After a couple of minutes, Laz rose to his feet and headed to the back door. When it slammed behind him, I looked at my mother and asked the obvious. “What is going on between those two?”
“This time, you mean?” She rolled her eyes. “This war between them has gone on too long. It’s giving me an ulcer. Sometimes I wonder if merging my family and your father’s under the same roof was a good idea. My stomach can’t take it.”
My gaze shifted to the back door, then back to my mother. “Today’s battle was different though. Did you notice?”
“Yes.” Mama shrugged. “But who can figure them out? I don’t know where Rosa got her temper. She’s nothing like me or my other sisters. And Laz . . .” She grinned. “He might be your papa’s brother, but they’re worlds apart in attitude. I wish he could adopt some of your papa’s kindhearted ways.”
“Kindhearted ways, eh?” My father ambled into the kitchen dressed in his running shorts and a T-shirt.
He leaned down to kiss my mother on the ear, and she giggled, then whispered, “Cosmo, not in front of the children.”
That was enough to propel me from my seat. With newfound energy kicking in, I headed out to the backyard, where I found Laz working in his garden. I’d spent hours with my uncle in the yard in years past. Surely he would find nothing suspicious about me joining him now. I made my way through vine-ripened tomatoes, squash, lettuce, pepper plants, and mounds of basil, where I caught a glimpse of Laz standing next to his fig tree, giving it a far-too-serious look.
I drew near and spoke a gentle “Hey” to warn him of my presence.
He turned and grunted.
So much for the gentle approach. “Laz, what’s going on? Really. You’re not yourself lately. I miss my old Uncle Laz.”
Another guttural sound erupted, and he turned to snatch a basket, then headed to the tomatoes. I followed along on his heels in much the same way I’d done hundreds of times over the years. He reached the first tomato vine and snagged a couple of ripe tomatoes, tossing them into the basket.
“Laz, c’mon. What did she do to make you so mad?”
“Crazy old woman.” He went back to work filling one basket, then a second. Before long, we were working on our fourth. Together. And though I tried to bring up his problems with Rosa, he dodged me at every turn.
Looking to change the topic, I asked him about his garden back in Italy, the one he’d grown up tending. This shifted him into a wistful conversation that brought tears to his eyes. Over the next several minutes I heard all about his teen years working alongside his papa in the garden. I could see pain in his eyes as he mentioned his father’s death, and pride when he talked about how he’d helped his poor mama raise the younger children over the following years.
“Your papa was just a little thing when our father died,” Laz said. “Maybe seven or eight. And he needed a father figure.” My uncle squared his shoulders. “I had to be that father figure. I washed dishes at a restaurant till all of the children were grown. And when Cosmo moved off to America, leaving the rest of the family behind, it nearly broke my heart.”
“Why did he come to the States?” I asked.
Laz’s expression shifted to a smirk. “It’s funny what love will do to a man. Your mother grew up just a few streets from us. But her family moved to America when she was just fourteen or so. Nearly ate Cosmo up. He was smitten.”
“Wow.” I knew they’d loved each other since childhood but had never known the specifics.
“She was a beauty queen, your mama. And such a sweet little thing. Cosmo never forgot her, even after her papa took her off across the waters. As soon as he was old enough, he sold everything he had to get the money to move to New Jersey. Said he’d follow her to the ends of the earth . . . and he did.” A smile teased the edges of my uncle’s lips. “Your papa never could think straight when it came to your mother, that much I can say for sure.”
“Nothing much has changed then.” Still, this news put a whole new spin on things. I had no idea my father’s sole purpose for coming to America was to follow my mother. He’d always told me he came to find a better job and a new life.
“So, did you know Rosa back then?” I asked.
Laz grunted his response. “Know her? Who didn’t?”
“Was she pretty like my mama?”
This time Laz answered with a snort, and I decided to call it quits right there. Enough talking about the family.
Something about the mention of Rosa’s name must’ve convinced Laz our tomato-picking time had ended. We carried the too-full baskets into the kitchen and put them on the counter.
Rosa looked up from loading the dishwasher, a stunned expression on her face. “What’s this?”
