The Supreme Macaroni Company (26 page)

There was so much to do quickly, it was overwhelming. Gabriel was a lifesaver. He figured out how to get the family here from Italy. He made the beds and filled the refrigerator and watched Alfie.

My mother and sisters took care of the rest. They apply the same care to everything they do. They helped plan travel, lodging, and food. They printed up the programs and made runs to the airport. They did everything they could do for me, and didn’t feel like they could do enough.

I was two people the week Gianluca died. I got on the floor and played with our baby, and then I would turn away and cry for this little girl who would never have her father.

I slept in his T-shirt. I slipped my feet into his giant shoes. I held his wedding ring. I wore it on my thumb until, afraid of losing it, I wore it around my neck. I read every e-mail he’d sent and every one he’d received. I took a check that he had signed in his checkbook and put his signature next to his photograph on the mirror.

I went into the bathroom and put his toothbrush and razor in a ziplock bag and put it in my dresser. I sniffed the cologne in the bottle but did not dare spray it. It would have to last the rest of my life.

I went into the kitchen and examined the receipt of the last things he’d purchased at the grocery store. What good would it do me to know that he’d bought a bar of dark chocolate and three oranges? But I had to know. I had to know everything.

I went through pictures and pictures. I listened to his phone messages. I went through his phone and printed out all the pictures he had taken of Alfie and me. I printed out the last photo he took with Alfie the morning he died.

I was keeping busy, finding proof that we had loved each other and that what we had was real. I had to know where every wedding picture was. I demanded that my sisters go to their houses and print out every photo they ever took of him and me and the baby. I was bossy and insufferable and miserable. I was learning how to be a widow.

Gianluca’s funeral took place on December 20, 2012, at St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral on Mott Street. It was five days before Christmas. There was a Christmas pageant and a concert. In the midst of all this celebration, my husband needed a proper funeral.

The crèche outside the church had been set in straw and lit in the manger. Lifelike Mary and Joseph, the sheep, and the Gloria angel, but no baby Jesus, because that was placed in the crèche on Christmas Day. There was a gaping hole in the scene, and it bothered me that the baby was not there. I wanted the holy family in full, all three of them, for the funeral. Alfred arranged it with the priest.

Inside, Old St. Pat’s had the scent of evergreen and blue spruce. It was decorated for Christmas, but the Advent wreath remained. My husband’s casket was set amid the anticipation of Christmas. There was something right about that, but it did nothing to make me feel redeemed. My daughter wriggled in my arms through the mass. I wanted her to be there, so someday, when she asked, I could tell her she was present.

Chiara and Charisma read the Prayer of Saint Francis aloud. All those devotional cards I had bought up on our last trip to Assisi had been distributed through the family and had some meaning for us now. The girls took turns reading from the cards we had brought from our vacation.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life

At the end of the mass, the priest asked anyone who wanted to speak to come forward. My brother gave a eulogy. Cousin Don spoke. Orsola chose not to, but I decided to say something. I didn’t think I could, but when I thought of Alfie, I thought she deserved to have her mother speak about her father. So, I told this story.

“One day, Gianluca was cutting leather in the shop. And we got in an argument.

“I was building a pair of shoes, and we began to speak about where art comes from. And he told me the story of the shoemaker and the elves, the Italian version.

“It turns out, he told me, that elves were not real. It was the shoemaker who, when he laid out the leather and lay down to dream, was actually dreaming the shoe, and he built the shoe from the picture he had in his mind. It wasn’t magic. It was knowing what you needed to do and finding the will within yourself to create it.

“I believed in the elves. I believed that when you were most weary, most down on your luck, the poorest you could possibly be, you couldn’t do it on your own. You needed help. And today I am right.

“Dominic, you gave me the gift of your son. He loved you so much. The thought of losing you was so terrible he couldn’t think about it.

“Mirella, thank you for taking such good care of Orsola. The loss of her father is terrible, and you are always there for her.

“My family. Without you, I don’t know how I would have gotten through the events of the past few days. You carried me and Alfie. Thank you.

“The man we love, Orsola and Alfie’s father, Matteo’s father-in-law, and Francesco’s Nonno, is in heaven. Now, I know this for sure, because a better man never lived. He was kind, he was funny, he was talented, and he could make things with his hands.

