Love & Gelato(4)

Sonia cut into the lasagna, placing a big gooey square right in the center of my plate. “Help yourself to bread and salad. Buon appetito.”

“Buon appetito,” Howard echoed.

“Buon appe . . . something,” I mumbled.

The second everyone was served, I picked up my fork and attacked my lasagna. I knew I probably looked like a wild mastodon, but after a full day of nothing but airline food, I couldn’t help myself. Those portions were miniature. When I finally came up for air, Sonia and Howard were both staring at me, Howard looking mildly horrified.

“So, Lina, what kinds of things do you like to do?” Sonia asked.

I grabbed my napkin. “Besides scare people with my table manners?”

Howard chuckled. “Your grandmother told me you love running. She said you average about forty miles a week, and you’re hoping to run in college.”

“Well, that explains the appetite.” Sonia scooped up another piece, and I gratefully held out my plate. “Do you run at school?”

“I used to. I was on the varsity cross-country team, but I forfeited my spot after we found out.”

They both just looked at me.

“. . . When we found out about the cancer? Practice took up a lot of time, and I didn’t want to leave town for all the meets and stuff.”

Howard nodded. “I think the cemetery is a great place for a runner. Lots of space, and nice smooth roads. I used to run here all the time. Before I got fat and lazy.”

Sonia rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You couldn’t get fat if you tried.” She nudged the basket of garlic bread toward me. “Did you know that your mother and I were friends? She was lovely. So talented and lively.”

Nope, didn’t tell me that, either. Was it possible I was falling prey to some elaborate kidnapping scheme? Would kidnappers feed you two pieces of the best lasagna you’d ever had? And if pressed, would they give you the recipe?

Howard cleared his throat, snapping me back to the conversation. “Sorry. Um, no. She never mentioned you.”

Sonia nodded, her face expressionless, and Howard glanced at her, then back at me. “You’re probably feeling pretty tired. Is there anyone you want to get in touch with? I messaged your grandmother when your plane arrived, but you’re welcome to give her a call. I have an international plan on my cell phone.”

“Can I call Addie?”

“Is that the friend you were living with?”

“Yeah. But I have my laptop. I could just use FaceTime instead.”

“That might not work tonight. Italy isn’t exactly on the cutting edge of technology, and our Internet connection has been pretty slow all day. Someone’s coming by to take a look at it tomorrow, but in the meantime you can just use my phone.”

“Thanks.”

He pushed back from the table. “Would anyone like some wine?”

“Yes, please,” Sonia said.

“Lina?”

“Uh . . . I’m kind of underage.”

He smiled. “Italy doesn’t have a drinking age, so I guess it’s a little different around here. But no pressure either way.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Be right back.” He headed for the kitchen.

The room was quiet for about ten seconds, and then Sonia set her fork down. “I’m so happy you’re here, Lina. And I want you to know that if you need anything, I’m just a stone’s throw away. Literally.”

“Thanks.” I trained my eyes on a spot just over her left shoulder. Adults were always trying too hard around me. They thought that if they were nice enough they could make up for the fact that I’d lost my mom. It was kind of sweet and horrible at the same time.

Sonia glanced toward the kitchen and then lowered her voice. “I wanted to ask you, would you mind stopping by my place sometime tomorrow? I have something I want to give you.”

“What?”

“We can talk about it then. Tonight you just focus on settling in.”

I just shook my head. I was going to do as little settling in as possible. I wasn’t even going to unpack my bag.



After dinner Howard insisted on carrying my suitcase upstairs. “I hope you like your room. I repainted and redecorated it a couple of weeks ago, and I think it turned out really nice. I keep most of the windows open in summer—it’s a lot cooler that way—but feel free to close yours if you’d prefer.” He spoke quickly, like he’d spent all afternoon rehearsing his welcome speech. He set my bag down in front of the first door.

“Bathroom is right across the hall, and I put some new soap and shampoo in there. Let me know what else you need and I’ll pick it up tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And like I said, the Internet’s been pretty spotty, but if you decide you want to try it out, our network is called ‘American Cemetery.’?”

Of course it was. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”

“Wall of the Missing. One word.”

“?‘Wall of the Missing,’?” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a part of the memorial. There are a bunch of stone tablets listing the names of soldiers whose bodies were never recovered. I can show you tomorrow if you’d like.”