Hope's Angel (2 page)

“Next
year, the olive tree,” Nonna would say with a sparkle in her eye, knowing full
well that wouldn’t be happening but always open to the possibility.

She
led Connie into the depths of the neatly maintained garden, past carefully
staked tomato plants and rows of ferny kohlrabi, and bent to pull two oversized
zucchini from beneath massive, overspreading leaves.

“I
know, I know,” Nonna said, waving her hand when Connie began to protest. “My
son runs a store. But he doesn’t have squash like this. You take them to your
mother. She’ll be happy to have them.”

Connie
took the zucchini and held one in each arm like two big green babies nestled
into the bends of her elbows. “Thanks, Nonna. Angie loves these stuffed and
baked.”

“Ah,
this reminds me. Can one of you girls come to stay with Lucretia after church on
Sunday? Sissy Barbarosa is in the hospital, and I should visit, but Mariana and
Tony go to Boston on Sunday to see Teresa’s new baby.”

“I’m
sure one of us can.” Connie kissed her grandmother’s soft, wrinkly cheek, then
headed down the narrow sidewalk along the side of the house, calling back over
her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Nonna. I’ll be there by ten. Thanks for the
zukes.”

As
soon as she hit the tree-lined public sidewalk, Connie sped up the pace. She had
half a block to go on Church Street before turning toward home, and this was
the neighborhood where several of Paul Cefalu’s relatives lived. She had
harbored a crush on him since tenth grade, and even though they had gone their
separate ways since graduation two years before, she still experienced a rush
of irrational excitement at the possibility of seeing him on the street. At
that moment, however, she didn’t  want him to see her. Her pants and shirt were
smudged with flour and dried ricotta, the humidity in the kitchen had turned
her shoulder-length hair into an uncontrolled explosion of curls, and she was
cradling two ridiculously large zucchini in her arms.

As
if on cue, three young men, laughing and talking, burst out of the side yard of
the house to her right, approaching the sidewalk at a brisk pace. One of them
let out a long, low whistle and said, “Wow. Nice squash.”

Connie
shot them a withering look and found herself gazing into the deep blue eyes of
Paul Cefalu. They were bright with amusement, and the small smile on his full, closed
lips made her heart skip a beat. He was incredibly good-looking with his black
curls and olive complexion, and when he gave her a silent, smirking nod, the
ragged beating of her heart left her light-headed.

He
said nothing as his buddies laughed, and Connie’s insides tightened. Had her
face revealed what she was feeling? Most likely it had, but then, Paul was used
to girls swooning over him.

She
turned away from the three of them and hurried toward home once more.

“Hey,
Con, I saw your baby sister this afternoon,” Frankie Fiorello called after her.
“She’s not such a baby no more.”

Connie’s
heart plummeted. Angie was so naïve and trusting, she would be no match for any
of these guys if they were to come on to her. Connie stopped in her tracks and
turned back, glaring at him as he stood on the sidewalk watching her with an
idiotic grin. “She’s fifteen, Frankie. Buzz off.”

“I’m
just saying, she sure is a looker.” He put up both hands as if Connie were
about to personally propel herself at him as he added, “Not that you’re not.
You know what I mean? But something’s different about her. She’s not your
run-of-the-mill
ragazza
, you know?”

“I
think you should shut up now, Frankie,” his buddy Nino Scarpa said with a grin.
“You’re not exactly making points here, man. You sayin’ our Connie’s run of the
mill?”

“Shut
up yourself, Nino.” Frankie made a rude hand gesture. “That’s not what I said.”

Connie
shook her head and turned away from them once more. “I really don’t give a rat’s
ass what either of you said. Just leave my sister alone.”

She
had reached the corner and started down the final, sun-speckled stretch of tree-lined
sidewalk toward home when Nino came up on her left and kept pace with her.

“Here,
let me carry those things.” He gestured toward the zucchini in her arms. “One
o’ them would feed all fifteen of Frankie’s family.” He gave Connie a
conspiratorial grin, his brown eyes shining as he watched her. “He’s not gonna
bother Angie, you know. He’s all talk.”

Connie
kept her profile to him and her arms tight around the zucchini. She had gone
out with Nino a few times the summer before she started college, but things
hadn’t clicked. He was nice enough and he was a great kisser, but he lacked
ambition, planning to do nothing more than what his old man had done—work in
the granite quarries in Barre. His major goal in life was to build a cooler
muscle car than Frankie’s older brother, Carl.

“Con,
gimme a frickin’ zucchini.”

Connie
hesitated, reluctant to let him help her. He could take it wrong and assume
that she wanted to resume their relationship. “I’m fine.”

“Oh,
for God’s sake, Con.” He stopped and frowned at her as though she were being a
bratty child.

