The Good Left Undone(108)

“We won’t be the young couple who builds a family together,” Domenica said wistfully. “I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”

“You gave me a family. There is nothing else I want. And now that I have it, I will protect it for the rest of my life.” Silvio reached into his pocket and handed her a small box.

Domenica opened it and lifted out a ring. Silvio placed it on her finger.

“This ring is the symbol of our new life,” Silvio began. “The blue sapphire for Il Tirreno, the purple amethyst for the thistle of Scotland, the yellow citrine represents the Italian sunflower, and the diamond is the clean slate. We have one, you know, as we begin again. We can choose to be happy together. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She kissed him.

“I cut the stones just for you.”

“I will never take it off,” Domenica promised. “What can I give you?”

“It’s not customary for the bride to gift the groom. But there is something you can give me. Our family needs a real name, not one my mother chose from a list. A barrister in Firenze made up the surname Birtolini for a boy without a father to claim him. We will be a family when we’re married, and our family deserves a name worthy of it. I want to be a Cabrelli, if you’ll have me.”

Domenica was elated. She kissed him again. “We shall be Cabrelli.”

The newly engaged couple walked home arm in arm to share the news with Netta, Pietro, and Matelda. They were waiting with cold champagne and cake because Silvio had already sought their permission before he proposed. All that was left for Domenica Cabrelli to do was to be happy.



* * *





Matelda slept in her bed in the alcove. Domenica gently brushed powdered sugar off her daughter’s cheek before kissing her. Domenica hoped that Matelda was happy about the engagement and not just about having cake before bedtime.

Domenica reached into her closet and pulled out the hatbox where she kept important papers. She opened it and lifted out a stack of letters tied with a white satin ribbon. She tiptoed past her parents’ room and down the stairs. She pulled on her coat, tucked the letters inside her pocket, and walked to the beach.

The firepits of Carnevale had died down; all that remained were circles of blue flames scattered along the beach. Domenica stood in front of the black ocean, holding John’s letters. She held the only proof of their love. She had imagined, before Silvio came back into her life, that she would hold on to John’s letters and read them when she needed reassurance that he had loved her, married her, and given her Matelda. Otherwise, what had happened between them would fade entirely like a dream.

John McVicars had been a squall that blew through Domenica Cabrelli’s life. She learned that time could not be the measurement for the things that lasted. Sometimes what endured was that which changed us in a matter of moments, not years. John had not lived long enough to disappoint her, nor had they been married long enough for her to fail her husband. There had been no need for forgiveness; their time together had been brief.

John Lawrie McVicars had returned to the sea to live among the characters of myth, and the vagabonds, hustlers, and saints who found refuge in the deep. His spirit was protected by the granite waves that hemmed the rocky shores of northern Scotland. He no longer belonged to her.

Domenica threw his letters into one of the fires. A wind whipped up on the beach, igniting the paper. The letters soon burst into purple flames. The delicate paper formed tendrils of black ash, which floated out of the fire and into the air, where the wind carried them out to sea.


VIAREGGIO

Now

Matelda sat at the dining room table writing a letter. She folded it and placed it inside the stationery box.

“What are you writing?” Anina asked.

“Thank-you notes,” Matelda said.

“I’m terrible about writing those.”

“I know.” Matelda shot her granddaughter a look.

“Mama, I brought you fruit,” Nicolina said on the way to the kitchen.

“Enough. I’m going to turn into a papaya.”

“It’s on the list of foods the hospital recommended.”

“Did you eat their food? They should not be handing out lists telling people what to eat,” Matelda complained.

“Mama, Nonna is telling me the best stories.” Anina straightened her grandmother’s bedroom slippers on the footrests of the wheelchair. “I know the history of all of Nonna’s jewelry.”

“Good, because I don’t,” Nicolina teased them. “I kept meaning to sit with you and write the stories down. Now we have the time.”

“Do we?” Matelda said softly.

“Don’t be morbid, bella,” Olimpio called out from the kitchen.

Anina sat down across from her grandmother. “I wonder what happened to Domenica’s engagement band. The one with all the colors? I didn’t see it in the box.”

“That’s because I don’t have it. My mother was buried wearing it. It was her wish. I never told anyone about that ring until you, not even Nino. Of course, I was afraid he’d charge me for his half.”

“He must have wondered where it went.” Nicolina sat down with them.

“If he did, he never asked. A son might not come around much after he takes a wife, and he’s not much help taking care of the elderly parents, but he rarely wants anything material when the parents pass away. Patrizia didn’t ask for anything either.”