Say Ye (8 page)

“Yes and the only one who knew how to handle you. Lita’s a sweet girl and I’m happy we’ve found her, that she’s my cousin. I want to believe this could change everything for the better, but just as easily things could fall apart completely.”

“I don’t need the voice of doom and gloom. What’s happened to you? You used to be the cheerful one.”

“Don’t use that tone with her, Enzo,” Carlo said. “Who are you to blame Sophia? Maybe she’s tired of the drama. My family has our share of problems, but we--”

“I won’t be spoken to like that in my own house. You know the way out. Goodnight,” Uncle Enzo said before he walked out.

Sophia sighed. She and Carlo said goodnight and went downstairs.

Lorenzo followed Uncle Enzo, who had entered his old room, the master bedroom, down the hall. Lorenzo glanced at the paintings of the Amalfi coast, where his parents were born and where Uncle Enzo still owned a villa and lemon groves. He would go there, maybe build a new life for himself. Over five thousand miles from Lita. He knew even that wouldn’t be enough. He’d already tried.

Uncle Enzo stood in the empty room, staring at his shoes. He turned when Lorenzo’s footsteps swished on the carpet.

“Your aunt Angela would love that girl.”

Lorenzo nodded. “We all miss her.”

“Having Lita here will be good for us all, like getting a little bit of Angela back.”

Uncle Enzo faced him and studied him. Lorenzo willed his face to become mask-like, but he saw from Uncle Enzo’s knowing expression he had seen the truth.

“I better go.” Lorenzo walked down the hall, Uncle Enzo behind.

“Leaving Pete to carry all Lita’s things?”

“I don’t think she has that much.”

“How would you know?”

“Fine, I’ll stay. Then I won’t have to come back tomorrow. We can talk business now.”

“No, it’s been a long day. I want a cup of coffee.”

Lorenzo knew this was an implicit request, so he trotted downstairs and went into the kitchen, where he got out the coffee and started the espresso brewing. Uncle Enzo entered a few minutes later and sat at the wide old oak table, which Aunt Angela used to knead bread dough on, or help him with homework when he was in elementary school. She had decorated the whole house and it showed especially in the bright kitchen, with its sandy white, lemon yellow, and Mediterranean Sea blue tiles, ample counter space, large white appliances, and ironwork handles on the many cabinets and drawers. Lita had still been exclaiming over it when he’d arrived a few hours before. She and Sophia had prepared angel hair pasta with roasted tomatoes and garlic and a mixed greens salad for dinner. He hadn’t seen Lita so happy in years. He had to give her this.

The front door creaked open and heels tapped across the hardwood floors.

“Lita,” Lorenzo said. He glanced at her with his blank expression before he turned to Uncle Enzo. “I’ll go help Pete.” He brushed past her, so close he had to grit his teeth and hold his breath a moment, but her scent followed him to the door, suffusing him with warmth.

He helped Pete carry the few boxes and suitcases upstairs.

“Wasn’t Lee home?” Lorenzo asked as they stacked the last of the boxes in a corner.

“Yeah,” Pete said. “He came with us to her mom’s to get those boxes. That woman is something else.” Lorenzo nodded. “I guess he stayed there to talk to her. Neither one of them seems too happy with Lita moving in here. But she’s excited about it. She can talk almost as much as Aunt Sophia, but more questions.”

“She was always like that,” he said.

He wanted to ask Pete more, wanted to tell him all about Lita and how enthusiastic she used to be, how curious she’d been when they talked about something she wanted to know about, like his family’s second home in Italy. But Lita and Uncle Enzo’s voices sounded closer.

“I’ll see you around,” he said.

Pete raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just lifted his hand in goodbye. Lorenzo jogged downstairs, passing Uncle Enzo and Lita as they reached the top.

“Are you leaving?” Uncle Enzo said.

Lorenzo continued down. “Yes, I’ll be by in the morning to talk business,” he said over his shoulder, not looking at them. Uncle Enzo said goodbye but Lita said nothing.