She
avoided meeting his gaze as she stopped and said, “If you take one, you gotta
take both. They balance each other out.”

He
took the two zucchini from her, tucked one under each arm like a football, and
they continued toward her house. “So, are you gonna be selling stuff at the
festa
tomorrow?” he asked.

Connie
shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Yeah, probably.”

“It’s
supposed to be a nice day.”

“Good.
I hope so.”

An
awkward silence hung between them.

“So,”
Connie finally said, “are you and Tina still going out?”

Nino
shrugged and looked straight ahead. “Sometimes. You got anybody right now?”

“Not
really. I don’t want to, with school and all. I’ve still got two years.
Besides,” she added in an attempt to keep things light, “tradition says we
gotta marry off the oldest first. Know anybody?”

“For
Topo Gigio?” He gave her a grin. “Nobody that desperate.”

“Hey.”
Connie scowled at him. “I can say stuff like that about my sister, not you.
Have some respect.”

Nino’s
grin widened. “You name your sister after the stupid Italian mouse on Ed
Sullivan, and you tell me to have some respect? Ha!”

They
approached the front of the store. Two women were poking among the vegetables
in the outside display, and the door to the store was still open. Connie sighed
with relief and took the zucchini from Nino.

“Do
you think you might want to go see a movie some time?” His cocoa-brown eyes
were filled with hopefulness. “I heard
Planet of the Apes
is coming to
Burlington.”

Connie
directed her gaze toward the browsing customers a few feet away. She hated to
hurt his feelings, but going out with him didn’t interest her. “I don’t know.
Like I said, I’ve got other stuff to think about right now.” She glanced up at
him and gave him a small smile. “Say hi to Tina for me, okay? And thanks for
carrying the zukes.”

“Yeah.
Sure.” He backed away with an awkward, embarrassed look on his face, and for a
moment, Connie regretted brushing him off. Still, she had no desire to be with
him, and feeling sorry for him was hardly a reason to go out on a date.

“Would
you come if I said we could double-date with Paul?” His upper lip curled ever
so slightly as he spoke.

He knew?
“Why would I care?”

Nino
let out a derisive snort.“Gimme a break, Con.”

Connie
felt her color rise. “No,” she answered with a forcefulness she hoped sounded
genuine. “No, I wouldn’t. Paul’s good to look at, that’s all. It doesn’t mean
anything.”

“Yeah,
right.” Nino’s eyes narrowed as the contempt on his face increased.

She
wasn’t about to argue with him. “I need to help these customers, Nino. Thanks
again for walking with me. Really. That was nice. Now, I gotta go.”

Nino
turned on his heel without answering and headed back the way they had come.

One
of the women had gone inside the store; Connie could hear Papa talking with
her. The other was choosing from among the few eggplants remaining on the
stand, and Connie paused to ask if she needed assistance. The woman looked at
the giant zucchini cradled in Connie’s arms like a set of green twins and
laughed, then said she was all set. Connie walked around the side of the
building and carried her vegetables up the stairs.

The
overly warm kitchen was redolent with the pungent smell of frying fish, and her
mother was the only person in the room.

Connie
set the zucchini on the counter beside the sink. “I thought we were having
pasta
e fagioli
.”

Mamma
turned from her position in front of the stove, her eyes settling on the large
squash. “
Signor
LaCroix was here. He brought fish. Such big zucchini.”

Connie
smiled at the prospect of seeing her father’s friend, a quiet little man whose
company the entire family enjoyed. “Mr. LaCroix? We haven’t seen him in a long
time. Is he still here?”

“No.
Today he visits with your papa, then he goes. His wife, she is sick.”

Connie
stood at the sink and washed her hands. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry I missed
him.” She wiped her hands on a cloth towel and peered over her mother’s
shoulder at two frying pans full of breaded fillets. “Wow. Those are big. What
are they?”

Mamma
shrugged. “
Boh!
I don’t ask.”

“He
sure is good at catching stuff.” Mr. LaCroix appeared at their house several
times a year, leaving packages of venison or whole pheasants or fish that he
caught. Sometimes he brought meat from the rabbits that he raised. Papa was
especially fond of rabbit meat.

Voices
from the outside stairs signaled the approach of Papa and Angie. Connie helped
carry food into the small dining room where Gianna had set the table and was
pouring wine into each glass. Upon reaching the age of fifteen, each child in
the family was allowed one glass of Papa’s homemade red wine with dinner if she
wanted it. None of them refused.

The
family sat down together, said grace, and proceeded to pass the food. Papa did
not approve of talking at the table, and so they kept their attentions on the
meal, beginning with small bowls of Gianna’s pasta and bean soup followed by
plates of fish, braised fennel, and mixed greens. Angie passed Connie the
basket of bread, and when their eyes met, Connie remembered what Frankie
Fiorello had said about her little sister.
Something’s different about her.
She’s not your run-of-the-mill Italian girl.

