The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(100)

“I know,” I say, and swallow the knot in my throat. “Poppy taught me this.”

She sniffles. “I was proud of you today, the way you stood up to Nonna. Screw the store! You’re going places, Em, mark my words.”

My chin quivers. “But, Dar, you could have more, too.”

She gives a wan smile. “Nah. I’m okay with the store. I get to set my own hours, come and go as I please. Who else is going to let me do that?”

I smile. She’s right. Nonna spoils Daria, her fellow firstborn daughter.

She scoots her chair back and rises. “I better get back to work.” She nods at the suitcase beside the door. “And you need to get to the train station.”

My nose stings and I know, without a doubt, I would stay here forever if my sister asked. But luckily, she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls me into a hug. It’s not the tepid hug I’ve grown used to. It’s a Daria full-body squeeze. Tears blur my vision. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it feels, a sister’s love.

“I love you, Dar.”

I feel her crying softly. “I love you more.” She turns to leave. “Call me when you get to Ravello.”

“Wait, Dar. I have something for you.”

She lifts the gloves from the kitchen counter. “I opened them earlier. They’re gorgeous, Emmie.”

I reach into my pocket. “I meant this.”

She stares down at the medal in my palm. Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, her prize possession. She closes my palm around it.

“Mom would want you to have it. And so do I.”

She kisses my cheek and closes the door behind her.





Chapter 53




Emilia

Ravello

The evening sun spills over the Gulf of Salerno, mopping the rooftop in pinks and golds. It’s hard to believe that just two days ago, I was at work in Bensonhurst, and now I’m here with Lucy and my grandparents, feasting alfresco on a rich seafood stew heaped with clams, sea bass, and herb pesto. A half dozen candles flicker in the breeze. My nonna Poppy is wearing a flowing, lemon-yellow caftan, with what looks to be a double strand of brightly painted Easter eggs around her neck. Her wig is freshly styled and she swears she’s feeling grand.

As I watch Lucy steal a clam from Rico’s plate, I wonder, could she and I have continued faking it, pretending we were people we weren’t, in order to be accepted? Before Poppy introduced us to Italy, I wasn’t even aware of my discontent. I might have spent the rest of my life in Bensonhurst, seemingly happy. But now I realize, living in Emville is like wearing a see-through blouse with three-inch heels. I could certainly do it if I had to. But all the while a part of me would feel conspicuous and uncomfortable and a million miles from my true self. I suspect my cousin would agree.

Rico opens another bottle of Taurasi Riserva, and we three listen as Lucy tells us how she broke the news to her parents.

“Carol freaked, as expected. But my dad took it like a champ. Who knew?”

Rico smiles. “One of life’s loveliest moments is witnessing another person’s grace.”

His statement is laced with German, and Lucy scowls. Poppy pats her hand. “He said that it’s a wonderful surprise, discovering that your father’s not the judgmental prick you thought he was.”

We burst out laughing.

“Right?” Lucy says, high-fiving Rico. “And he’s convinced ol’ Carol will come around, once she picks herself up from the floor.”

“Perhaps all along,” I say, my gaze pinned on Poppy, “they were waiting for you to tell them the truth they already knew.”

My heart ricochets against my chest. Since we arrived last night, I’ve been dropping hints, hoping Poppy will tell me the truth, reveal that she’s my grandmother, and Rico my grandfather. Our time together is measured now, and we’ve wasted so much already.

Poppy smiles and gazes out at the mango sunset, ignoring my not-so-subtle comment once again. “For fifty-nine years, I prayed for this,” she says. “Another Ravello sunset.” Her face glows in the waning sunlight. “I’d like one more Tuscan sunset, too.” She locks eyes with Rico. “Please, take some of my ashes to Trespiano, when the time comes?”

He rubs her arm. “Whatever you wish, mio unico amore.”

Despite her glow of love, her newfound energy, she’s still dying. I’d almost convinced myself otherwise. They deserve more time. We deserve more time. Does she not want me to know the truth? Does she not wish to call me her granddaughter?

Rico raises his glass, lightening the mood. “To sunsets . . . and, more importantly, sunrises.”

“Salute,” Lucy says.

My hands quake when we clink our glasses, and I try to tamp down my frustration.

“I’ll say good night now,” Poppy says, rising.

Wait! I want to scream. Why have you kept the truth from me, from my mother, all these years? She’s nearly to the steps when I can stand it no longer.

“Can we talk?”

She pivots, and for a brief second, her eyes flash with fear. “Of course,” she says breezily. “Another day.” She waves her fingers at us. “Ta-ta for now.”

I jump to my feet, my heart thundering. “I know what happened.”