A stirring from inside the house drew us apart, and D.J. smiled as he gazed into my eyes.
“I knew I loved you from the moment you fainted at the wedding facility. I can’t believe it took me almost a month to tell you.”
“The minute I fainted?” He nodded, and I slapped myself in the head and muttered, “Crazy.”
“When did you know?” he asked, drawing me close again.
“Hmm.” After a pause, I responded, “I knew I loved you the minute I saw your cowboy boots ambling up the driveway at Club Wed that first day.”
“Oh? You have a thing for cowboys?”
“I do now.”
He leaned over to kiss me again, but we stopped short when the front door opened and Nick and Marcella walked out.
My brother gave me a pretend stern look and said, “No PDA.”
When I shifted my gaze to Marcella’s soon-to-be-blooming belly, he shrugged and said, “Hey, we’re married.” They disappeared down the front steps and into their car.
As we leaned back against the swing, a beautiful breeze off the gulf swept over us. I could almost taste the salt in the air. Or was that love? Funny, all of my senses now ran together.
The stars twinkled overhead as D.J. and I rocked back and forth. The wind slowed down a bit, and the air eventually hung heavy around us. Our quiet conversation morphed to peaceful silence. We sat on the swing so long I could barely keep my eyes open. In my dreamlike state, I thought I remembered D.J. saying, “I love you.” Had I only imagined it? My eyes grew heavy, and I drifted away on a cloud where angels nibbled on spoonfuls of peach ice cream and chased each other with water balloons.
“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead.” D.J. nudged me, and I forced myself awake.
“W-was I sleeping?”
“Mm-hmm.” He yawned and stretched. “But it’s okay. I really need to go anyway. It’s getting late, and I’ve got to be up early. I’ve got that renovation job in the morning, remember.”
“Yes, I remember.” D.J. Neeley was great at renovating things. Look what he’d done to my heart, after all.
We said our good-byes and shared three or four more sweet kisses before he headed off on his way. I practically crawled up the stairs, exhaustion taking hold. The only thing keeping my brain engaged was the memory of D.J.’s words: “I love you.”
I whispered them again, just to remind myself. As if I could ever forget. Through the drowsiness, I somehow made it to my room and dressed for bed. I’d just snuggled under the covers and started to drift off when a memory surfaced. Patti-Lou. The flower shop. I’d completely forgotten to talk to my mother about it.
If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll never remember tomorrow.
My parents’ door was open, and I saw Mama sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a white nightgown. She looked over at me with a smile. “Bella. What’s up, honey?”
“I meant to tell you this earlier and forgot.” I went on to tell her about Patti-Lou’s thoughts concerning the flower shop—that our family should buy it from her. It made no sense, of course. We were all far too busy to take on any new projects. Surely Mama would shoot down the idea in a heartbeat.
Ironically, she did just the opposite. “What a positively fascinating problem,” she said. After pausing to reflect, her eyes lit with excitement. “And you know who would be perfect to run it? Marcella.”
“Wow.” The idea hadn’t occurred to me, but I could almost see it. Marcella was very creative and loved working with her hands. And she’d helped Patti-Lou out on more than one occasion. But, running a store? How would she do it while expecting, and with the boys underfoot? Would she even be willing to give it a try?
As my mother gave an explanation of why Marcella would be the ideal person, she reached over and grabbed a jar from her bedside table. I almost choked when I realized it was udder cream. She opened the jar and worked it into her face in tiny circular motions, never missing a beat in the conversation. After finishing with her face, she slathered the cream on her hands and rubbed it in. Pausing from her chatter, she looked up at me with chagrin.
“What?” I asked.
“I need some of your father’s socks. Do you mind?” She held up her greasy hands and grinned.
“Um, okay.” I walked to his dresser and opened the top drawer, looking for a pair of white tube socks. I found none. Instead, I came up with a pair of black trouser socks. “What about these?” I held them up.
“Hmm. Not sure.”
I carried them over to her and helped her slip them over her hands and arms. Unfortunately, they kept sliding down to her wrists.
“I know!” I went back to Pop’s drawer and located his sock garters. Turning back to Mama, I added, “You’re gonna need these.” I tossed them her way, and she snagged them like an Astros outfielder.
My father chose that minute to exit the bathroom, saying, “Imelda, have you seen my hemorrhoid cream? I—” He glanced at me and turned all shades of red as he realized I’d heard every word.