Connie
glanced at Angie as they ate, pondering what Frankie meant. Angie had always
been smaller of frame than either Gianna or Connie—more like their mother. Her
eyes and hair were as dark as her sisters’, but where Connie’s hair was curly
and often needed taming, Angie’s was straight. Gianna’s, nobody could remember.
She kept it in the damn braids all the time; it could have been anything.

Frankie
was right, of course—Angie was a “looker.” She always had been the cutest of
the three girls, with finer features and more well-defined cheekbones. Still,
Connie couldn’t see what made Angie anything other than a cute
paesana
.
Perhaps it was more about her demeanor, her ability to be comfortable in her
own skin, something Connie and Gianna and many of their friends had yet to
achieve. Angie was intellectual without being awkward, confident without being
cocky. She never put on the tough front that Connie often did, trying to cover
her insecurities. Angie was more grown-up at fifteen than either of her
twenty-something sisters.

“So,”
Papa said, officially breaking the silence as he put down his knife and fork
and reached for his glass of wine, “tomorrow is
festa
. But the store is
open. Who will be here with me?”

“Father
Ianelli’s expecting two of us to sell
cannoli
all day.” Connie glanced
hopefully at her older sister. “Gigi? You want to do it with me?”

Gianna
looked up from her plate. “Me?”

“Yeah.
It’ll be fun.”

Across
the table, Angie stuck out her lower lip in an attempt to look pitiful. “What
about me?”

Connie
laughed. “You can come later. Maybe switch after lunch?”

“You
all go,” Mamma answered. “I will work the store.” She turned to smile at Papa.
“It will be like old times,” she said in Italian. “Maybe we even take the siesta
in the afternoon.”

Angie
cleared her throat and looked away. “Too much information for me,” she said
with a wave of her eyebrows.

“Selling
cannoli
sounds better and better,” Gianna agreed, with an exaggerated
widening of her eyes. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter Two

Saturday

The
three sisters arrived at the
festa
grounds shortly before ten, and the
priest immediately put them all to work—Gianna and Connie in the noisy,
bustling kitchen and Angie outdoors setting up a stand of children’s games. The
fair would officially open at eleven.

Gianna
and Connie carried the
cannoli
shells and supplies out to their booth on
the grassy
festa
grounds, winding their way among the wooden structures
now bearing an array of painted signs, sparkling trinkets, and assorted types
of food. Angie’s colorful stand meant to appeal to small children was
surrounded by teen-aged boys, pushing and shoving each other, vying for Angie’s
attention.

“I
didn’t know teenagers were that crazy about the beanbag toss,” Connie said as
she spread a tablecloth over their booth’s rough-hewn counter.

Gianna
snorted.

“Oh,
I almost forgot,” Connie said. “Aunt Lucretia needs a babysitter tomorrow. It’s
your turn.”

“I
can’t.”

“Why
not?”

Gianna
pulled out the money box and set it on the counter, then opened it and counted
the money inside. “I’ve got a date.”

Connie’s
initial irritation transformed into delight. “You’ve got a what? With a guy?
Who?”

A
small smile teased at her sister’s lips, making her look uncharacteristically
coquettish. “None of your business.”

“Why
not? You know all of my business.”

Gianna
closed the money box and slipped it beneath the countertop. “Yeah, I saw you
with Nino Scarpa yesterday. Are you two a thing again?”

“We
were never a thing. And don’t change the subject. Who?”

Gianna
picked up the stack of napkins and squared them into a neat pile. “You don’t
know him.”

Connie
was thrilled. “He’s not from the neighborhood? Good for you! So, where’s he
from?”

“St.
Johnsbury.”

This
was getting better all the time. “Really? How’d you meet him?”

Gianna
kept her attention fixed on the napkins as though she expected them to reassemble
themselves at any moment. “He went to seminary when Father Ianelli was teaching.”

Seminary?
Connie leaned closer to make sure she had heard correctly. “He’s a priest?”

Gianna’s
expression soured. “Of course not. He dropped out. He never took any vows.”

“How
old is he? Father hasn’t taught there in ten years.”

“He’s
thirty-two.”

Connie
gaped. “Thirty-two?”

Gianna’s
voice was plaintive. “I’m twenty-three, remember?”

“So?
You say that like twenty-three is ancient.”

“Oh,
really?” Gianna’s hurt expression reinforced her tone. “And you don’t think
that’s how you and Mamma make me feel? Like it’s such a big deal that I’m not
married by now?”

Connie
winced. Had she really done that? “It’s only a big deal because you don’t try.”

