The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(21)

My dad comes up beside me and sets his plate on the counter. “Eight days in Italy. That is a long time to be away from the store.”

“Yup.” I snatch his plate and blast it with spray. “And it’s actually ten days, if you count the travel.”

He does a quick perusal of the kitchen, then bends to my ear. “I’m happy to take care of Claws while you’re gone.”

I turn to look at my father, and see the twinkle in his eyes. My mouth falls open. I want to kiss him. I want to throw my arms around him and thank him and tell him I love him. But that would be too awkward. Instead, I smile. “Thanks, Dad. I thought I’d ask Carmella if she’d like to stay at the apartment. It’s easier on Claws.” I don’t mention the fact that my single cousin, who still lives with my aunt Carol and uncle Vinnie, would probably kill for her own space, if only for ten days.

“Sure,” he says and turns to leave.

“But Dad?” He looks back. “Thank you.”

He squeezes my shoulder and disappears from the kitchen.

I’m filling the kitchen sink when Matt appears. “You were amazing,” he says, surprising me by bending down to kiss my cheek.

I twist away, uncomfortable. “Thanks. Hey, go back out there, will you? I need to know what they’re saying about me.”

He turns to leave, but not before I see the disappointment in his eyes. “Shit,” I whisper. I plunge my hands into the sudsy water and I set about scouring a cast-iron pot. Suddenly, a cold hand grips my elbow. I jump, showering the counter with tiny bubbles. Through my steamy lenses, I see my nonna’s pinched face. She leans in so closely I can smell the espresso on her breath.

“You went against my wishes. You made this decision without telling me.”

Um, maybe because I’m twenty-nine years old, and I’m long overdue to start thinking for myself. But I swallow the brazen words. “I didn’t think you’d let me go,” I say truthfully, and dry my hands.

“This is right. I would not have allowed it. Not now. Not ever.” She turns away and covers her face, her way of displaying emotion without shedding a tear.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you, Nonna.” I put a hand on her shoulder and she flinches.

“You have hurt me, Emilia. Very, very badly.”

“I’m sorry. But I don’t understand.”

She looks away and swabs her dry eyes with a tea towel. “No, you do not understand. How could you? You do not know the story.” Her eyes return to mine. “My sister is il diavolo.”

“The devil?” I chuckle. “No, Nonna. She’s really nice now. You should call her, talk to her.”

“You are a fool!” The vein in her forehead bulges, and I fear she’s going to keel over with a stroke. “Paolina tried to take my child from me, my Josephina. She tried to snatch my baby girl right from my arms.”

The kitchen goes cold. “Au-Aunt Poppy tried to kidnap my mother?”

“Sì.”

I shake my head. “How? Why?”

She pats her heart, making a thumping sound. “I cannot talk about it.”

“That was decades ago,” I say, trying to convey a confidence that I’m not feeling. “Surely you believe in second chances. She’s your sister.”

“You listen to me, Emilia Josephina.” Her eyes narrow and she points her arthritic finger at my chest. “No more talk of Italy, not with that woman. I forbid it.”

I try to lose myself in cleanup and conversation and Chianti, but by afternoon’s end, Nonna’s words have sunk in, and with them, a fog of doubt. Poppy tried to steal my mother from Nonna’s clutches. No wonder Nonna is so bitter. Just who is this woman I’ve agreed to travel halfway across the world with?

The five o’clock sun casts shadows on the small patch of grass out front. I wander onto the porch, where Uncle Dolphie sits smoking a cigar, gazing out at the passing cars.

“Uncle Dolphie,” I say, perching beside him. “Is your sister evil?”

He taps his cigar, then shakes his head. “Nah. Not evil. Just mean.”

I laugh. “No, not Rosa. I’m talking about Poppy.”

“Paolina?” He lets loose a heavy sigh. “That one broke my heart. She was sunshine in our home, my favorite sister. She loved to play tricks on me. Always she would find lucky coins. And her imagination!” He lifts his hands. “Endless! She would take me into the fields and we would pretend to be orphans, running away from an evil monster. I think it was our father she was imagining. You see, our papà, he was hard on Paolina.”

“Was he hard on Nonna, too?”

“Yes. That was his nature. But everyone knew he favored Rosa, his firstborn daughter. She was a pretty girl before she came to this country, and she had a loving heart. It is as if America leached the kindness from her.”

“You said Aunt Poppy—Paolina—broke your heart. How?”

He groans, as if a steel vest has been placed upon his shoulders. “When Paolina came to America, she lost her mind. I was back in Italy, still living in Trespiano with Mamma and Papà. Rosa and Bruno sent letters. It was very hard for my parents to learn that their daughter was so ill.”

“Was this when she kidnapped Rosa and Alberto’s baby?”