I shifted my gaze to my mom, who gave me a sly wink. Aha. For some reason, the knowledge that she’d stolen his hemorrhoid cream made me feel like laughing. Fighting to hold it together, I pointed at my pop’s blue boxers and white T-shirt and said, “Hey, we match.”
Pop looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Bella, do you mind if I ask what you’re doing in my drawers?”
I looked down at my boxers and said, “These are mine, actually.”
He groaned, then pointed to the dresser. “No, I meant what are you doing in my
drawers
.” He walked over to the dresser and peeked inside, then looked over at Mama, staring at the socks on her hands. “Is nothing sacred anymore? A man has to hide his socks from his wife?”
“Oh, Cosmo, don’t fret.” Mama gave him a flirtatious smile. “Just wait till you see how pretty I’ll look in the morning. Then you won’t mind sacrificing a pair of socks to support the cause of beauty.”
He took a few steps in her direction, helped her fasten the sock garters on her arms, then planted a tender kiss on her forehead. “You’re beautiful right now.” A moment later, he sniffed the air, a suspicious look on his face. “What
is
that smell?” Glancing down at the udder cream, he shook his head and said, “I don’t even want to know,” then walked back into the bathroom, mumbling something about his hemorrhoids.
“I’m sorry you had to hear all of that, Bella,” my mother said, “but a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. Before you know it, I’ll be eighty and won’t look a day over fifty.” She nodded as if that settled the whole thing, and I chuckled in response. If I looked half as good as my mother did in my early fifties, I’d be thrilled.
At that moment Rosa popped her head in the door. She had a puzzled look on her face. “Imelda, I can’t find the Crisco,” she said. “I need it for the pies I’m baking tomorrow. It was on the second shelf in the pantry. Have you seen it?”
“Seen the Crisco?” My mother fanned herself with her sock-covered hand. “Why, I haven’t baked in years. You know that.” When Rosa left the room, Mama gave me a wink and whispered, “It worked like a charm to remove my makeup. But don’t tell, okay? I’ll buy some more at the grocery store tomorrow.”
Heavens, no, I wouldn’t tell. My mother’s new beauty secrets were just that—secrets.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” She paused and looked at me with a serious expression. “I’d like to use the reception hall at the wedding facility to throw a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood tea for our new neighbor across the street.”
“Dakota?”
“His mother, silly. That poor woman probably thinks we’re all just awful.” Mama went on to explain in detail how she planned to remedy that over the next few days. I had a strong feeling Mama and Mrs. Burton were going to end up fast friends. Before long, Mrs. Burton would be a sponsor of the Grand Opera, just like my mama. And who knew—she might even end up helping at the wedding facility.
My mother released a lingering breath. I could tell she had something on her mind, so I said, “Out with it, Mama. What’s up?”
The most curious look passed over her face before she finally spoke up. “I’ve been wrestling with this for days. Actually, ever since our conversation awhile back.”
“Conversation? Which conversation?”
“The one about Rosa joining the convent.” Mama paused, then sighed before saying, “I guess there’s one thing I should tell you.”
“Oh?”
Mama looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Remember how I told you someone had broken her heart?”
“Of course. How could I forget?”
“What you don’t know is . . .” Mama drew a deep breath, then continued. “The boy who broke her heart—the one who wouldn’t look twice at her when she was a teenager—was your Uncle Laz.”
“W-what?”
She nodded. “From what my parents told me years ago, Rosa had had her eye on Lazarro from the time she was twelve or thirteen. We were neighbors, after all, and we went to the same church and the same school. Laz even worked in our family’s restaurant for a while, washing dishes. But that boy . . .” Mama shook her head. “He wasn’t the nicest kid in town. In fact, he was quite a troublemaker, from what your father tells me. He’d make the Burton boy look like an angel.”
“Wow.” Hard to imagine.
“When Laz found out Rosa had a crush on him, he turned his attention to another girl to make a point.”
“Oh, poor Rosa!” My heart broke at this revelation. Made me want to head over to Uncle Laz’s room and give him a piece of my mind.
“And Laz, um, ended up marrying that other girl two years later,” my mother added.
I gasped. “Aunt Bianca?”
