One Italian Summer: The perfect romantic fiction read for summer 2020

by Lori Nelson Spielman

  “I’ve got to go. Just for a few days.” I fill her in on the rest of Poppy’s story, the heartbreak of baby Johanna’s death, how crossing the Atlantic with a newborn baby was too much for Poppy, resulting in a displaced affection that eventually ended in Poppy’s biggest regret.

  “I will convince Nonna to come back here with me and patch things up with Poppy before …” I stop short of saying, Before it’s too late.

  Chapter 49

  Emilia

  Two days later, as Monday’s dawn flirts with the horizon, Lucy and I stack our suitcases at the door. Rico focuses his old Leica camera on Lucy, Poppy, and me. “Are you sure you must leave?” he asks for at least the fifth time.

  “We’re coming back, you know,” Lucy says, making a face at the camera. “As soon as I break my parents’ hearts and Em finds someone to rent Emville.”

  We haven’t revealed the plan to bring Nonna back here for a final sister reunion. The odds are too slim to get anyone’s hopes up.

  “Safe travels,” Poppy says, tucking a penny into each of our purses. “Remember to spread your sunshine. Never underestimate the importance of your light to someone living in a bank of clouds.”

  “Aw, c’mon!” Lucy says. “We’ll be back in a flash.” She looks at Aunt Poppy and winks. “So, you might want to take advantage of your alone time. Just saying.”

  Poppy laughs and grabs her in a hug. “Luciana, you slay me!” She looks at me, her face growing serious. “You’ll talk to Rosa? Tell her I’m sorry?”

  I kiss her cheek. “Absolutely.”

  Rico opens his arms to me. Though he’s certainly stronger than he was, he’s still too thin.

  “Auf Wiedersehen, meine schöne Enkelin,” he says to me in his native language. He pulls back, his eyes misty, and strokes my cheek with his hand. In his gravelly voice, he whispers, “Ich liebe dich.”

  I don’t need to translate the German words. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. “I love you, too,” I say.

  Lucy and I walk to the end of the street, where a lone taxi idles. The driver leans against the hood, smoking a cigarette. He flicks it onto the pavement when he sees us and pops the trunk. While Lucy helps load our bags, I turn back to the little pink bakery. Poppy and Rico stand at the courtyard gate, the first hint of dawn drenching them in lilac. I wave a final good-bye.

  “I love you,” I call, hoping they hear me.

  Rico’s arm is draped around Poppy’s shoulders, and she’s dabbing her eyes. He leans in and, ever so gently, kisses her cheek. He says something, and even from here, I can hear her laughter.

  Love, in any of its forms, takes the world from a bleak pencil sketch to a magnificent oil painting.

  The flight to New York is full. I stuff my purse beneath the seat in front of me, still reeling with thoughts of my aunt and Rico. What a privilege it has been, witnessing their love. Will I ever have that kind of connection?

  I rub my throat, and one man appears in my mind. One man who loves me, who’d wait for me while I finish my duties in Italy, no matter how long it might take. One man who makes me laugh, who cheers me on, who makes me a better person. One man who I know, without a doubt, would gladly be a character in my final chapter, when I’m old and ill and fading to gray.

  I reach for my phone. On my way home, MC. I take a deep breath. Let’s talk.

  My future with Matt comes alive in my mind. Once Poppy is gone, I’ll return to the States. Bensonhurst will be my world. Forever. Despite myself, a wave of loneliness rolls over me. My little life, working at the bakery, watching Netflix with Matt, seems stifling now. But that’s natural after being on an adventure, I assure myself. I’ll adjust again. Before long, it’ll be like I never left.

  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 schön,” 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. Ma
tt’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 …”

  “Yeah, about that.”

  She’s waiting for my apology. Instead, I say, “Can we put it behind us?”

  “I can’t believe you did that, Emmie.”

  I tamp down a smile. “Me, neither.”

  “Where are you?” she asks.

