Damage Control

Chapter 23

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, feeling hot tears begin to stream down my face.

Nonna squeezed my hand again and led me to one of the dusty tables in the corner of the room, nodding at me to join her and sit.

"This," she waved her arms around. "Is Nathaniel's space, he kill me if he knew I brought you in here, but I think of you as family, and you deserve to know."

"You don't have to, Nonna," I insisted, placing my hand on top of hers, not wanting to push boundaries.

"No," she shook her head. "I want you to. You remind me so much of my Isabella, so strong-willed and stubborn but filled with so much light."

She slid a thick photo album in front of me and opened it, allowing me to look through the pictures. In one of them, Isabella stood, holding a smiling chubby baby boy at the park. In the next picture, the little boy was a little older, around five or six, smiling again while riding a red bike with training wheels. Isabella was right behind him in the picture, beaming brightly at the child.

I continued flipping through the dusty album seeing more pictures of the little boy and Isabella. In each picture, the boy continued to grow, and eventually, I ended up on photos of him when he was about thirteen years old, and that's when I pieced the album together.

It was Nathaniel and his mother.

This was Nathaniel's album, and that smiling little boy was him.

It took this long for me to recognize him because I've never seen Nathaniel smile. I've never seen him show any ounce of emotion except for when he's with Stella, and even then, he never smiled. I continued to flip through the album in awe, taking in every picture of Nathaniel showing all thirty-two teeth beside his mother. In almost every picture with him, there Isabella was at his side as if they were the best of friends. In the picture I was currently looking at, Nathaniel was around the age of eighteen.

If this wasn't such a sentimental moment, I would've laughed at how he different looked at that age compared to now. The scrawny teenager in the photo had a buzz cut and was wearing baggy clothes, almost two sizes bigger than him. He was standing next to Isabella with the same toothy grin he's had since he was younger. They were in front of an empty plot of land holding a "Sold" sign, but what made the picture bring tears to my eyes was that Isabella wasn't looking at the camera. She was gazing at her son with such a loving smile as if she was silently telling him how proud she was of the man he became.

"That was the last picture they ever took," Nonna finally whispered as the photo album came to an end. In the very back of the book were gold cursive words that read, "In Loving Memory of Isabella Moretti-Creed."

"Paffuto wasn't always so cold and detached," she began explaining as she closed the album and held the precious book in her fragile arms. "Before my Isabella passed, he was filled with so much life and joy. There wasn't a day that went by where his smile didn't light up room. He was life of party," she smiled, recalling the happy memories. "Always have jokes up his sleeves, annoying his cousins with pranks and just so outgoing and happy. Nothing could take that boy's happiness away as long he had his mother."

Trying to imagine Nathaniel Creed as a happy person was damn near impossible.

Nonna shuddered and shook her head in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing freely, trying to stay strong to get through this heartbreaking story.

"Don't push yourself, Nonna," I whispered as I began to rub her back soothingly. Having to re-live this traumatic experience couldn't be easy, but she was trying her best for me.