The Good Left Undone(25)

Thursday, March 3, would be a day to remember in a life calendar full of important dates to celebrate. He closed the folder, placed it into a large envelope, fastened the brads shut, and placed it in his briefcase for Matelda’s co-signature. He lifted the bakery box from the back seat. He got out of the car and made a dash for his front door as quickly as a fit man of eighty-one could move, which in his case was impressive.

“Nonno!” Anina embraced her grandfather as he came off the elevator. She helped her grandfather out of his soaked raincoat.

“My perfect day just got better.” Olimpio kissed his granddaughter.

“Perfect? You’re soaked!” Matelda observed from the kitchen doorway before returning to the stove.

“And I didn’t melt!” Olimpio turned to Anina. “Have you been here all day?”

“All day. I chose an old watch for my wedding and Nonna doesn’t want to give it to me.”

“I will talk to her,” Olimpio said quietly. Anina brought her grandfather’s wet coat and briefcase to the powder room to dry.

When Anina returned, Olimpio smiled. “So you know the story.”

Anina nodded. “Nonna opened up the family vault in more ways than one.”

“Don’t make it sound like a prison sentence, Anina,” Matelda called out cheerily.

“It wasn’t at all, Nonna. Your food is better.” Anina followed her grandfather into the kitchen. “Although they take your phone in jail and Nonna took mine.”

“I gave it back, didn’t I?” Matelda said sweetly.

“I don’t want to know why you were punished,” Olimpio said to his granddaughter as he handed Matelda the bakery box—“Buon Compleanno”—before kissing her.

“Grazie.” Matelda smiled as she opened the box filled with her favorite sfogliatelle, pastries made from paper-thin layers of dough filled with sweet ricotta, in the shape of a seashell, sprinkled with sugar and drizzled in honey.

“Nice. Biagetti’s?” Anina looked in the box.

“Who else? They’re family.” Matelda placed the box on the counter.

“What happened to your face?”

“A seagull attacked her,” Anina answered before her grandmother could.

“Those birds can be vicious when they’re hungry.” Olimpio examined the scratch on Matelda’s cheek. “Especially after the tourists have fed them during Carnevale.”

“She wouldn’t put on ointment, but I made her, and she refused to go to the doctor.”

“Sounds like you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Mama?” Nicolina Tizzi’s voice blared through the intercom speaker, startling them. “I’m here.”

“Is that how I sound when I call up?” Anina laughed. “It’s like the loudspeaker on the beach.”

“Olimpio. Please fix that thing. It scares me.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it. Remind me later.” Olimpio sighed.

“Come up, Mama,” Anina said into the intercom.

Matelda put her arms around her husband. No matter the time of day or night, Olimpio’s neck smelled like peppermint. His beard was always trimmed and the thick white hair on his head was neatly cropped. His dress shirt was as crisp as it had been that morning when he took it off the hanger, even after a full day of work, even after the downpour. “Thank you.”

“What did you make for dinner?” He pulled his wife closer still.

“Orecchiette. Fresh peas. Mint.”

“My favorite dish on your birthday?”

“She wouldn’t let me make dinner, Nonno.”

“Nothing to it.” Matelda drained the pasta and peas into a colander. The steam fogged her eyeglasses. Olimpio removed them for her so she could proceed with her task. “All went well with your meeting?”

“I have the paperwork with me.”

“Congratulations. You worked hard.”

“We worked hard,” Olimpio corrected her. “Your signature is as important as mine.”

Anina marveled at her grandparents’ partnership, as Matelda sprinkled olive oil on the orecchiette. She crushed mint leaves over the oil before she gave the bowl to her husband. Olimpio grated cheese over the pasta.

“Happy birthday, Mama.” Nicolina kissed her mother.

“You’re wet.”

“It’s still raining.” Nicolina kissed her father and daughter. Nicolina’s black hair was damp and streaked with silver. She had her father’s delicate features and her mother’s upright posture. She was a policeman’s wife, which meant she hoped for the best but was practical about dealing with the worst. Their son, Giacomo, had just joined the carabinieri, so her anxiety had doubled. Anina took her mother’s coat and hung it in the powder room.

“Where’s Giorgio?” Matelda asked.

“When it storms, they need him on the autostrada. Giacomo is working the desk at the precinct. Sometimes they’re assigned the same duty. Not tonight.”

“It was rough out there,” Olimpio confirmed as he placed the bowl of pasta on the table. “I got off the autostrada and took the back road. With the fog, it might have been worse.”

“This bad weather is far from over. Giorgio is not pleased. Long hours for the carabinieri. Excuse me.” Nicolina went to the powder room.