Love & Gelato(2)

“Mom, that doesn’t even make sense. Why would I go live with a stranger?” I jumped up and started rifling through the drawers in her end table. There had to be a paper bag somewhere.

“Lina, sit.”

“But, Mom—”

“Sit. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to make it. Your life will go on, and it’s going to be great.”

“No,” I said. “You’re going to make it. Sometimes people recover.”

“Lina, Howard’s a wonderful friend. You’ll really love him.”

“I doubt it. And if he’s that good of a friend, then why haven’t I ever met him before?” I gave up on finding a bag, collapsing back into my chair and putting my head between my knees.

She struggled to sit up, then reached out, resting her hand on my back. “Things were a little bit complicated between us, but he wants to get to know you. And he said he’d love to have you stay with him. Promise me you’ll give it a try. A few months at least.”

There was a knock on the door, and we both looked up to see a nurse dressed in baby blue scrubs. “Just checking in,” she sang, either ignoring or not noticing the expression on my face. On a Scale of One to Tense, the room was at about 100/10.

“Morning. I was just telling my daughter she needs to go to Italy.”

“Italy,” the nurse said, clasping both hands to her chest. “I went there on my honeymoon. Gelato, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, gondolas in Venice . . . You’ll love it.”

My mom smiled at me triumphantly.

“Mom, no. There’s no way I’m going to Italy.”

“Oh, but, honey, you have to go,” the nurse said. “It will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

The nurse ended up being right about one thing: I did have to go. But no one gave me even the tiniest hint about what I’d find once I got there.





Chapter 1




THE HOUSE LOOMED BRIGHTLY IN the distance, like a lighthouse in a sea of headstones. But it couldn’t be his house, right? We were probably just following some kind of Italian custom. Always drive newcomers through a cemetery. That way they get a feel for the local culture. Yeah, that must be it.

I knit my fingers in my lap, my stomach dropping as the house got closer and closer. It was like watching Jaws emerge from the depths of the ocean. Duuun dun. Only it wasn’t a movie. It was real. And there was only one turn left. Don’t panic. This can’t be it. Mom wouldn’t have sent you to live in a cemetery. She would have warned you. She would have—

He flipped on the turn signal, and all the air came rushing out of my lungs. She just didn’t tell me.

“Are you okay?”

Howard—my dad, I guess I should call him—was looking at me with a concerned expression. Probably because I’d just made a wheezing noise.

“Is that your . . . ?” Words failed me, so I had to point.

“Well, yes.” He hesitated for a moment and then gestured out the window. “Lina, didn’t you know? About all this?”

“All this” didn’t even come close to describing the massive moonlit cemetery. “My grandma told me I’d be staying on American-owned land. She said you’re the caretaker of a World War II memorial. I didn’t think . . .” Panic was pouring over me like hot syrup. Also, I couldn’t seem to finish a single sentence. Breathe, Lina. You’ve already survived the worst. You can survive this, too.

He pointed to the far end of the property. “The memorial is that building right up there. But the rest of the grounds are for the graves of American soldiers who were killed in Italy during the war.”

“But this isn’t your house house, right? It’s just where you work?”

He didn’t answer. Instead we pulled into the driveway, and I felt the last of my hope fade along with the car’s headlights. This wasn’t just a house. It was a home. Red geraniums lined the walkway, and there was a porch swing creaking back and forth, like someone had just gotten up. Subtract the crosses lining the surrounding lawns and it was any normal house in any normal neighborhood. But it wasn’t a normal neighborhood. And those crosses didn’t look like they were going anywhere. Ever.

“They like to have a caretaker on-site at all times, so they built this house back in the sixties.” Howard took the keys out of the ignition, then drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “I’m really sorry, Lina. I thought you knew. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now.”

“It’s a cemetery.” My voice was like weak tea.

He turned and looked at me, not quite making eye contact. “I know. And the last thing you need is a reminder of everything you’ve been through this year. But I think you’ll find that this place grows on you. It’s really peaceful and it has a lot of interesting history. Your mother loved it. And after being here almost seventeen years, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

His voice was hopeful, but I slumped back in my seat, a swarm of questions taking flight in my mind. If she loved it so much, then why didn’t she ever tell me about it? Why didn’t she ever talk about you until she got sick? And for the love of all that’s holy, what made her leave out the teeny-tiny detail that you’re my father?