  “I’m here, at my apartment. I’ll walk down, if you’re home.” I pull two porcelain dolls from my bag, and the beautiful gloves I splurged on for Dar. “I have some souvenirs for the girls.” I run a hand over the expensive black leather. “And I bought something special for you.”

  “Okay, well, Donnie’s sister and the kids will be here any minute. They’re coming for pizza. Can you bring the stuff to work in the morning? You will be at work, right?”

  Smells of stale beer and popcorn greet me when I step into the Homestretch. The pub has a decent crowd for a Monday evening. A pair of blondes stand at the jukebox, laughing as they feed money into the slot. Four men gather at the pool table, three leaning on their cue sticks while one prepares to shoot. My stomach rumbles as I scan the bar. I spot a navy work shirt and my heart thumps. He’s still here.

  Slowly, I step forward. He’s got his back to me, one hand scrolling his phone, the other clutching a beer mug. For some odd reason, I choke up. This is it. This is the man I’ll spend the rest of my life with, right here in Bensonhurst. He’s solid. Dependable. Funny. Adorable. And he loves me. So why am I on the verge of tears?

  I creep toward the bar, stopping when I reach his stool. He doesn’t know I’m behind him. As I bend down to kiss his neck, I catch a whiff of the same Avon cologne my uncle Vinnie wears. I turn away, hit with a wave of nausea. I suck in one breath. And another. It’s okay. It’s only cologne. I’ll get used to it. Better yet, I’ll find him a new brand.

  Take two. I wet my lips. I bend down, this time trying not to inhale. My lips meet his neck.

  He jerks his head and lets out a laugh. “Hey,” he says, spinning around in his stool. He rears back when he sees me. “Ems?”

  I smile. “Same girl, different glasses.”

  “Whoa,” he says, looking everywhere except at me. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

  I slide onto the stool beside him and set a gift bag on the bar. “For you.”

  His phone chimes. He quickly checks it before planting it facedown on the bar.

  “Go on,” I say, pushing the bag closer to him. “Open it.”

  He hesitates before reaching into the bag. His hands shake when he lifts the scarf, something I’ve never noticed from my steady electrician. “Nice,” he says. “Thanks, Em.”

  “You okay?” I force myself to take his trembling hands in mine. The intimate gesture feels just as awkward as I remember. I’m thankful when he pulls them away and grips his mug.

  “Yeah. Fine.” He takes a long swill of beer, then shakes his head, as if clearing it. “How was Italy?”

  “Great.”

  “And Poppy?”

  “She’s amazing.” My mouth is so dry I can barely speak. “She made me realize some things.” I inhale deeply. “I’m ready to make some adult decisions.”

  His phone chimes again. He lifts it, just inches off the bar. As if in slow motion, he rotates his wrist as he goes to peek at it. In that split second, I catch the name on the caller ID.

  Carmella.

  I order another pitcher of beer. “Salute!” I say. Matt grins and clinks his mug against mine.

  “It’s good to have you home, Ems.” He turns pink and shakes his head. “You sure you’re cool with this?”

  I slug his arm. “Cool with it? I’m thrilled. Seriously, MC. How could I not see this coming? You both love to bowl, you’re into craft beers, she’s a sweetheart, and, well, you’re not so bad yourself. I should have set you up with Carmella years ago.”

  “She always seemed like a kid. But now that we’re in our twenties, five years is nothing.”

  “Nothing,” I agree. “You look really, really happy.”

  He studies me for a moment. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t wait for you forever.”

  I look away.

  “Seriously,” he says, and he touches my arm. “I’m not the one for you, Ems. I wanted to be, but I wasn’t.”

  “I wanted you to be, too,” I say, my voice choked. “Carmella’s a lucky woman.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” He smiles into his beer. “She gets me, Em. I feel … I don’t know … at home when I’m with her. You know what I mean?”

  Emotions I wasn’t expecting rise in me. Love. Joy. Relief. And a bit of sadness, too, if I’m being honest. “Yes, I know what you mean,” I say, hoping someday I will.

