The Good Left Undone(120)

The platinum brooch with sapphires went to her daughter-in-law, Rosa.

The gold earrings from Domenica’s childhood went to her granddaughter Serena.

“Help me with the clasp, Giusto.” Ida leaned over as Giusto snapped Matelda’s pearls around her neck.

The ruby cuff links made and worn by Silvio went to her grandson Giacomo.

The gold pocket watch that Pietro gave to Domenica when she was banished to Marseille went to Giusto Figliolo. The note read, Dear Giusto, I hope you live to be one hundred.

Matelda’s wedding band, which had belonged to her mother, Domenica, from John McVicars, the diamond from Olimpio, and the aquamarine bracelet and earrings went to Nicolina.

The Vatican medal bestowed upon Olimpio and Matelda by Pope John Paul II for their service went to Matteo.

Silvio’s San Antonio medal went to Arturo.

Silvio’s watch went to Giorgio—For my wonderful son-in-law.

Netta’s wedding band went to Nino’s daughter, Anna.

The aventurine watch fob that was given to Domenica on her engagement to the captain went to Anina.

The Speranza ruby went to Olimpio—Please, Olimpio, do something with this ruby. It’s time. When I see Speranza and Agnese in heaven, I am certain they will ask.

“Anina, this is also for you,” Nicolina said.

“But I already have Bisnonna’s watch fob.” Anina opened the second envelope and looked inside.

“What is it?” Ida said gently.

Anina read the note aloud.


When you marry someday, offer this wedding band to your husband. It belonged to my father Silvio, who you know now was my stepfather. I never knew my father, John McVicars, and Silvio Birtolini Cabrelli spent his life trying to make up for that loss. My papa Silvio kept his own counsel all his life when he had no reason to believe in himself. Born poor, without a father to claim him, he could have taken the wrong path. But his mother, Vera Vietro, taught her son to love no matter how poorly he was treated. I was not of his bloodline like my good brother, Nino, but Papa never made me feel that I wasn’t, nor did Nino, for that matter. When you choose a husband someday, choose wisely. This gold band was worn by the man who chose to be a Cabrelli.



* * *





Nicolina stood in her stocking feet in her mother’s kitchen, rinsing the final platter from Matelda’s funeral luncheon. “That was the longest day of my life.”

“It just feels like that, Mama”—Anina took the platter and dried it—“because you had to talk to so many people. You had to read Nonna’s letter. No one knew how hard it was for you to speak in public. You did a good job.”

“Grazie. When I die, please don’t tell anyone I still had social anxiety when I was fifty.”

“It will be the first line in your obituary.” Anina climbed the step stool. Nicolina handed her the stack of clean dishes. “I can’t believe how many people turned out for Nonna today.”

“Mama was loved in this village. Seventy-seven years is a long time to live in one place.”

“I wish you would’ve named me Matelda. It’s such a pretty name.”

“I gave you a family name. I named you for Uncle Nino. Sort of. We were close when I was little, and I always said I’d name a child after him. But Mama and her brother were feuding when Giacomo was born, so I named him after the Tizzi side. When you were born, I thought if I named you after Uncle Nino, it would heal the rift between my mother and uncle once and for all. That’s where I got the name Anina. But even that didn’t work. Mama and Uncle Nino put each other on the island through the years as though they bought a time-share on it.”

“The island?”

“That’s what we called the place Mama sent her brother when she wasn’t speaking to him. I never told you about it because I didn’t want you to pull that nonsense with your brother.”

Anina laughed. “We get along just fine. The only island we go to is Ischia for the annual clam festival.”

“Keep it that way.”

“You could have named me Domenica.”

“Do you want to change your name?”

“No, I just think it’s odd that we don’t have a Domenica in my generation.”

“There’s a good reason for that. When I was seven or so, and Matteo was ten, Mama got pregnant. She told me that if the baby was a girl, she was mine, and if it was a boy, it was Matteo’s. We were always competitive, but this was ridiculous. We both wanted another sibling, and we waited for that baby like it was Easter Sunday. Anyhow, Mama went to the hospital, and when she came home, she didn’t have a baby. We found out later that she had a little girl, but she was stillborn. Mama had named her Domenica.”

“Poor Nonna.”

“And here’s the crazy part. I loved my baby sister, Domenica, and I never met her. Now, how can that be? How can you love someone that you don’t know and never will, but they are as real to you as anyone in your family?”

“Nonna loved her father the sea captain, and she never met him. She cried when she told me about him. So I guess you can love someone you’ve never met.”

“She cried?”

“She did.”

“I can count on one hand how many times I saw my mother cry. When she came home from the hospital, she cried when she dismantled the bassinet. It was white wicker and she had covered it in tiny yellow bows. It took her days to make the bassinet.”