Unspoken - 9. R.I.P.

There’s not much that can get you pounding in heart, blood, and mind, like turning onto your street, and seeing flashing blues and reds in front of your house. You may be a quarter mile away, but you’ve driven it hundreds of times. You know it’s yours. You slam on the gas to try to get there, worry thrumming in every vein and muscle of your body. Worry because of their presence, and worry because you’re heard not one damn word from your family. Even if it only takes seconds to traverse the distance, slamming on the brakes before you hit something or someone, it feels like an eternity.

I’m amazed that I managed to park the car and turn it off before leaping out. My Miata was a convertible, and even being a midget I managed to jump right out of it.

My rush towards the house, that I could now see had some minimal smoke damage, was impeded by a police officer, grabbing me and almost knocking me over.

“Whoa! Whoa kid you can’t go in there.”

My hands signed way too fast for anyone to possibly understand, but I could tell right away this cop didn’t sign. He must be new if he didn’t know me.

I struggled against his grip, a silent whine of distress escaping my lungs, as he fought to keep me from approaching the house. I didn’t notice the lack of smoke. All I cared about was Nicolo and Bryce. Fuck, I’d only been gone for thirty minutes!

“ALEX!” I heard a call from a voice I recognized.

We both stopped our struggle short to see the chief of the nearest fire station approaching, in suit but not helmeted.

“Alex,” he dropped a hand to my shoulder, “they’re both unhurt. Over here, come with me.” He led me away from the cop, whom I guessed would get an explanation later on, around one of the fire trucks, to see Nicolo with Bryce on his lap, a blanket wrapped around them both. I still couldn’t tell you why they did this. It was ninety-five, and in summer, being late August. Nicolo looked nervous, and Bryce was plastered to his chest. They both seemed to sense my approach, as they looked up at the same moment.

“Dad!” called Bryce as Nicolo called “Alex!”

I didn’t pay attention to anything else, as I smashed myself into them, hugging tight as Nicolo whispered “nessun ferito, nessun ferito” into my ear. No injuries, no injuries. Johnson said they were unhurt, but hearing it from Nicolo made it all better. I pulled back, wide-eyed, as Nicolo had started chuckling. Chuckling that morphed into laughter.

‘What happened?’ I signed.

——

Alex had just left, after receiving a text that my prescription was ready. With things as they were, sitting in my office chair, going through accounts, I was hoping that he would be quick. Thirty minutes wasn’t very long, true, but we had a growing boy to feed! After leaving the doctor’s office, we’d stopped at a local pizzeria, managing to get a bake-at-home pie, so Alex wouldn’t have to do much in the way of cooking. Wanting to give him a surprise, I’d called Bryce into the office, and talked him through pulling out the pizza stone, where to rearrange the racks in the oven, and preheating it.

“Papà?” Bryce’s face peered around the doorway. “The oven is ready, the thermometer says the stone is 425.”

I attempted to stand up, but the pain from the bite on my leg seemed to have me immobilized for now. It wasn’t this bad when I sat down. ‘Dannazione, a Bryce non è permesso cucinare da solo.’ I rubbed my chin in thought. ‘Ma quanto può essere difficile cuocere una pizza? Alex capirà. I waved for Bryce to come in, and he scampered to my side. There was no way I was going to try to use him as support. “Bryce,” I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, papà?”

“I want you to cook la pizza. It’s molto facile. Just take it out of il frigo and use the peel to slide it onto the stone, sì? Set a timer for fourteen minutes on your cellulare, and then take a picture so I can gauge how done it is. Capisci?”

Bryce’s eyes went wide, probably due to more than regular Italian slipping in. I controlled it as much as I could. He nodded though, managing to figure out what I’d meant, and just as quick, scampered off.

—

I looked back and forth between the two faces still peeking from under then blanket. Nicolo had started chuckling again, and Bryce’ was full flushed from embarrassment. He did still somehow manage to look adorable; even Nicolo’s charm was still present.

‘How did we go from pizza to fire?’

“It’s my fault, dad,” he whispered.

“No, piccolo, it is not. Alex, I did not tell him to take the pizza out of the box first.” Well, at least there was minimal Italian. Bryce was learning slowly, but picking things up fast. We had more than a year before he would be taken to Firenze to meet the Bucellos, which is why we were pacing it slow. Wait. What? I stopped my mind from wandering. What?

‘What?’

“Alex, he put the whole box into the oven. The box caught fire.”

I goggled. That was it? That was all?

“The smoke set off the smoke alarm, which set off the central alarm, which called the fire department and police.”

I was still too stunned for a moment, before the stress of the last few minutes caught up with me. My face must have relaxed, because Nicolo started chuckling again. That set Bryce off, trying to hide his snickers in Nicolo’s chest. I lost it myself too, and almost collapsed from laughing so hard. We were getting strange looks, I know, but I didn’t care. The house be damned my boys were alright and that was all that mattered. It took a few minutes before my brain finally caught up again.

‘That makes no sense. Cardboard doesn’t combust at that low a temperature.’

“Alex,” Nicolo managed between heaving breaths, trying to calm himself down. “I set your mamma’s cast iron on fire.”

I leaned forward and gave them each a peck on the cheek. ‘No more cooking alone for either of you. You’ll try making cereal and set the car on fire.’

Bryce lost it again, which set us all off. “D-dad,” he breathed. “I made a funny. R-requiescat in pizza!”

This time I did fall over.