“Yes.” Mama nodded. “And then, after some time had passed, Laz and Bianca came to New Jersey to live near us. Your papa was thrilled to have his brother back in his life, of course. And I was too. Both of them, actually.” A little sigh escaped as she said, “You know, I always loved Bianca. And she never knew about Rosa’s heartbreak. We never said a word.”
“So what happened?” I crossed my legs, ready for the rest of the tale.
“Rosa was back in Napoli, making a name for herself as a cook,” Mama explained. “And, as you heard her say, she did pretty well. She ran her own restaurant for the last twenty years she was there. Everyone in Napoli knew her, and she was written up in the papers because the place always did such great business. There was even some talk of her doing a show on television. A cooking show, of course.”
“Wow.” This latest news registered slowly.
“Then my parents passed away, and Rosa was truly alone. I knew how difficult it must have been, so I asked her to come and stay with us. But it was pure coincidence that I made the suggestion just a few days before your Aunt Bianca passed away. I certainly didn’t mean to . . .”
“Oh man.” I got it now. Uncle Laz—the very person Rosa had avoided for forty-plus years—lost his wife just prior to Rosa’s arrival.
“They were forced together under the same roof,” Mama said. “I could tell it was hard on Rosa at first, but Laz had given his heart to the Lord by then and treated her better than I expected.”
“So what happened between then and now?” I asked. “Why all the bickering?”
Mama smiled. “Oh, I have my theories. It’s one thing to live in the same house with someone you care about. It’s another thing to live in the same house and not be able to share your real feelings.”
“Real feelings?” I stared at my mother, dumbfounded. “Are you saying . . .”
“I can’t be sure, of course.” She shrugged. “But all the signs are there. And you know what I always say, Bella.
Il tempo guarisce tutti i mali.
”
“Time heals all wounds,” I echoed. “So do you think Laz will come to his senses? He’s pretty stubborn.”
“I think so,” Mama said. “But it might happen quicker if we agree to pray about it for a while. What do you think?”
“Of course!” After pausing to think through this information, a new resolve kicked in. I shared my thoughts with a smile. “Mama, here’s what I think. If God brought Pop all the way from Italy . . . if he brought D.J. all the way from Splendora . . . then I have to believe he’s big enough to bring Uncle Laz all the way from the backyard to the kitchen to find Rosa.”
Mama winked, then reached to hug me as she whispered,
“Finché c’è vita c’è speranza.”
Our voices blended together in perfect unity as we both echoed the familiar words: “As long as there is life, there is hope.”
July sweated its way into August, and before long, our Galveston summer prepared to roll itself back out to sea. Mama put together a beautiful tea for the neighborhood ladies to welcome Phoebe Burton to Galveston on the first Saturday of the month. Meeting the woman in person put a whole new spin on things. In every way she was her son’s opposite. Quiet, unassuming, polite . . . I could find no flaws in her.
Of course, there was that one little thing about her being Presbyterian. Rosa hadn’t taken that news lying down. Me? Well, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The Lord, in his own unique way, continued to expand our horizons.
The changes in my parents and siblings were undeniable, as was evidenced by our first annual family photo day on the third Thursday in August. Mama entered the living room dressed in a denim skirt and blouse ensemble that tied in nicely with her new cowboy boots. She offered a smile before sitting next to me on the sofa.
“Why did Joey pick the hottest day of the year to take family photos?” she asked as she checked her appearance in her compact.
“I think he’s just anxious to get a photo with Norah in it,” I said. “Do you blame him?” He’d had her name tattooed on his arm, for Pete’s sake. The two rarely spent any time apart.
A smile teased the edges of Mama’s lips. “I have it on good authority we’ll need to hire a real photographer soon.”
“Oh?”
One of her finely plucked eyebrows elevated slightly. “Well, he can’t very well take the pictures at his own wedding, can he?”
I gasped at this news. “Are you sure?”
She nodded and whispered, “I’ve seen the ring,” then put her finger to her lips.
“B-but they’ve only been dating for several weeks.”
“Honey, when it’s the right one, you know it. You could date six weeks or six months or six years, but eventually you would end up at the altar.” She gave me one of those “you get my real meaning, right?” winks, and I smiled. I got it. And yes, I knew D.J. Neeley was the one. But we weren’t in a huge hurry, for sure. No, we were having far too much fun getting to know each other. And each other’s families.