“He loved everyone in this room, even when we didn’t love him.

“I leave you with the words of my husband, which he wrote to our daughter on the day she was born, one year ago tomorrow. He wrote:

Alfie, you are a miracle. I have a baby girl. I am so happy! I had one before, you know, Orsola. You will love her very much. You are named for your grandfather, your mother’s father, and my mother. I still cannot speak about my mother. I miss her too much. But I will be sure and make an exception when it comes to you. I will tell you all about her, Alfreda Magdalena, because it is a mother you can’t live without. A mother who will sustain you. And a mother who knows your heart better than you will ever know it yourself.

Ti Amo,

Your Papa
 

12

I
was thinking of June Lawton as I put out the silver coffee urn on the server in our dining room. We’d had her funeral luncheon here, and the mourners were a ragtag bunch of Village eccentrics offset by the health nuts that she met at Integral Yoga.

Aunt Feen came charging toward me in her funeral/wedding/Sunday black suit. She smelled like mothballs and Aqua Net.

“I can’t believe this happened to you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, I was reminiscing as I was sitting in church. And I remembered that wonderful car ride when Gianluca drove me home from Jersey that Christmas. He was so handsome and tall. He had to push the seat so far back with those long legs of his. I had a crick in my neck from turning to talk to him. But I’ll remember it forever. He was so chatty that night.”

“Yes, he was, Aunt Feen.”

“Came into my house. It was the only time he was in it.”

“Yep.”

“Hey, you need anything, you tell me.”

“Just pray for me.”

“I never miss a novena.”

The house was beginning to fill with mourners. I’d done enough of these, and attended enough, to know that it would become loud, there would be laughter, and people would try and forget their sadness with food and conversation. Alfie would know it as another day when her family was over for dinner. She sat on Dominic’s lap. Her grandfather was very familiar to her. She kept grabbing his nose, just as she had Gianluca’s. After a while, Dominic gave her to me with a quick kiss.

Dominic got up and went into the hallway that led to the stairs to the roof. When I saw him go, I handed the baby to Gram and followed him.

He had pushed the door open and walked across the roof. There were about two inches of snow on the roof. It looked like a white carpet. Dominic went to the edge, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

“Dominic? I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what I will do.”

“You will hold on to Gram. And Orsola, and Francesco, and Alfie and me. That’s what you’ll do.”

“We spoke every day.”

“I know.”

“He was such a good son.”

“He wanted to move us home to Italy, you know.”

“Yes, yes, but you had the factory.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t just live in your house with you for this year.”

“Nothing could have saved him.”

“I don’t know. That air in Arezzo is a pretty good healer.”

“It is.”

“Dominic, is there anything you need from me?”

“No, nothing.”

“There must be something.”

“I would like to have a funeral in Arezzo.”

“That’s beautiful. We’ll be there.”

“A mass.”

“Of course.”

Dominic was trying to tell me something, but he couldn’t seem to ask me for what he needed.

“Dominic, do you want me to bring Gianluca home?”

He began to cry. He nodded that he did. “I didn’t want to ask,” he said.

“But he’s your son. He belongs with you. He belongs at home.”

“Thank you.”

When it comes to the Vechiarelli men, a woman has to be a mind reader. They will never come out with what they want. You have to guess until you hit it. And when you hit it, it is so completely worth it.

“Gianluca told me so much about you. And he loved his mother so much. Will you do something for me?”

“Of course.”

“Will you write down the story of how you met Magdalena? What she looked like, why you chose her, why she chose you?”

“Yes, I will do it.”

“Gianluca and she were very close.”

“Very close.”

“Come on. It’s cold out here. The last thing you need is the flu. Gram will kill me.”

Dominic kicked the dusting of snow off his shoes before going back down the steps. I had turned to pull the door shut when I saw a shard of blue peeking through the snow by the fountain of Saint Francis. I went to it and brushed my hand across the stone.

PALAZZO VECHIARELLI was revealed beneath it. I leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to regain my composure. I had to fight my instinct not to blame myself for everything that had gone wrong, every argument we had up to the moment he died. I was ashamed that I was not wise, and angry that I had not given him every small thing he wanted. He deserved that and so much more.

