The Good Left Undone(115)

“I don’t know when, Ida. But it’s getting closer.”

Ida leaned in. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you?”

“I have what I need. I’m home. I have a nice wheelchair. Better than a Maserati. Keeps me right here, where I belong. That ocean is my salvation. It’s been my constant companion, you know. My mental health. I come out here and talk to God. I’ve been doing it all my life. How lucky I am. I grew up in this house, I raised my family here, and I will die here.”

“You Cabrellis with the villa. How many houses did Hitler bomb in Viareggio, and this one made it! Do you ever think about that?”

“That Nazi bastard got me good in other ways, so let’s not get too excited about what we didn’t lose.”

“Did you hear about Bim? He dropped dead last night. You remember Bim? He was in our class. He was a looker. I always thought Bim looked like Robert Redford when he was young.”

“How does he look now?”

“Robert Redford? Better than Bim. He looks like The Way He Was.” Ida laughed at her own joke.

“It’s awful to get old.” Matelda sighed. “They’re fussing over me.”

“Let them. At a certain point, you get to be our age and look around the room and you realize that you’ve changed the diapers of every person that is taking care of you. So if they want to get you a cookie, or help you take a bath, let them. As long as they don’t drop you.” She checked her watch. “I have to go. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“My feet. My toes are so bad—when I’m barefoot, they look like I’m wearing the shoebox instead of the shoe.”

“Are they that bad?”

“You will never know.” Ida stood. “My feet are the only thing that’s wrong with me, but feet are a big one. You need them to get around.” Ida gave her a hug. “Do your exercises. Lungs are a big one too. You need them to breathe. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“What else have I got to do?”

Matelda heard Ida chatting with Anina inside. She sipped a short breath and another. She coughed. She tucked her hands under the blanket and raised her face to the sun. Ida Metrione Casciacarro was a good friend. Time spent with her was never wasted. They had kept busy at church. They volunteered as tour guides at the Villa Puccini. They went out to lunch, and when Ida was in the mood, she’d join Matelda on a walk through the village. They kept each other in the loop, but mostly Ida helped her remember. There are many gifts a friend brings to a woman’s life. History. Empathy. Honesty. Lucky was the woman who kept a childhood friend because that friend remembered what you looked like, who you were, and your people. Lucky was the woman who had a friend from the age of ten, when girls were brave, gutsy, and full of questions and had the time and pep to seek the answers. That friend knew who you really were. That friend had seen your soul.



* * *





Nicolina joined her mother in her bedroom. She carried a tray with a cup of chamomile tea and a few of Ida’s cookies on a plate. She set it on the dresser before going to her mother’s bedside. “I gave Anina the night off.”

“Do you think she’s seeing Paolo?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Don’t worry about her.”

“All I do is worry,” Nicolina admitted.

“Don’t. It gives you wrinkles. Besides, Anina will do what she wants. She follows her heart and has a good sense of direction, from what I can see. When she realizes that she has the answers she won’t look to Paolo to make her happy. She will commit to being an artist.”

“Is that how it works?” Nicolina smiled.

“Yes. Until the end of time.”

Nicolina pulled the table close to the bed and placed the tray from the dresser on it.

“So, it’s your shift?”

“Yes, Mama. How am I doing? I’m not a nurse, you know.” Nicolina straightened the blanket and fluffed the pillows. She handed her mother the cup of tea.

“It’s in the genes. A life in medicine skipped my generation, but I thought it would get yours. Remember that doll hospital you used to run?”

“They were just dolls, Ma. There was no blood. Do you want me to raise the headboard?”

“It’s fine. I don’t want you to wait on me.”

“I like it. Mama, you took care of me all my life; this is the least I can do.”

“You have been a wonderful daughter. You have been a good mother too, Nicolina.”

Nicolina turned away. She wiped the tears from her eyes on her sleeve before turning back to her mother. “Thank you.”

“Don’t cry,” Matelda said.

“Too late,” Nicolina said. “I waited twenty-five years for you to tell me that, Mama.”

“You should’ve asked. Who waits around for a compliment? Ask for it. Then take it. And when you do, you realize you knew the truth all along and you didn’t need anybody else’s opinion in the first place. No one has to tell you that you did a good job.”

Nicolina laughed through her tears. “You know what? You’re right.”

“Is there anything you wanted that you didn’t get?”