They were walking the grounds of Villa Bellini in Catania. It was an exceptionally beautiful park with sprawling manicured lawns, bubbling fountains and old architecture. They walked along the sun warmed cobblestone streets as the brilliant sun beat down on their shoulders. There had been several points where they could see the Mediterranean Sea, which was an incredible cobalt blue intersected with aquamarine. The stunning vistas nearly took his breath away and he could almost feel the joy of it but for the splinter in his heart.
There were tourists around them but widely dispersed. He felt a freshening breeze off the sea and turned his face into it and closed his eyes. There was joy in their lives, but there was a shadow that was always present. Anthony suspected there always would be. There were times when he wished that Thad had followed in his footsteps and had gone into the Navy. Perhaps he would not have disappeared. But, wishing for it got him nowhere.
He watched as his wife, Diana, moved toward a large building. It looked old and he thought it was the museum. He followed his family and smiled as Brent took pictures of his wife and daughter. Brent was a good man and his daughter seemed happy. A grandchild would help the pain that never quite went away. Anthony moved into the cool recesses of the building and looked around. He saw murals that had been chipped away by years and by the sea air. The colors were faded. He saw furniture of different centuries and statues and busts. Most were old but there were a few that were more recent.
The museum was broken up into a hodgepodge of rooms with mixtures of eras. His shoes clicked on the marble floor and echoed in the rooms. He stopped by a glass case to look at some beautiful wine goblets of Italian crystal. He jerked when he heard Diana’s scream and he ran from room to room, trying to locate her. He found her and her face had lost all of its color, her large eyes sheened with tears. He ran to her, taking her hands.
“What? What’s the matter?” he asked. Her mouth worked and twitched but she couldn’t speak. Instead, she turned him and he looked. A lightning bolt shot through his body and it buzzed in every neuron. He stared opened mouth at a bust of an ancient Roman. But it wasn’t an ancient Roman. It was Thad, carved in cold marble. He reached a trembling hand out and cupped the face, which was cold and hard to the touch and Anthony felt a frisson move through his tall frame. He saw his son’s strong features, yet the man was older by some years, but it was his son. He looked down at the placard and read it.
‘Thaddeus Amedeo Giangreco Pansa Senator 104 AD – 153 AD’
‘Gladiator Drago 92 AD – 94 AD’
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