The house was overflowing with mourners. I saw Orsola and her husband standing against the wall by the windows. Orsola was bereft. She watched as her son ran around the room. Matteo chased Francesco through the crowd.

When I saw that Mirella had been pulled away by Aunt Feen, I seized my moment and invited Orsola back to the bedroom.

“How are you doing?” I asked her.

“Terrible. And you?”

“You know how it is. We have babies to take care of.”

“It helps.”

“Orsola, you know, I still have my dad, so I don’t know how you feel. But I worry about losing my father, and I understand how awful the thought of it is.”

“There is nothing to be done.”

“We did everything we could.”

“I know.”

“Your dad loved you so much, and he thought about you every day.”

“I wish he could have been in Italy with us, but he wanted to be here with you.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt the stab of regret anew, and had a feeling that it would be the first of many.

“Nobody gets everything they want, Valentina.”

“I can’t say that. I had everything.”

“You know, he was so nervous that we might not get along. My father came to ask me if it would be all right to ask you to marry him.”

“You must’ve said yes.”

“He said something very wise. He said a man should not be alone. I was so happy when you married him because I knew he’d never be alone.”

“I did everything I could. I wasn’t perfect. But I loved him. And I married him for many reasons but mostly because of you. I saw how you turned out and I said, this must be one special person who could raise a daughter like you.”

“Thank you, Valentine.”

Orsola’s eyes fell on the nightstand and the framed photograph of Gianluca and his mother.

I handed it to her. “Here, you take this. Your father loved this photograph. It’s your grandmother.”

Orsola closed the stand on the frame and held the picture tightly to her chest.

I opened Gianluca’s closet. “Come here, Orsola. You take whatever you want. However much you want.” I pulled a new duffel from the floor of Gianluca’s closet. “Here, you fill it. And if you need another, it’s right here.”

“Anything I want?”

“Anything.” I handed her a jewelry case. “I kept a pair of cuff links for Alfie. But you take the rest. You have a husband and a son, and they will need to remember your father.”

Orsola’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You’re too kind. I wanted something of my father’s, but I was afraid to ask.”

“Here’s the deal. If you leave here without something tonight and you want it, I’ll bring it to you. I made copies of all the photographs he took. There are many of you through the years.”

“I thought they were lost.” She wiped away her tears.

“I put them all on a disc for you. I had to do something. And so I collected everything I could.”

Orsola put her arms around me. “I love you, Valentine.”

“No matter what, you will always have us. And I want Alfie to grow up with Francesco, and all the many babies you’ll have down the line. We have to stay close. We’re family.”

There was a soft rap on the door. Mirella opened it.

“May I come in?” she asked.

Mirella came into the bedroom I’d shared with her ex-husband. It had to be strange for her to be there, because it was strange for me. She didn’t sit on the bed with Orsola and me. She perched instead on the end of the chaise.

“Mama, Valentine gave me all of Papa’s jewelry. And she told me to take whatever I wanted.”

Mirella looked at me gratefully. “Thank you, Valentine.”

“I’m going to check on Francesco,” Orsola said. For the first time, I was alone with Mirella.

“The funeral was lovely,” Mirella said, looking at her hands.

“I’m sorry your husband couldn’t make it, but I understand. It’s difficult.” Then it was my turn to look at my hands.

“They never really liked one another.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Massimo is a very rigid person, and he drew a very sharp line. He didn’t want to be at any event where Gianluca was in attendance.”

“That’s too bad.”

“No, it’s fine. Orsola had her parents together, and that’s what mattered.”

“I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Of course.”

“Did you know that Gianluca had a heart problem?”

She nodded that she did. “The doctors said it might not ever be an issue. But Gianluca was not one to go to doctors. He thought he knew best about his health.”

“I couldn’t get him to go for a physical. I really didn’t want to marry an Italian.”

“So stubborn.”

“I knew what I was in for, but he proved to be a very good husband and father.”

“Alfie is a beautiful little girl.”

“He loved her.”

“I wanted to have a second baby with him. It just didn’t happen for us. Sometimes I think if the baby would have come, it might have changed the end of the story. But it wasn’t my story to change. You see, you were meant to have your baby, and the plan unfolded exactly as it should have.”

