Authors: Janice Thompson
I pressed back the smile as I tried to imagine Francesca and Emilio ice-skating together. What would it be like to marry a man twenty-five-plus years your senior?
No time to dwell on that right now, not with so much to do. I had some last-minute purchases to make for Rosa’s reception, including several bolts of fabric to use as a backdrop and gold lamé to use under the centerpieces.
I headed off to the fabric department with Deanna in tow. Francesca settled into a booth at the nail salon, thrilled to finally get her mani and pedi. As I left her, she was trying to converse with a woman whose English was limited at best. Funny, watching a woman from Italy trying to talk to a woman from Asia using the English language as a middle ground. Somehow they made it work.
Deanna and I arrived in the fabric department a couple of minutes later. “I don’t want to spend much time in here,” I explained. “We’ve got to get over to the state park to meet the others in forty-five minutes.”
“Do you think Francesca’s nails will be dry by then?” Deanna asked, grinning.
“Who knows? But we don’t want to miss this.”
“I think a picnic at the beach is a great idea,” Deanna said. “There’s something about the water that’s very healing.”
That stopped me in my tracks. I turned to her. “I feel exactly the same way. Whenever I get really down, I go to the water’s edge and just sit in the sand and pray. Or walk. I can’t explain it, but the rise and fall of the waves … well, it does something to me.”
“Me too.” She nodded and gave me a funny look. “You know, Bella, for two people who’ve hardly ever seen each other, we sure have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, we do.” I smiled at her, not wanting to let the moment slip away from me. “And in case I haven’t said it, I’m so glad you were able to come for Rosa’s wedding. It means the world to her … and to me.”
“You’ll have to come see me next time,” Deanna said. “I can introduce you to—” She stopped herself short of saying Rocco’s name, her eyes filling with tears. She put a hand over her mouth, then pulled it away. “I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting. I’m not dating Rocco anymore, so I can’t introduce you to him.”
“Still …” I tried to make the best of this. “Maybe someday I’ll come to see you and you can show me all of your favorite stores.” I gestured to the women’s underwear department. “Like I’m doing for you. Treating you to the local culture.”
She laughed. “It’s a deal.”
I found the gold lamé at once. I was eyeing the shimmering fabric as Deanna turned my way, her brow wrinkled.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Something wrong?”
“Well, not really. I’ve wanted to ask you something for a couple of days, but I keep forgetting.”
I reached for the bolt of fabric and picked it up. “What is it?”
“Have you noticed something a little … I don’t know … odd going on at the house?”
“What do you mean?” I shifted the bolt to the basket and wheeled it toward the cutting table. “Something to do with Francesca?”
“No. Sal.”
“Sal?” I carried the bolt of fabric to the counter and plopped it down. “What about him?”
Deanna’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think he cares much for Rosa, and I get the feeling Emilio doesn’t either.”
“Funny.” I paused, remembering the look I’d seen on Sal’s face Monday at the restaurant. It had raised red flags, but I couldn’t say why for sure. If Sal didn’t care for Rosa, it couldn’t be blamed on anything she had done. She’d been nothing but kind to him. I hadn’t really noticed anything obvious— other than their initial greeting—but maybe Deanna was onto something here. Sal had seemed a little cold at the restaurant, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t exactly warmed up to Rosa, no matter how hard she’d tried.
I looked Deanna in the eye. “Tell me what you know.”
“Well …” She paused, and her gaze shifted to the ground. “Maybe I’m betraying a confidence here … I don’t know. I just heard Mama and Aunt Bianca talking, and they mentioned Sal saying something inappropriate when Rosa was in the kitchen.”
“Inappropriate how?”
Just then, the woman who cut the fabric returned to the table. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “They needed me for a price check. How many yards?”
“Hmm. Ten, I think. No, fifteen.” I paused. “Better make that eighteen.”
“Honey, I doubt there’s that much on the bolt.”
“Well, whatever you have, then.”
She went to work measuring, and I turned back to Deanna, who pursed her lips.
“I hate to even repeat this,” she whispered. “Since I didn’t hear it for myself.”
“Didn’t hear what?”
For a moment I thought she wouldn’t say, but she finally coughed it up. “Mama said that Sal called Rosa a heifer.”
“W-what?” I stared at her, shocked. “You don’t mean that.”
