The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(87)

Visiting hours are almost over, and Jan and Elene have gone to retrieve the car. Lucy and I step from the room, allowing Poppy a private good night with her sleeping prince, one that very well could be their last.

While Lucy meanders up and down the hallway, talking to Sofia on Poppy’s phone, I tap open my text messages. It’s midafternoon in New York, and Matt’s probably out on a job. How can I possibly put the week’s events into words?

So much to tell you, MC. My aunt met the love of her life today. We’re staying in Ravello until he . . . I swallow hard and say a silent prayer . . . recovers.

I press send, then punch in Carmella’s number. As I predicted, my sweet cousin is thrilled to continue staying at Emville, taking care of Claws.

“Stay as long as you want, Emmie,” she tells me. “Now, sit back while I catch you up on my life. Do you have a minute or thirty?”

“We’re getting ready to leave and I need to call my dad.”

“No worries,” she says. “Just know that I’m loving life in Emville. Claws is cranky as ever. We’ll talk when you get home.”

Finally, I make the call I’ve been avoiding all afternoon. My dad answers on the first ring.

“Thank God you’re home.” I imagine him behind the meat counter, shouldering his flip phone while he replenishes sausages for the after-work customers. “Your nonna can finally rest. Are you coming in today, or will I see you at home?”

My heart thumps. “I’m still in Italy, Dad. Lucy and I are staying here with Poppy.”

Through the phone, a heavy sigh escapes him, one he’s likely been holding for the past ten days. “No. Emilia, be reasonable. You must get back now. Let Lucy take over from here.”

“Aunt Poppy needs me.”

“Your nonna needs you, too. She is expecting you at work. You must be respectful of her.”

I gaze past the open door of room 301, where my aunt cups Rico’s sleeping face in her hands.

“One who demands respect will never command it.” Out of nowhere, the statement comes to me, a “Poppy-ism” if ever there was one. My chest puffs with pride.

“What are you saying?” my father asks.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I say. “I’m staying here as long as Poppy needs me.”



* * *





The October moon is full tonight, illuminating the road as we wind our way back to Ravello. Poppy sits between Lucy and me in the backseat, her head pressed against my shoulder. A soft ballad plays on the radio, and I say a silent prayer of thanks. Poppy and Rico shared a moment, however fleeting. What a trip this has been. We, all three of us Fontana second daughters, found love. The still-cynical part of me wonders whose, if any, will last.

Lucy turns to Poppy in the moonlight. “Can I ask you something, Pops? Those letters you brought, the ones Karin returned to you, they were mailed from Italy. What about the letters you wrote from the US? You think he ever got those?”

“I never sent a letter from America. I was too ashamed.” She lets out a sigh. “You see, a mother has one job: to protect her child. I couldn’t tell Rico that I had failed that singular task, not in a letter.” She turns to the darkened window. “It would have to wait until I saw him in person.”





Chapter 45




Poppy

1961

Ravello, Amalfi Coast

Rosa stepped from the bus the second day of August, a shawl draped over her shapeless gray dress. She looked different—older yet softer—than the last time I’d seen her, six months earlier. Her face was full and her eyes somehow wiser. And her figure had become lush, with ripe hips and large breasts. She caught me gawking and her face turned pink.

“I have been eating too much pasta,” she said.

“You do not fool me. You are pregnant!”

Her eyes flooded with tears and she crossed herself. I pulled her into a hug. “We are both having babies, like we’d always dreamed!”

“Stop. Please. Can we not talk about this yet? It is your time now.”

I understood. After trying for so long to get pregnant, she was afraid she might jinx it. “You look gorgeous,” I told her. “Alberto will be mad for you.”

This time she did not turn anxious at the mention of his name. “Alberto is writing to me every week. He is very excited for me to come to America.”

I smiled at my sister. “Of course he is.” I patted my round belly. “I appreciate you being here for the baby’s arrival.” And I was. But my gratitude was tempered by disappointment. In my heart, I believed Rico would be here when I gave birth. My faith was wavering. Was he alive? “Have I received any mail from Rico?”

Even though he should have known to write to me here in Ravello, I held my breath, hoping against hope she’d say yes.

“A letter arrived last month.”

My heart nearly leapt from my chest. “He still thinks I am in Trespiano? Where is it? Let me see!”

She shook her head. “Papà found the letter before I could hide it. He was livid. I risked my life by snatching the envelope while he was talking to Mamma.”

I smiled at my sister’s unusual burst of courage. “Grazie, Rosa. Now please, I must read it.”