The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(93)

I toss my phone into my purse. In the aisle beside Lucy, a handsome flight attendant pours drinks. My cousin lowers her tray table. “I ordered you a club soda while you were texting.”

“Danke sch?n,” I say, choosing German for some reason.

She tears open a bag of pretzels. “You really speak German? Like, did you understand a word of what Rico said to you this morning?”

I snag a pretzel from her bag. “I could make out most of it. I have a pretty good ear, and I took two years of German in college.”

She rolls her eyes. “My cousin, the brainiac.”

“He said, Good-bye, my beautiful something-or-other.” I smile. “It sounded like, ‘my beautiful ankle.’”

Lucy laughs. “Who knew ol’ Rico was a leg man?”

The flight attendant places a Diet Coke on Lucy’s tray and looks over at me. “Granddaughter.”

“Excuse me?”

“Enkelin. It’s the German word for granddaughter.”

Time slows. The hairs on the back of my neck stand erect.

Lucy lets out a laugh. “Wrong!” she says. “Guess your ear’s not as good as you thought it was.”





Chapter 50




Emilia

Brooklyn

It’s almost four o’clock when Lucy and I arrive at Kings Highway subway station in Bensonhurst. Sounds and smells I once ignored now accost me. Blaring horns. The rumble of a garbage truck. The pounding of a distant jackhammer. I miss the briny scent of the sea, the chiming of church bells, the feel of my aunt’s warm hand in mine.

The November sky has turned to slate when we reach the corner of Seventy-Second Street. I catch sight of the redbrick house and my stomach drops. It’s as if the past month has vanished and I’ve slid backward into my old life. But the difference is, now I know there’s a whole other world out there.

Lucy hoists her bag higher on her shoulder. “Good luck talking to Rosa.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Good luck telling your parents about Sofie.”

She nods and sucks in a breath. “Ol’ Carol’s gonna shit bricks when she finds out.”

My poor cousin. Above all, she still wants her parents’ approval. Don’t we all?

“I can be there with you, Luce, for moral support. I mean, if you wanted.”

A slow smile forms on her lips. “Whatever made me think you weren’t cool?” She tips her head and studies me. “Oh, wait . . . it must’ve been those pleated khakis. Or maybe the bendable glasses.”

I swat her arm. “Very funny.”

“Thanks, anyway,” she says. “I’ve got this.”

“I know you do.” I gaze up at a plane passing overhead. “You know, your mom can hardly be upset. I mean, you were only following her advice.”

“How do you figure?”

“At age eight, when your mom explained how you’d break the curse.” I try to keep my face straight, but laughter is bubbling. “You took that first rule straight to heart.”

She looks at me, puzzled. It takes a second, but then she bursts out laughing. So do I. At the same time, we cry, “No balls!”



* * *





I trudge up the familiar staircase and let myself into Emville. The usual aroma of coffee beans and lemon oil fills my nostrils. On the coatrack, a ball cap embroidered with Cusumano Electric hangs from a rung. I shake my head. Like a dog who marks its territory, Matt came to retrieve his hoodie but left his ball cap in its place.

“Claws?” I call. I plop a canvas bag onto the table and find a note from Carmella.

Welcome home, Em. Thanks for loaning me Emville while you were gone. I LOVED having my own space. Claws missed you, and so did I. I have so much to tell you, but I’ll wait until you’re settled. See you at work tomorrow. xoxo

I smile and step into my living room. From his spot on the window seat, Claws stretches and leaps to the floor, lazily sauntering over to me as if determined to prove I wasn’t missed.

“Well, hello, handsome,” I say, scooping him into my arms. “I’m home.” But it doesn’t feel like home. I’m slammed by a question Poppy posed to me just as we were leaving for Italy. What if, after nearly thirty years of life, you discover you’ve been planted in the wrong place?

But no. For as much as I love it, Italy is only temporary. Bensonhurst is my world. Matt’s here. His business is starting to take off. It’ll be a great place to raise a family.

My fingers tremble when I tap my phone.

I’m home, MC. Want to grab a beer?

A full five minutes pass before he replies. At Homestretch but leaving soon. Tomorrow night work for you?

I’m ashamed when I let out a sigh of relief. Even better.

I need to get out of here. For the first time since that day at the Florence airport, I call Daria.

“You’re back.” Is that relief I hear in her voice?

“Yes,” I say, not daring to tell her I’ll be leaving again soon. “How’ve you been? How are the girls?”

“Oh, you know, fine.” She’s returned, once again, to the flat voice reserved just for me.

“Look,” I say, rubbing my temples. “About what happened . . .”