“I know, it’s awful.” She shifted to Italian as a family with young children passed by. “I asked Mama twice, just to make sure I heard right. She said it could have been taken a couple of different ways, but there was no doubting his meaning. He thinks Rosa is all wrong for Laz.”
“How dare he!” I went into a tirade—right there in the fabric department in Walmart—about how Sal Lucci had no business butting into my family’s affairs. How Rosa had waited for Laz’s affections for fifty years. How she’d finally won his heart, not with her outer beauty, but her inner beauty. And her cooking, of course.
The lady cutting my fabric looked up, concerned. Maybe she thought I was having it out with Deanna or something. I lowered my voice but continued to rant, hardly pausing to take a breath.
Deanna listened to all of this in silence. When I stopped, she nodded. “I know, Bella. I feel the same way. And you should’ve heard Mama. She was beside herself. And Aunt Bianca wanted to tell Rosa what they’d heard.”
“No!” I shook my head. “Never!”
“That’s what I said. So Mama and Bianca didn’t breathe a word.” Deanna paused a moment. “I’ve been worried they might tell your mama.”
“Man, I hope not.” I knew my mother to be one of the godliest women ever, but when it came to her family, sometimes her claws came out. She was sure to do Sal mortal harm once she heard this news. No, we couldn’t let her know. Or Pop. He would forbid Sal from entering our home.
I stopped to think about what a conundrum that would be, what with Sal being the best man and all. I also had to wonder—if Pop resorted to such tactics—if Sal would pull from his list of former mob buddies to retaliate.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Just as quickly, the fear passed. Sal Lucci was just a shell of his former self. Surely most of his former acquaintances were long gone. This wasn’t a physical battle, it was a spiritual battle, and it needed to be fought on my knees, not in back alleys with former mob bosses.
“I don’t like any of this,” I said, looking Deanna in the eye.
“But I’m going to keep it to myself. Well, I might tell D.J. I’m not sure. But no one else.” Right then and there, I decided to pray about this. Surely, if David could take down Goliath with five smooth stones, I could deal with Sal Lucci.
I glanced at my watch and gasped. “Deanna, it’s 11:45. I wasted too much time ranting and raving. We need to get on the road.”
“Okay. Hope Francesca’s toenails are dry.”
We found her in the nail salon, conversing with a woman I’d never seen before. She introduced herself as Kathy Francis, from the west end of the island. Between Francesca’s thick Italian accent, the manicurist’s fast-moving Asian dialogue, and Kathy’s slow-moving twang, they were really something to hear. Talk about multicultural!
Thankfully, it took only a few minutes for Francesca to slip on her sandals and pay. I noticed that she left a hefty tip—twenty dollars. Man. I would have offered to do her nails myself for that kind of money.
We quickly paid for our purchases and set off on our way. As I drove up the seawall, I found myself lost in thoughts about Sal Lucci. Much as I wanted to be angry with him, I realized his opinions—however wrong—were not Laz’s. And surely Laz was man enough to stand up to him, should the need arise. Not that I expected anything from Sal. Not really. Surely he wouldn’t stir up trouble this close to my aunt and uncle’s big day. Right?
My cell phone rang, and I glanced down, happy to see D.J.’s number.
“You on your way?” he asked when I answered.
“Yeah, we just left Walmart.”
Something in the tone of my voice must’ve tipped him off. “Everything okay, Bella? You sound kind of … mad.”
“I’m mad all right, but I’ll calm down by the time I get there.”
“Not mad at me, I hope.”
At once my voice softened. “No, not at all. Sorry to scare you. I’m just upset at something Sal did.” I lowered my voice, not wanting to raise suspicions. Francesca was happily chatting with Deanna in Italian about her cuticles, so I was safe.
“Ah. Well, you want to tell me about it?” D.J. asked.
“Maybe at the park. I’m hoping to have some alone time with you.” Not that I wanted to spend my few minutes of alone time with my sweetie pouring out my heart about Sal Lucci. No, I needed my private time with D.J. just to be with him. Nothing more.
“We’ll still take that walk on the beach. Sound good?”
“Perfect.” I ended the call, feeling better about things. D.J. always had that effect on me.
Deanna, Francesca, and I arrived at the park at 12:05, just as the Rossi caravan pulled in. As we got out of the car, I noticed Deanna had brought her bathing suit.