Gianna
raised her chin. “And who says I have to try? Maybe I don’t want to get
married. Did you ever think of that?”

Connie
found that doubtful. “Is that true? You don’t want to? Because we used to talk
about our plans for when we got married all the time, remember? Before you went
off to that stupid all-girls college.”
The all-girls college.
Why hadn’t
she thought of it before? “Gigi, you’re not—”

Gianna
scowled. “What? One of
them
? No. I can’t believe you would ask me that.”

Connie
took the napkins from her and set them on the corner of the stand. “Why? If you
are, you are. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Well,
I’m not. It’s just … I like my life the way it is.”

Was
she kidding? “You like living with your
parents
, working in your
father’s
store
?”

Gianna’s
defiance returned. “I like being my own person. Reading a book when I feel like
it. Going to a movie. Sleeping in. I don’t have to go do stuff I don’t want to
do because it’s what some guy likes.”

“So
now I’m confused,” Connie said. “Why are you going out with this guy tomorrow?”

Gianna
took the serving utensils from their cardboard box and set them on the
tablecloth. “We’re not exactly going out. He’s visiting Father. I’m just
joining them for coffee in the afternoon. Father invited me.”

“Ah.
You and how many others?”

“Just
me.” Gianna lined up the utensils in a neat row. “I think he thinks maybe we
have something in common.”

Connie
sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was discourage Gianna from meeting a
new guy. “Well, then I guess you won’t be staying with Aunt Lucretia. I’ll have
to talk to Angie.”

“She’s
got plans,” Gianna said quietly.

“
What?”
Connie threw her hands up in disgust. “What kind of plans?”

“I
don’t know.” Gianna looked past Connie toward the entrance to the festa grounds.
“People are starting to come. I’ll go get the filling. Do we need anything
else?”

Their
conversation was over, and for the remainder of the
festa
they were too
busy to talk. During the warm and sunny daytime, the
festa
drew
primarily families. They came for the food and the children’s entertainment and
to buy holy cards and medals and saint-related trinkets that would contribute
money to the coffers of the church.

At
two o’clock, Father Ianelli led the ceremony that concluded with the carrying
of the statue of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel from the church to its outdoor
pedestal. Papa was among the men selected for the honor of carrying the Virgin,
and he stayed just long enough to do his duty and buy two
cannoli
from
his daughters, then headed back to the store.

Suppertime
brought in some families and many couples, including young people ready for an
evening of food, games, and music provided by Cousin Tony’s accordion band.
Other women from the church came to spell Gianna and Connie, and they took the
opportunity to mix with their friends and eat their way from vendor to vendor.
Angie had relinquished her spot at the children’s booth long before to join her
own friends as they milled about the grounds.

Connie
paired up with Nino’s sometimes-girlfriend, Tina, for a game of bocce against
Nino and Frankie, while Paul Cefalu stood on the sidelines with a group of
rowdy friends and bet on Connie and Tina to win. When they did, he gallantly
put his winnings into the mason jar for the benefit of the church, then gave
each of them an extended hug and a kiss on the lips. Connie knew that kissing
her was something he wouldn’t remember the next day—she had seen his glassy
eyes and smelled the beer on his breath—but she savored the sensation of being
wrapped in his arms and the coveted pleasure of his lips on hers and
breathlessly kissed him back.

He
lingered for a moment, his eyes roaming over her face as he gave her his slow,
seductive smile, and Connie’s heart sped up. But then Frankie grabbed Paul’s
arm to pull him away, and he and his friends moved on. Connie chided herself
for thinking that anything more might have come from that meaningless kiss and
went off to find Gianna.

Daylight
was waning. Mamma and Papa arrived, smiling and laughing as they mingled with
their friends and neighbors. Gianna went home with a headache brought on by the
day’s festivities, and suddenly Connie found herself standing alone to one
side, watching the people around her.

The
intense loneliness that overwhelmed her came as a surprise. How could one be
surrounded by friends and family and still feel so terribly alone? She might reproach
Gianna for her lack of a boyfriend, but the reality was, Connie had no one
special, either. She went out now and then, she had plenty of friends, but she
had no one in her life whose presence brought her true excitement, no one to
look forward to being with at an event like this. For a brief moment, she
regretted turning Nino away, but he wasn’t the answer. Neither was Paul Cefalu.

Darkness
had descended. The priest distributed boxes of sparklers and asked people to
pass them around. The strings of colored lights hanging from booth to booth
swayed gently against the night sky as the revelers lit their sparklers with
cigarette lighters or matches or ignited them from one sparkler to another. Brilliant
silvery light illuminated the happy faces of the
festa
-goers around her,
eliciting in Connie an uncomfortable moment of disquiet she couldn’t explain.  Alone
and melancholy, she slipped away from the crowd and headed for home.