“You know.” Laz gave her a stern look, then left the room, claiming they’d done without him far too long at the restaurant today already.
Rosa turned to me, obviously flabbergasted. “Does he not see that I was on my feet all weekend? He thinks this is the perfect day to make gravy?” She muttered something under her breath about men, then took to scrubbing the tomatoes. I left her to her own devices, ready for my second shower of the day. As I made my way to the stairs, I passed my parents in the living room. They sat together on the sofa, reading. Mama’s head rested against my father’s shoulder. Funny. I’d never paused to consider just how in love they still were after all these years.
I thought about their relationship as I showered and dressed again. That’s what I wanted. What they had. A real happily ever after. The kind that was willing to risk everything, to travel across oceans, cultures, and time. I wanted someone to follow me to the ends of the earth, and vice versa. And more than anything, I wanted a shoulder to rest my head against.
I wanted D.J.
My heart twisted. I wanted my caramel mocha macchiato. My knight in shining armor. My deejay. But would I ever see him again? If my father could follow my mother all the way from Italy to New Jersey, why hadn’t D.J. Neeley picked up the phone to call me?
The phone works both ways, you know.
The thought flitted through my mind, but I pushed it away. He needed to be the one to make the first move, not me. Right?
Minutes later, dressed in yet another great outfit, I crossed paths with my sister as she headed upstairs. I could tell from the too-pink cheeks that she’d been in the sun. “Water park,” she managed as she bounded past me. “Deany-boy and Frankie. Got to shower.”
“I understand.”
I continued on my way downstairs and then into the kitchen to help Rosa. It didn’t seem right to leave her alone with the gravy making. Thankfully, I found my mother standing at her side. Together they peeled the freshly blanched tomatoes and put them into giant saucepans on the stove.
“How many jars?” I asked, opening the cupboard.
Rosa surveyed the tomatoes with a skilled eye. “Probably twenty-five.”
I pulled out the jars and lined them up on the counter, then settled onto a barstool to watch them work.
Mama stirred in cans of tomato paste to enhance the flavor of the fresh tomatoes, then Rosa sautéed onions, garlic, and olive oil. This was the part I loved best. The smell captivated me and made me hungry. It also reminded me of Uncle Laz and his story about growing up in Italy. Perfect time to hear the other side of the tale.
“Tell me about your life when you were girls,” I encouraged them. “In Italy, I mean.”
“What do you want to know?” Mama turned to me and shrugged. “I moved when I was still young, so my memories are limited.”
“Mine aren’t.” Rosa smiled. “I can tell you anything you like.”
“Oh yes, Rosa has wonderful stories.” My mother sighed, then turned to her older sister. “So tell us.”
My aunt continued to work, not missing a beat. “What do you want to hear?”
“Tell us about when you were in the convent,” Mama said.
I almost fell off the barstool at that one. Convent? I stared at my aunt in disbelief. She’d never married, that much I knew. But, a nun?
Rosa gave me a sly grin as her story began. “There was the most beautiful little convent near our home. I always heard the sisters singing and felt so compelled to join them.” She drew in a sharp breath. “You must understand, I always knew I wasn’t like the other girls in my village. Certainly not like your mama here.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “I was never pretty. Never had a figure. And in our area, the pretty girls all married young and had lots of babies. Me . . .” She sighed. “I knew it would never happen. So I needed a different plan.”
“Rosa!” I’d never heard such blunt words.
My aunt turned back to stirring, though I thought I saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Someone broke her heart,” my mother whispered. “But she doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“What’s to talk about? It’s in the past.” As Rosa turned to fill a couple of the jars with gravy, she dabbed at her eyes, then forged ahead. “Anyway, I got this idea the Lord was calling me to be a nun. I wanted to serve him, of course. So I told our mama I wanted to go.”
“What did she say?” I asked.
My mother turned to me, her face beaming. “Oh, let me tell this part. I was really young, but I remember how proud Mama was. To have a daughter enter the convent was such a special thing. Our mama made sure everyone in the village knew, and she even threw a party the week before Rosa left home. Everyone was there.”