“Girl, it’s fifty-four degrees outside,” I said. “No one swims in December!”
“Well, I do.” She laughed. “Besides, fifty-four degrees isn’t cold. We swim in much colder water than that sometimes.” We joined the others, and Francesca looked at Deanna with a horrified expression on her face. “You’re actually going to get in that disgusting water? Have you looked at it?”
“Hey, now …” I turned to her, wondering at her outburst. What was it with this woman? One minute she was happily conversing with strangers, the next she was insulting the Gulf of Mexico?
Make up your mind, sister. Either you’re nice
or you’re not.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down. Likely this thing about Sal had me more worked up than I needed to be. Maybe I thought—based on the little bit Deanna had said back there at the store—that Emilio and Francesca were somehow in on this too. Were they all conspiring against Rosa? If so, I really might come out swinging.
Lord, calm me down. I’m like Sister Jolene—I’ve slipped
out from under the anointing.
Francesca crossed her arms at her chest and stared me down. “Bella, how long has it been since you’ve been to Italy?”
I shrugged. “Hmm. I think my only trip was in fifth grade. So, maybe nineteen years?”
“Do you remember the Mediterranean at all?”
“Vaguely.”
Francesca’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “Well, most never forget it. The water is ice blue. And the colors of the buildings along the shoreline are magnificent in comparison. There’s nothing like it.”
I sighed, knowing she was right but not willing to concede. “The Gulf of Mexico might not be the Mediterranean,” I said, “but if you take a boat out a few miles, the water gets bluer as you go. And where the gulf merges with the Caribbean … well, you’ve never seen waters that color. Indigo. And warm as sunshine, even in December.”
“Humph.” She went back to examining her nails.
Laz slipped his arm around Rosa’s waist and gave her a kiss in her hair. I happened to catch a glimpse of Sal just a few feet away, taking this in. His jawline was tight, but he said nothing.
That’s right, mister. You’d better keep your
thoughts to yourself.
D.J. arrived at 12:30, just as we set up the food on a couple of the carefully chosen picnic tables. Mama and Rosa had prepared meatball sandwiches along with some pasta salad. Yum. We drank sweet tea with our meal, and I smiled as I watched Deanna react to it.
“Whoa!” She held up the glass, a stunned look on her face.
“Yeah, I know.” I laughed. “D.J.’s mama calls that glucose tea. Don’t drink it if you have a blood sugar problem.”
“I might if I drink this whole glass.” Deanna grinned, then took another swig. “We sure don’t drink it like this in Napoli.”
We enjoyed a wonderful lunch together, but I found myself distracted, wondering what D.J. wanted to talk to me about. After we ate, I gave him one of those “let’s sneak away from the crowd” looks, and he responded by rising from the table and stretching. He winked, then spoke to anyone who might be listening. “I’d like to see the water before I have to go back.”
“Good idea,” I echoed, grabbing him by the hand. “See you guys later.”
And we were off to the sand, where I pulled off my shoes and ran my toes along the edge of the cold water. Then I stopped and turned to face the mighty Gulf of Mexico, breathing in the salty air. D.J. came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, leaning his head against mine. We stood frozen in time and space, just staring. The waves pulled in and out, doing their usual thing. I found myself caught up in the rhythm of it all, thinking about how much our lives were like that—ins and outs, goods and bads. Thankfully, more good than bad.
After a few moments, D.J. broke the silence. “I have something to tell you,” he said. “Something I hope you’re going to like.”
“Oh?” I turned to face him, and the wind whipped a loose hair into my face.
D.J. brushed it aside, his fingertips lingering against my cheek. “You know I have a lot of friends in the construction business.”
“Sure.” I gazed at him, more curious than ever.
“Well, one of them—a guy named John—told me a couple of months ago about this old house in town, just a few blocks from your parents.”
This certainly got my attention. “Yeah?”
“Bella, when I say old, I mean old. It survived the hurricane of 1900.”
“Hmm.” I hated to speculate. I’d seen several of those older homes, and they rarely impressed me. Well, except the ones that had been overhauled.
“Anyway, it’s been vacant ever since Hurricane Ike hit. The owners abandoned it, and the county took it over once back taxes became an issue. So I found out that I could get it for a song.”