The next morning, Lorenzo arrived early, just after eight. He walked into the kitchen and stopped. Lita hummed while she poured a cup of coffee. She wore a pale pink cocktail dress with matching heels, her dark hair pulled back in a loose twist. He smoothed his hands over his pockets to dry them.

“Good morning,” Uncle Enzo said. He thanked Lita for the coffee, which she set in front of him. She glanced at Lorenzo, her cheeks like cherry blossoms.

Lorenzo turned to Uncle Enzo. “We’re supposed to go over business today, remember? Unless you’ve changed your mind, I thought I’d leave next week.”

“Very well.” Uncle Enzo rose and he and Lorenzo excused themselves. Lita offered to make them some breakfast and took out pans and eggs as they walked into the hall.

“You think that’s a good idea, Lita staying here?” Lorenzo asked. They sat in Uncle Enzo’s study, his uncle behind the wide old walnut desk while Lorenzo sat in the leather chair facing it.

“Why not?”

“Her family doesn’t like it.”

“We’re her family too.”

“I think I’ll be in Italy for a while.”

“Why? My business won’t take very long.”

“I know.”

“If you stay away too long…didn’t you hear what Carlo said about Lita and Joe?” Uncle Enzo tapped on his desk with a pen.

“I heard,” Lorenzo said. His jaw clenched. “Maybe he’s right,” he whispered.

“I’d like it,” Uncle Enzo said as he took out his files.

Once they were done, he and Lorenzo walked into the foyer.

“I should go,” Lorenzo said.

“Lita’s made breakfast.”

Lorenzo shrugged and followed him into the kitchen. Lorenzo inhaled the smell of the peppers and onions, mixed with eggs, some garlic toast on the side--his uncle’s favorite. Uncle Enzo thanked Lita and they sat together. Lita picked at her fruit salad, Lorenzo and Uncle Enzo ate without a word.

“You’re going to Italy?” Lita asked Lorenzo as she rose to clear the table.

Lorenzo stood and helped her. He breathed deeply, but only the citrusy scent of the dish soap and the lingering aroma of breakfast surrounded him.

“I leave in three days. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His temples tightened.

“I thought you were just going to deliver your father’s ashes?” she said as Lorenzo dried the dishes she washed. Her voice wavered. Better a small hurt now than what he might cause if he stayed. He felt like a robot, his movements mechanical and stiff.

“No, I have other business. No reason to be here, either.” He twisted the towel in his hand. He was a low, lying—all the more reason to stay away.

“Oh,” she said as they finished. She dried her hands on a dishtowel. “I’ve got to get my purse. If I don’t see you, have a good trip.”

Lorenzo watched Lita walk out.

“Call me if you think of anything else,” he said to his uncle. Again he let his longing for Lita shimmer briefly before his eyes dulled. Uncle Enzo raised an eyebrow.

“Won’t you be here for Sunday dinner? Everyone will want to see you before you go.”

“I don’t think so.” Lorenzo waved and walked out.

6

Lita waited, her hand on the downstairs bathroom’s glass doorknob. The front door banged shut. She took a few shaky breaths. Then she exhaled slowly and went into the kitchen. No reason to stay, Lorenzo’d said. She’d hoped their kiss, the promise of more, was enough. She focused her vision on Uncle Enzo, who stood and smiled back at her.

“Shall we?” Uncle Enzo asked.

Lita nodded. They went out arm in arm to visit Celeste D’Angelo. Maybe Lita could help Uncle Enzo, since she couldn’t seem to do anything for herself.

Celeste wasn’t in the market, but her daughter-in-law Eva showed them upstairs, where Celeste sat in the living room, sewing on a shirt button. She greeted them politely and when she blushed for a second, Uncle Enzo stood taller and smiled his most charming expression. Lita knew then her hunch was right--Uncle Enzo liked Celeste as more than a friend. The three sat and talked about the wonderful discovery, the neighborhood news, and their families. Lita was interested to find out that the DeGrazias and D’Angelos had known each other back in Italy and that Celeste and her husband as well as Uncle Enzo and Aunt Angela had all moved to San Francisco in the nineteen fifties. But when she asked more about the family ties, Uncle Enzo changed the subject. After an hour, they rose to go. Lita hugged Celeste.