“Yes, Mama was overjoyed. I know she was very proud of me.” Rosa’s expression hardened a bit. “Besides, it saved her the trouble of having to explain her spinster daughter to the other villagers.”
“Rosa!” Mama looked at her, clearly stunned.
“How old were you again?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Seventeen. Your mama was little bitty, like she said. So it broke my heart to leave her and the others behind. But I had to do what I felt was right.”
“So, what happened?” I leaned forward on my barstool, completely enraptured.
“They changed my name. I wanted to be Sister Maria Sophia, but they had other ideas. So I became Sister Angelica.”
“Angelica. Angel. How beautiful.”
“And how unlike me.” Rosa chuckled. “I took a lot of ribbing over that back at home. But to answer your questions, I scrubbed a lot of floors.” She lifted her skirt and showed off her callused knees. “And said a lot of prayers. And, well . . .”
“What?”
“Got in trouble with the mother superior. A lot.”
Why didn’t that surprise me?
“She told me I needed to get my temper under control. That God was getting mighty tired of wrestling with me, and she was nearly as tired.”
“Oh?”
Rosa shrugged, then filled another jar with gravy. “Couldn’t say for sure what I was mad at. Maybe just the fact that I didn’t fit in. I was different, like I said. No boys ever looked my way. So maybe I thought God would reject me too. I was hardfisted toward him, just in case. Problem is, putting up walls between yourself and God isn’t the best idea, especially in a convent. They tend to frown on that there.”
At this revelation, my heart completely melted. Mama gave me a “don’t say anything” look out of the corner of her eye, and I clamped my mouth shut before asking anything too personal. Still, I had to wonder what had happened to cause such rejection in a woman as young as seventeen.
“There’s nothing worse than feeling different. Like a square peg in a round hole.” Rosa pointed to her pudgy midsection. “Or in my case, a round hole in a square peg.” Feigning a smile, she added, “But one thing was for sure, God never called me to be a nun. After only two months, the sisters sent me home. Said the Lord would use me in another capacity.”
“They gave you an honorable discharge?” I teased.
“Hardly.” She winked. “But while I was there, I discovered my love for cooking. I think the sisters put on a lot of weight when I was in the kitchen.”
“Aha.” It was all beginning to make sense now.
“So when I got back home, I helped Nano and Nana in their restaurant.” Her face glowed as she wrapped up the story about how she’d worked for her grandfather and grandmother. “By the time our papa made the decision to move to the States, I was doing really well for myself.”
“So you stayed behind.”
“Yes.” She paused with a reflective look on her face. “So what if people never saw me as pretty in the traditional sense? They seemed to find value in what I did when I was in the kitchen. And that was enough for me, I suppose.”
“Oh, but Rosa . . .” I reached over to embrace her. “You’re valuable to God, regardless. It doesn’t matter what you look like or even what talents you have. He cherishes you. You’re beautiful in his sight.”
At these words, her eyes brimmed over. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Bella, but that’s too much to imagine.” She and Mama continued their work filling the jars. We shared a little more small talk, but I could tell our real heart-to-heart had ended.
This bothered me for the rest of the day. Had she really not figured out that God found her valuable simply because she was his child? What could I do to convince her?
On Wednesday afternoon, I decided to call Jenna. I hadn’t really talked to her since the wedding and needed to see where things stood with the whole Bubba-David scenario. I walked out onto the veranda and settled into a wicker chair to make the call.
When Jenna answered, I almost didn’t recognize her voice. She sounded like she’d been crying. Ironically, that didn’t stop her from giving the usual spiel.
“Want to share a pizza with a friend but can’t settle on the topping?” Jenna sniffled. “You’re keen on pepperoni, he’s got his heart set on Canadian bacon?” Her voice cracked, and I felt sure tears weren’t far off. “Why not try our Simpatico special,” she choked out, “a large hand-tossed pizza, split down the middle with your choice of toppings on either side. Now you can both be happy . . .” She dissolved into tears, then tried again. “Now you can both . . . be . . . happy . . . for just $14.95.”
“Jenna, are you okay?”
“Oh, Bella! Is that you?” A sob erupted from her end of the line. “Can you come over here? I need you.”
Heavens! Could the week possibly get any stranger?