The Shoemaker's Wife(75)

Carla balanced a cookie tray on the chimney ledge, while Remo opened a bottle of champagne. Carla handed out glasses as Remo poured.

“To Cristoforo Colombo!” Remo toasted.

Enza took a seat on the bench next to Pappina. She felt an instant affinity for the petite brunette with the sparkling black eyes. Pappina had a warm smile, and her curls reminded Enza of Stella. “You seem so familiar to me. Where are you from?”

“Brescia.”

“I’m from the north too. Schilpario.”

“Way up on the mountain,” Pappina said.

“Almost as high as you can go.”

“Not too many of us from the north,” Pappina said. She patted Enza’s hand. “We have to be friends.”

“I’d like that.”

Enza watched Ciro laugh and talk with Luigi and Remo. She could spend the entire night observing him, and she just might. His strong hands held the glass almost delicately. Happiness animated his entire body, as he threw his shoulders back, feet planted on the ground, and laughed. How lucky the girl who marries Ciro Lazzari, she thought.

Ciro excused himself from the men and joined Pappina and Enza on the bench. Pappina soon excused herself in turn and joined the girls at the edge of the roof. Shrewd Laura had Felicitá deeply engaged in conversation.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ciro said.

“This was all Laura’s idea,” Enza confessed.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re a born leader. I remember a girl who lifted cemetery rocks like she was picking up spare change.”

“I was a sturdy mountain girl then.”

“I like the new version,” Ciro said.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Enza said drily. “You flirt with your girlfriend ten feet from you—on a roof, no less. Don’t you worry she’ll hear you and throw you off?”

“If she did, you’d catch me, wouldn’t you?”

Enza laughed, but couldn’t imagine why. She felt like crying. Maybe it was the cookies and the champagne, but she was filled with both hunger and regret. So much time had passed since she had seen Ciro, and every moment of it felt wasted.

“I miss the mountain this time of year,” he said. “Do you?”

“Stream Vò turns silvery gray, and the cliffs turn from bright green to nutmeg.”

“Do you think anyone but us thinks of Stream Vò?”

“They think the Hudson River is glorious. It’s only beautiful if you’ve never seen the rivers on the mountain. I can’t help it, I compare everything to home.”

“How’s your family?”

“Still on the mountain. Papa took a job in California. How’s your brother?”

“He’s in the seminary in Rome.”

“A priest in the family. You’re blessed.”

“You think so? I’d rather have him here in America with me. But I also know that he is doing what he loves, so I accept it.”

Enza looked off over the rooftops. She was so happy on this old bench in this moment. Ciro was sitting next to her. After years of wondering what that would feel like again, now she knew. She wished the moment could last her whole life long.

It was as if Ciro could sense what she was feeling. “The world just got smaller, didn’t it? You found me again,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t hard. I walked down Mulberry Street.”

“I know, I know, it was an accident. But really, are there accidents? Or does fate determine time and place and opportunity?”

“I don’t know—for a shoemaker’s apprentice you sound like Plutarch.”

“I don’t know him. I read Cellini.”

“Benvenuto Cellini’s autobiography?” Enza asked.

“You know it?”

“I read it on the mountain. My teacher gave it to me. He thought I would grow up to be an artist.”

“And have you?”

“I don’t know. A lot of artists work in factories.” Enza smiled. “And some even make shoes.”

“I’m not nearly the artist he was,” Ciro said shyly.

“But I bet you’re a better man. Cellini was horrible to his wife and children. He was jealous, he maimed and murdered, he practically invented the vendetta. So you’d better stop talking to me and pay some attention to the May Queen, or we’ll see some old Sicilian curses thrown around here like party streamers.”

Ciro laughed. “I like your hat.”

“You would.”

Soon the fireworks filled the sky over Little Italy as swizzles of blue, yellow, and pink exploded on a swath of purple. Ciro and Enza joined the other guests. Enza drank champagne and nibbled on the biscotti with the women, while Ciro smoked with Remo and Luigi as they watched the colors ricochet overhead, an explosion of colored stars as far as their eyes could see.

Enza glanced up at the fireworks, but kept looking at Ciro, as if to memorize every detail of him. What a beautiful man he had grown up to be. No wonder the girls of Little Italy hoped to marry him. The fireworks ended with more colors and more cannon fire, the loud booms rattling Little Italy.

“That’s the show,” Carla said, throwing back the final slug of her champagne.

Enza went to the hosts. “Thank you for a wonderful night,” she said to Remo and Carla. She said her good-byes to Felicitá, Pappina, and Luigi.