“Will you join us for Sunday dinner?” Lita said. She glanced at her uncle, whose face lost about ten years off it in his broad smile.

“I can’t speak for my family, but I would like to, thank you,” Celeste said before she asked if she could bring anything. Lita looked to Uncle Enzo.

“Only yourself,” he said.

On the drive home, Lita tried to question Uncle Enzo about the D’Angelos and Celeste, but, like Lorenzo, he wasn’t open with much information. Still, she knew she was right about Uncle Enzo’s feelings for Celeste, especially when Celeste called that evening to ask if her family could come with her on Sunday. Uncle Enzo’s frown proved Lita’s suspicion that he would prefer Celeste to join them without the watchful eyes of her family on him. She knew how he felt, as she wished she could get Lorenzo alone again. Maybe he would come to dinner on Sunday to say goodbye. Until then, she would just hope. She didn’t have it in her to try and contact him again.

She spent the next few days with Uncle Enzo, talking about the family, learning their likes and dislikes and routines, discovering her new home and neighborhood. She appreciated the view of the bay from Uncle Enzo’s house on the hill, where she could also look down on her new church and the buildings where the rest of the family, and Lorenzo, lived. Still, it all seemed a blur to her, as if her brain was too overloaded to take in anything else.

She tried every night to think of some part of the neighborhood, like D’Angelo’s market with its metal shelves of Italian imports, bakery and deli cases, tall glass door refrigerators with prepared meals, and mural of Celeste and her husband’s hometown, painted by her son, Paul, who had passed away over ten years before.

Yet every landmark she recalled only ended in a flash of Lorenzo. His apartment was down the street from D’Angelo’s Market, he had been baptized at the church, he used to play in the park as a boy, he had Uncle Enzo’s stature and Janice’s grimace. He pervaded every place and every person reminded her of him. She had to forget. Her new family would be enough for her, for now.

On Sunday, she went to church with Uncle Enzo then returned home to start preparing for her first family dinner. She cleaned. She had convinced Uncle Enzo they didn’t need a maid anymore. The living room and dining room shone from her polishing, a vague hint of lemon lingered, and the bathroom and kitchen sparkled, though she was about to dirty the latter again.

She flapped a large white tablecloth over the gleaming surface of the cherry wood dining room table, set it with freshly ironed linen napkins and the everyday dishes, since it wasn’t really a special occasion, like a birthday or holiday. The fruits depicted on the white plates were cheery and Lita smiled as she placed wine and water glasses and silverware around the table. Almost everything in the house was what she herself would choose and she blinked, wishing she could have met her aunt, the woman Uncle Enzo said she was so like. And her father…considering Jane’s hateful reaction to her move, she suspected she might have known the truth all along, known her family was Lorenzo’s family too. Of course, Jane denied this and, so far, Lee changed the subject every time she brought it up. One part of her drifted while another felt anchored in a new spot.

She scanned the table one last time before running to greet Sophia and Carlo. The three of them worked together in the kitchen while Uncle Enzo made some calls in his study. The bright blue curtains were pushed open to let in the bright August light, the cool breezes, and the noises of cars and people arriving. Carlo took the tray of antipasti, with its rows of marinated red and green peppers, carrots, salami, olives, and mushrooms to the living room as Lita and Sophia started on dinner. They sliced bread and poured olive oil into little dishes, fanned slices of fresh mozzarella and heirloom tomatoes on a platter and sprinkled them with basil leaves from the garden, all the while chatting about Sophia’s various jobs, from bookkeeping at DeGrazia Distribution to heading church committees, and her in laws, the D’Angelos, who Lita would meet next Sunday. They hadn’t wanted to overwhelm her this first time.