Beach Music by Pat Conroy Read Free Book Online Page A

Carriages drawn by retired racehorses put out into the streets and rolled through the crowds bearing German and Japanese tourists, who were filming everything and seeing nothing.
    At the end of the evening, Freddie brought two cups of espresso to the table and asked us always to remember Da Fortunato and the headwaiter, Freddie, who’d been privileged to serve us on a Roman night that he called
“fantastica.”
Shyla kissed Freddie in a spontaneous gesture that seemed just right.
    As I was studying the bill, Shyla pressed my hand and told me to look up.
    What I saw was Freddie leading Federico Fellini and two of the most stunning women I had ever seen to the table next to us. Freddie winked and said, “Always at Da Fortunato.” Then Freddie, whounderstood the power of gesture, bought a rose from a Gypsy girl and presented it to Shyla along with a wineglass from Da Fortunato.
    After Shyla died, I found that glass and that dead rose and the orange peel carefully wrapped and preserved in her safety deposit box. They reminded me that there are nights on earth when a couple can have everything break perfectly for them, nights when the moon is full and Gypsies appear with flowers, and truffles call out to strangers on the street and Fellini takes the next table and Freddie peels a blood-red orange as an act of homage, and on that night in Rome we were in love as no one on earth has any right to hope to be, we conceived our child, Leah, in a union of ineffable and damaged love and a great soaring cry of yes for our future.
    Two and a half years later, Shyla went up on the bridge.
    On this evening, many years later, Freddie embraced me when I walked into the restaurant and kissed me on both cheeks, European-style.
    “Dov’ è
Leah?” Freddie asked.
    “She’s at home with Maria.”
    “A beautiful signorina is waiting at your table.”
    Martha stood up as I approached her. She extended her hand and I accepted it reluctantly. She did not try to kiss me, nor would I have let her.
    “It’s nice of you to come, Jack,” Martha Fox said.
    “It certainly is, Martha.”
    “I didn’t think you’d actually show.”
    “If I hadn’t, you’d have ambushed Leah one day when she was out walking in the piazza.”
    “You’re right. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. What a beautiful young girl she’s turned into.”
    “I don’t want to be your friend, Martha,” I said. “What in the fuck are you doing here, and why are you trying to reenter my life? I’ve made it abundantly clear that I didn’t want to see you or any of your family again.”
    “Are you ever going to come back to the South? Are you ever going to show Leah where she really comes from?”
    “That’s none of your business,” I answered.
    “I was once your sister-in-law. I admit I never knew you well, but I liked you, Jack. Almost all of us did.”
    “It seems to me that the last time I saw you, Martha, you were testifying in a court of law that I was unfit to raise Leah.”
    Martha lowered her eyes and studied the menu for a brief moment. I motioned for Freddie to bring us a bottle of wine, and he arrived a moment later and opened a chilled bottle of Gavi dei Gavi.
    “That was a terrible mistake,” she said emotionally. “My parents were distraught when Shyla killed herself. Surely you can understand that and have some compassion for them. Leah was their only link with Shyla and the past.”
    “I’d have had more compassion for them if they’d shown the slightest bit toward me.”
    “I think my whole family had a breakdown after Shyla’s death, Jack,” Martha said. “Everybody blamed you for what happened. Myself included. We thought if you’d been a good enough husband, my sister would never have gone off the bridge. No one blames you for anything now … except, of course, my father.”
    “Give me some good news,” I said. “Tell me that son of a bitch is dead.”
    “I love my father very much and I resent you talking about him