  Chapter 51

  Emilia

  It’s still dark when I dash out the door Tuesday morning, my new scarf knotted around my neck and a bag of souvenirs in my hand. A light in Uncle Dolphie’s barber shop catches my attention. Since when does he open at six a.m.?

  I trot up to the glass door and knock. “Hello,” I call. The bells jingle when I enter. “Uncle Dolphie?”

  The shop is in complete disarray. Four cardboard boxes line the floor, partially filled with old hair dryers and half-empty shampoo bottles. For a moment, I think he’s been robbed. But then it strikes me: he’s cleaning the shop, already preparing for his granddaughter Lucy.

  From the back room, a note rings out, clear and powerful. Then another. I stand still. Soon, the shop erupts in an aria that’s at once fierce and tender and heartbreaking. I don’t recognize this one. I put a hand to my chest and close my eyes, swaying as the melody slowly rolls over me.

  I’m disappointed when the gorgeous piece finally ends, and I open my eyes. Uncle Dolphie stands watching me from the other side of the room. His hands are folded, his face a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

  “You like?” he asks softly.

  I put a hand to my quivering chin. “It’s your aria,” I say, a statement, not a question.

  “I rented a studio,” he says sheepishly. “We recorded it in 1979.”

  “And the voice?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  He nods. “La mia.”

  I rush over and wrap my arms around him.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I say, my voice cracking. “Find a producer, Uncle Dolphie. Sell it. It’s not too late.”

  He holds me at arm’s length. “This”—he swipes my wet cheek with his thumb—“is enough. I have touched someone’s emotions. It is all I ever wanted.”

  I open my mouth to protest, to argue all the reasons why he must market this gorgeous piece of music. But he’s already turned away, tossing old brushes into a box.

  “Soon, Lucy will be joining me here,” he says. “I will leave my business to the next generation.” He shakes a comb at me. “Never underestimate the blueprint for a dream, Emilia.”

  Nonna and I bustle around the kitchen, me rolling dough and cooking cherry filling, she boiling pasta and roasting peppers. She never mentions my trip. Never welcomes me back. Never asks about Poppy. I look over at her again, wondering how, exactly, to broach the subject of a reunion. Her face is pinched, and the ever-present scowl between her brows is more pronounced than ever. I try
to imagine her as the loving sister she once was, the young woman who nursed Poppy back to health and traveled across Italy to help deliver baby Johanna. But I can’t.

  At ten o’clock, my sweet cousin Carmella—Matt’s new girlfriend—flies into the back kitchen, wearing torn jeans and Converse sneakers.

  “Emmie!” she cries, planting a kiss on my cheek. “God, you look amazing. Love the new glasses!”

  I grab Carmella into my arms and spin her in a circle, trying to ignore Nonna’s glowering stare. “I am so, so happy for you!”

  She raises her head to the ceiling and sucks in a huge breath. “I can’t believe it, Emmie! Matt’s a doll. How did I not know this? I owe you, big-time. If you hadn’t let me stay at your place, if Matt hadn’t come over to get his hoodie, we never would have—”

  I shake my head, interrupting her. “Yes, you would have. It was just a matter of time.”

  She dons a hairnet and snags an apron from the bin. “Enough about me. I want a blow-by-blow of your trip. How was Italy? Were the men gorgeous? Was the food awesome? How weird was Poppy?”

  “The trip was … life changing,” I say. “Poppy is the most amazing—”

  “Silenzio!” Nonna snaps from the other side of the counter, her chest wheezing. “I do not wish to hear about that woman.”

  “Nonna, stop,” I say. “She’s the same sister you once adored—loving and kind and wise and fun. You should reach out to her, before it’s too late. Please. Despite everything the two of you have been through, she loves you.”

  Nonna’s eyes narrow. “What have we been through? What did she tell you?”

  “Everything. She told us all about Trespiano, and how she ran away with Rico. How you nursed her back to life after finding her on the apartment steps. How you brought her to America. Even her deepest regret,” I add. “Taking Josephina.”

  She lifts her head and studies me, as if trying to decide if I’m being truthful.