“Do you have any regrets?” I asked her.

“Too many. But you don’t think your ex-husband will ever die. If you did, you’d never divorce him.” Mirella’s eyes filled with tears. I gave her a tissue. I understood what it was to make a baby with someone. Of course she loved him, and she always would.

Divorce and separation are just labels. There is no finality in a divorce in an Italian family. The connection remains. Just as we believe in the afterlife, an eternity of time where souls never die, so we believe the bonds we share with one another here sustain us through everlasting life.

Once family, always family. And once a wife, forever one, even in divorce. I had to share Gianluca with Mirella. It was the Italian way.

I wandered through the reception, trying to get my bearings, but I was numb. My mind raced as people expressed their sympathy. As they spoke, I did not hear them. I was planning to pack quickly and take Alfie and go to Santa Margherita Ligure and find him there. I believed that he was there waiting for me. I wanted to believe this was all a misunderstanding. It couldn’t be true.

Don Pipino put his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Valentine.”

“Thank you, cousin.”

“Gianluca was a great man. He wanted to give you everything you wanted. Including our factory.”

“He worked hard on it.” I didn’t want to talk about the factory. I didn’t want to talk about work. I just wanted my husband back.

“You know, Carl cut us a deal on the building, but the bank wouldn’t give us the money to transport the machinery from Argentina. And that cost more than the building.”

“Don, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“But I’m trying to tell you something. Gianluca had a house in Italy somewhere. He sold it to finance the move of the equipment.”

“He did what?”

“He sold a house.”

“Don, how do you know this?”

“I knew. Your brother knew. Bret knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t they?” My mind raced. Would this have made a difference? Did selling the house break his heart? Did my refusal to move to Italy cause him to give up any hope of returning? Had I denied him the breadth of his dreams, when he had made all of mine come true? “Oh my God.” I collapsed into a chair.

Don kneeled next to me. “Hey, hey, he wanted to make it happen for you. He told me that anytime he could make you happy, it was double happiness for him.”

“I’d do anything to have him back. Anything to be in Santa Margherita with him right now with Alfie. If only one of you would’ve told me the truth.”

“Would it have made any difference, Valentine?” Don looked at me.

“Well, yes—I would’ve done everything differently.”

“And if his fate was to die young, you now control fate?”

“No, of course not.”

“Hey, I lost my wife too. The worst part of being a widower is going over all the things you would’ve done to make them happy, to make them stay. But I learned one thing in the process. If I had died first, she would have tortured herself with the same thoughts. So stop it. Appreciate what he did for you. Don’t be angry at the people who put the factory together so you could have your dream. Besides, Gianluca swore us to secrecy. He said by the time he had to tell you that he’d sold the house, you wouldn’t care anymore. You’d have your factory, and that was your real dream.”

I couldn’t speak.

“He was a special guy. He didn’t want to burden you. He wanted to make your life easier. He knew your plate was full, and he wanted you to enjoy the meal, not be overwhelmed by it. I’m so sorry, kid.”

Jaclyn and Tess moved across the room. I must have looked like I needed shoring up. “Get me out of here,” I said to them softly. The next thing I remember is Gabriel coming into our room, holding a cup of tea, with my sisters draped on the bed beside me.

“I’m going to kill Aunt Feen,” Gabriel said as he handed me the tea. “I saw her put a place setting of your silver in her purse.”

“She’s stealing from her own niece?” Jaclyn sat up, mortified.

“On this day of all days?” Tess was horrified.

“It gets worse. She told me there was twenty in it for me if I didn’t say anything.”

The thought of that made me smile. “Did you take the twenty?”

“Damn right.”

G
abriel made me an appointment with K. Cazana, a world-renowned psychic. He did this not because he believed in psychics, but because he was trying to find some way to help me. I’d become a shell of a person in the first few weeks after Gianluca died. I wandered through my days tethered to the world by a shaky thread of complete and utter disbelief.

I felt I had no purpose. Alfie provided a reprieve from my haunted days and nights. Luckily, she was surrounded by family. She was so used to being with my parents, or with Tess and Jaclyn and their children, that not much in her life had changed. I dreaded the day I would have to explain where her father had gone.