That had always been Dad Almaviva’s favorite expression with his three children. Whenever they threatened to be late, they were going to miss the curtain. Dad Cicero had preferred to suggest that he’d haul them up before the bar. For years, Van had pictured being dragged up before a huge iron bar, until he’d finally understood what his advocate father had meant. Somehow, not knowing had been more frightening.
Dad Almaviva bounded out of the groundcar and threw his arms around his son. “Van!” His voice rumbled as he hugged Van.
Dad Cicero stood back, more reserved as always, waiting for Van to survive Almaviva’s crushing embrace. Then he stepped forward and gave Van a much lighter and quicker hug, but it was as demonstrative as Van had ever seen his advocate father in public.
“I’ll get your stuff,” Almaviva said. “Everyone’s going to meet us back at the house.”
Van ended up in the rear-facing but lushly upholstered seat, looking at his fathers.
Dad Almaviva was smiling broadly. “You didn’t expect that, I’d wager a full stage.”
Van had never understood how one could wager a full stage, but the familiar words were more than welcome.
Dad Cicero was smiling faintly, almost as if relieved when the groundcar eased away from the terminal.
Van had barely settled back when Dad Almaviva asked the first question.
“How long did the trip from Tara take…?”
“Did you have a chance to get to the opera in New Oisin?”
“…heard that Alygnia was doing The Fall of Denv…Have you heard him?”
Dad Cicero offered an amused smile, then leaned back and listened.
The drive back to the villa took nearly half an hour, but then, with all the answers Van provided, he scarcely noted the time. The villa was on the north side of Bannon, in the low hills separating the city from the badlands.
When the chartered groundcar pulled away from the circular drive, Van realized he’d never even seen the driver. He lifted a duffel and the carry bag and started for the portico shielding the front foyer, but Cicero had slipped ahead and had the door open.
Van glanced at the stone ledge on the right wall of the entry foyer, catching sight of a bonsai cedar. “That’s new.”
“I suppose so,” replied Cicero. “I’ve been working with it for almost thirty years, but it’s only been here for the past two. It gets the morning sun from the skylights and seems to like it there. So I never moved it. The Silysia didn’t like it there.”
“Let’s get your stuff back to the guest suite,” boomed the stocky Almaviva. “Sappho and Arturo and their children will be here any moment.”
Bemusedly, Van followed Dad Almaviva, carrying one duffel and his smaller bag. Cicero followed with the other duffel. After depositing all his gear, Van washed up quickly and hurried back to the great room.
The villa was little changed from what Van remembered. He thought the tan of the exterior stucco was a shade lighter, and the reddish roof tiles slightly more faded, but the great room, with the huge hearth that was seldom ever used except as an open space in which to place Dad Almaviva’s latest floral creations, looked almost the same. The greenhouse was doubtless still unchanged, although he hadn’t looked, and certainly Dad Cicero’s study and Dad Almaviva’s studio were the same.
Sappho was the first to come bursting through the door—tall like Cicero, but even lighter-skinned than Van, with flaming golden red hair. She practically launched herself at her older brother, giving him the kind of hug that Dad Almaviva always bestowed. “I’m glad you’re back—and safe.”
She released him and turned to the two girls who stood back shyly, one reaching to Van’s chest, the other barely to his waist. She looked to the taller. “You remember Lesnym…and this is Farah.”
Van bowed slightly. “Lesnym…Farah.”
“Aelsya will be here as soon as she can. She was on call, and, of course, some idiot working on a groundcar put his leg and foot in the wrong place.” Sappho snorted. “When you teach, you hope students grow up, but some never do.” She grinned. “You look good, really good for someone they thought wouldn’t make it.”
“I need to work on the conditioning,” Van admitted.
Sappho began to usher Lesnym and Farah toward the great room, murmuring, “Your granddad Almaviva will have some special treats, I know…”
Van was about to follow her and the girls when the front door opened again, and three more figures stepped inside. “Arturo!”
“Van.” While Arturo looked like Almaviva, and hugged like him as well, if with a hint of Cicero’s reticence, he had Cicero’s logical and legal mind and worked as one of Cicero’s associates. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to the welcoming ceremony…”
“It’s enough that you’re here,” Van replied, wondering why Arturo had even brought up the matter. It wasn’t as though Van kept score. When he stepped back, he looked to Arturo’s wife. “Margaret. It’s so good to see you…and Despina.”
“It’s good to see you. Everyone was so worried when we heard about the trouble in Scandya. But you look good.” Margaret was small and petite, with a golden olive tinge to her skin.
Standing beside her mother, Despina clearly took after her father’s side, almost as tall as Arturo, but her hair was a lustrous wavy brown and her eyes a brilliant green. She smiled shyly.
“You have grown, young lady,” Van announced. “And uncles always say embarrassing things like that.”
“Always,” the teenager affirmed.
Van gestured for the three to precede him into the great room.
No sooner had he stepped onto the green tiles of the floor there than Almaviva appeared, wearing his splattered cook’s apron. “Everyone must be famished!”
“Is that a command, Dad?” asked Arturo. “Be thou famished and empty the board?”
“Just about,” replied Sappho.
For that moment, Van was glad to be back in Bannon.
Chapter 34
Much later, after Van’s brother and sister and their offspring and spouses had departed, and the villa had quieted under the night sky of fall, Van
