Chapter 10 - The Photograph Beside The Flag
I looked at Luca.
“Both our fathers?”
He nodded.
“Dad's flag belongs here. But I don't think he'd want us remembering him without remembering Sam.”
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“That would have meant a great deal to him.”
Luca turned toward her.
“Mrs. Collins, I don't want to put anything on that mantel without your permission.”
She studied him.
“Why would you need my permission?”
“Because it's your husband's story too.”
Mom looked toward Teresa.
For years, we'd assumed people like the Morettis lived in a different world.
Their home was larger.
Their money was greater.
Their name carried a kind of power that people in our neighborhood didn't understand.
But standing beside that flag, I couldn't see any of those differences.
I saw two women who missed their husbands.
And two children who wished they'd asked their fathers more questions.
“I'd like a photograph,” Mom said.
Luca smiled.
“Then that's what we'll do.”
But when he mentioned asking the restoration specialist to make a brass plaque with both men's names, Mom hesitated.
“I don't want it to feel like we're putting Sam on display.”
Luca nodded.
“Then we won't.”
Teresa reached for her hand.
“Ruth, this is our family sitting room. Not a museum.”
Mom looked at the photograph of our fathers.
“Sam always hated attention.”
“So did Antonio,” Teresa replied.
They smiled at each other.
I understood something then.
The medal wasn't important because it made Antonio more valuable than Sam.
And the watch wasn't important because someone might pay money for it.
Those objects mattered because they had survived long enough to remind us of people we loved.
I looked at Luca.
“Could we put the photograph beside the flag without making a big announcement?”
He smiled.
“I think Dad would have preferred that.”
The following week, my hand began healing.
The doctor said the cut was closing well, although gripping heavy objects still hurt.
Luca insisted I follow the medical instructions.
Mrs. Carter rearranged the housekeeping schedule so nobody expected me to lift trays or carry furniture.
At first, I found the attention embarrassing.
I'd spent almost three years doing whatever needed to be done.
Now people kept asking whether I wanted another pillow.
Or a glass of water.
Or someone to open a cabinet for me.
One afternoon, I finally laughed.
“Mrs. Carter, I can still turn a doorknob.”
She smiled.
“I know, dear.”
“Then please stop treating me like I'll break.”
Her expression softened.
“I suppose I'm trying to make up for not helping you when you needed it.”
I looked at her.
“Then help the next person who says they're hurt.”
She nodded.
“I will.”
And she did.
That afternoon, one of the younger housemaids told Mrs. Carter she'd been feeling sick during her shift.
Instead of telling her to finish the dining room, Mrs. Carter sent her home with pay.
It was a small change.
But I noticed.
So did the other employees.
For the first time, people seemed less afraid to admit they were human.
Luca also began attending the weekly household meetings himself.
He didn't stay long.
But he listened.
And when staff members raised concerns, he asked questions instead of handing everything to someone else.
I appreciated that more than his expensive flowers or the comfortable chair he'd brought to my room.
Because kindness wasn't meaningful only when an employer was watching.
It mattered when nobody important was in the room.
A few days later, the restoration specialist arrived with the damaged oak display case.
His name was Mr. Ellis.
He was in his sixties and had spent nearly forty years restoring antique furniture and military keepsakes.
He carefully laid the broken case on a padded table.
Teresa stood beside him.
“Can it be saved?”
He examined the wood.
“The glass is straightforward. The oak is more complicated.”
Her expression fell.
“Is it badly damaged?”
“Some of the joints have loosened. And this corner took a hard impact.”
Luca moved closer.
“Can you replace that section?”
Mr. Ellis studied it.
“I could. But I'd rather preserve as much original material as possible.”
Teresa looked relieved.
“Antonio made the case himself.”
I hadn't known that.
Luca nodded.
“He spent three weekends working on it in his garage.”
Teresa smiled.
“He kept saying the corners weren't straight.”
Mr. Ellis looked at the brass plate.
“Then we'll take our time.”
I leaned closer.
The carved letters were still intact.
ANTONIO MORETTI.
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER.
I touched the edge carefully with my good hand.
“Could you leave the little marks in the wood?”
Mr. Ellis looked up.
“What marks?”
I pointed near the bottom.
There were several tiny scratches.
I'd noticed them during my first weeks working at the mansion.
Teresa smiled.
“Those are from Antonio's workshop.”
Luca nodded.
“He used the same bench for everything. Half his projects had marks like that.”
Mr. Ellis smiled.
“Then they'll stay.”
I watched him work.
Something about the careful way he handled the broken case reminded me of my father.
Dad never threw away a chair because one leg was loose.
Or a clock because it stopped running.
He always said broken things deserved to be examined before someone decided they weren't worth keeping.
Now I understood why that mattered so much.
Later, Luca found me standing beside the mantel.
I was looking at the photograph of our fathers.
“Thinking about Sam?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I wish I'd known him better.”
Luca stood beside me.
“I feel the same way about Dad.”
I looked at him.
“You had him for thirty-one years.”
He gave a sad smile.
“And somehow, I still thought we'd have more time.”
We stood quietly.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
“When I was younger, I used to think my father's repair shop was too small for the life I wanted.”
I looked up.
“He was proud of you.”
“I know. But I didn't always make him feel like I was proud of him.”
His expression tightened.
“He wanted me to understand that being powerful meant people should be safer because you were around.”
He looked at my bandaged hand.
“I don't think I always remembered that.”
I shook my head.
“You remembered when it mattered.”
He smiled faintly.
“You sound like my mother.”
For a moment, we both laughed.
Then Luca looked toward the dining room.
“There's something I want to ask you.”
My heart tightened.
“Yes, sir?”
“When the case is restored, Mom wants to have a small family dinner.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“She wants your mother there.”
“I think she'd like that.”
Luca hesitated.
May you like
Then he looked directly at me.
“Hannah, I don't want you serving at that dinner. I want you sitting at the table with us.”
