each other since junior high and he was the first real friend I made when we moved there. Lee, his wife, Kate, and I usually fished together twice a month.  I took up the hobby right after Papa died and grew to love it. It was a time to relax and forget about the world, though Kate always spent a bit of it grilling me on my social life and begging me to let her set me up with one of her friends. I always said the same thing–I would think about it. Lee's text was a reminder for fishing on Saturday.

As I started to text a reply, the elevator doors opened.

And I saw her.

She was wearing one of the hotel housekeeping uniforms. Tall and leggy with platinum blond hair tied back in a ponytail, sea-green eyes, and a perfect face and form, the woman was absolutely lovely. She smiled and I smiled back, glancing at her name tag as I entered the elevator. She must have been a recent hire because I'd never seen her before. Her hands rested on the handle of one of the smaller cleaning carts, her nails neatly manicured.

“How are you, Suzanne?” I asked. Judging by the look on her face, my greeting had taken her by surprise. Her quick smile tuned into a wide grin that was completely adorable.

“I'm great, how are you?”

“I am well, thank you.”

We stood silently looking at each other for a moment. “Are you enjoying working here?”

She gave me a peculiar look and it dawned on me that she had no idea who I was and probably found it a strange question.

“Yes. It's a great job, for now.”

“Oh? Is this a temporary position for you?”

“Until I finish school.”

“What are you . . .” I paused as the elevator door opened and Sylvia, one of the front desk clerks–and my good friend–entered. She was also a good friend of Papa's.

“How are you today, Angelo?”

“I'm good.”

“So you've met our Suzanne, have you?”

“Only just. She told me she is trying to finish school and I was about to ask her what she is majoring in.”

Suzanne smiled again. “Fashion designing.”

“You must be a creative person.”

When she blushed, Sylvia said, “She comes up with amazing designs. You should see the outfit she had on when she came in to interview for the job. It was beautiful.” To Suzanne she said, “Angelo here is the best owner ever. Apart from his father, I have never worked for a better person.”

The young woman's eyes widened just as the doors opened to the lobby. We exited the elevator.

“You're the owner?” she softly gasped. “No wonder you asked . . . I do enjoy my job, sir.”

I chuckled at her obvious embarrassment. “I know you do. And call me Angelo.”

“It was good to meet you,” she said, hurrying away with her cart before I could respond.

When she was no longer in sight, I walked over to the front desk and stood waiting for Sylvia to finish with an early guest check in. “Hey, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

The older woman grinned and turned to the burly black man working the desk with her. “Carl, I'll be back in a sec.”

“In trouble, huh?” He grinned. “Take it easy on her, boss.”

“Will do.”

We went into the small office behind the desk. As soon as the door was closed, I grilled Sylvia about our newest housekeeper and she was only too happy to fill me in.

Suzanne Haynes was my age. Born and raised in Orlando, she was also an only child. Both her parents were teachers at an elementary school and had worked hard to give their daughter a good start in college, but she got the job at my hotel so she could begin to pay her own way–a trait that I found very admirable. Because she was so attractive, Suzanne immediately caught the attention of most of the males on the staff and had kept it, but she never went out with anyone at the hotel. She was shy until you got to know her, and she loved to laugh.

“If you would like to know any more than that, then you'll have to find out yourself,” Sylvia said with the signature smirk I had come to know so well through the years.
 
Even when I was a teenager, I loved her smirk, and sometimes I used to wish she and Papa would become more than friends. But my father was still in love with his wife
.
“Maybe I will do that.”

“Well, maybe you should. It's about time you got a social life.”

“What do you mean? I do have a social life.”

“You know what I mean. Fishing on Saturdays with your married friends isn't good enough. You need to get married and bless this world with children from your loins.”

I snorted. “You just leave my loins out of this, Miss Busybody.”

“I have to be, and I accept the title gladly. Someone's got to look out for you and insure that Gus will have posterity.”

Smiling, I kissed her cheek.

“What's that for?”

“I appreciate you being such a good friend to my father, and to me.”

Blinking tears back, she touched my cheek. “Gus was a good man. He would be proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

“But,” she said, giving my face a light tap, “he will be bouncing off heavenly walls when you start getting busy.”

“Sylvia! You naughty woman!”

“You know it.”

Shaking my head, I chuckled and turned to leave, “Ciao, bella.”

“Ciao, Angelo.”
* * *
When I got home, I walked back down the driveway to grab the mail. It was just junk, most of it addressed to my father. I sometimes wondered how we wound up on so many mailing list when we hardly ever ordered anything through the mail. I quickly flipped through the catalog of sewing notions. I would definitely never have use for anything in it, and I didn't think quilting would ever be my thing. Laying my laptop bag on the kitchen counter, I tossed the catalog in the garbage and went up to my room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed to take off my shoes, I glanced around the room. When we moved in, my father had automatically given me the master suite and had chosen a slightly smaller room for himself. When I asked him why he didn't want the suite, he said, “Why would one man need a room this big?”

“Well, why would one young boy need a room this big?” I countered.

“Because one day that young boy will become a man and there will come a time when he will not be alone anymore.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I had no response to that.

Now that I was living in the big house alone, I could see the true meaning in his words. It really was a big room for one person. The decor had evolved over the years. The old twin bed was replaced by a high, king-size, dark wood four-poster one. In the corner surrounded by floor to ceiling windows was a sitting area with a small sofa and a wicker coffee table topped with a few travel magazines and brochures. To the right of the double French doors was a high, black lacquered bistro table with two matching bar chairs. A gas fireplace with a beige marble mantle stretched across a corner, and above it hung a large flat-screen television with an audio visual system built into the wall to the right of the fireplace. Plush light gray carpet covered the floor, and various prints of Italian landscapes and scenery hung on the walls. The walk-in closet was the size of an average bedroom, as well as the marble-tiled bathroom with its glass-enclosed, double waterfall shower and huge garden tub. When I was a kid, I couldn't truly appreciate these amenities, but I slowly learned to.

 Breaking off my pondering, I undressed and laid my clothes on the bed and fished through the basket of fresh-laundered clothes for my swim trunks. I quickly put them on. Normally I would hang my suit up first thing, but I was anxious to get in a few laps and burn off some energy.

* * *
The adrenalin rush was stronger today and instead of doing the usual eight laps, I did twelve. Then I lay back and floated for a while, staring up through the glass ceiling at the clouds slowly moving in, creating a slight overcast.

 But it changed quickly and the sun's rays burst forth once more. The pool was completely enclosed in a spacious glass room so I could enjoy a swim regardless of the weather. I spent many a rainy day in the water. Sometimes, though, I would simply lie out on one of the chaises and watch the rain come down. Hailstorms were even more interesting to watch than the rain. It was an amazing experience watching ice–sometimes the size of golf balls–rain down on the ceiling. If I closed my eyes I could imagine hundreds of large birds pecking at the glass. I was grateful it was built so thick and sturdy.

I finally got out and grabbed a towel from the stack on the shelf and dried off, my thoughts drifting to Suzanne. I really wanted to get to know her, which would call for a little boldness on my part, a trait that until now I had only applied to business.


Complete book is available on Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Til-You-Come-Back-Again-ebook/dp/B00OQYF0WO/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413947785&sr=1-1&keywords=til+you+come+back+to+me+again

 

Tags: sad, love, faith, inspirational, pain,