Lost in Paris
Page 11
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Behind that wall is Vatican City. Those people are in the queue to go in.” Jane pointed to a half-moon of gigantic stone columns. “That plaza is Saint Peter’s Square. See that big dome behind it? That’s the Basilica. People travel very far to get in there.”
“So cool,” I said, and snapped a picture on my cell phone.
Jane navigated the roads onto a white marble bridge called the Ponte Principe Amedeo Savoia Aosta, which took us over the Tiber—a river that ran right through the middle of the city.
Finally Jane’s little car halted at the end of a cobblestone alley. “Amore Pizzeria is down there,” she said.
Gianna started getting her bags out of the car and setting them down on the street.
Jane said, “That’s okay. Leave your bags. I’ll drop them off at Aunt Maria’s apartment. It’s not far.” She hugged us both again, real hard. “She is so excited to see you girls. You’re all she’s talked about since she found out you were coming.” Jane got back into the car and yelled, “I hope you’ll be able to cheer her up.”
Why does she need cheering up?
3
Ahhh! I recognized the smells of roasting garlic and simmering tomatoes from my great-aunt Maria’s signature secret sauce. I hadn’t smelled it in years.
“Lucia! Gianna!” Aunt Maria called from the kitchen through a big rectangular opening in the wall. The hole was for passing hot food from the kitchen to the dining room. It had a ledge where the cook could set plates while they waited to be picked up. “The girls are here!” She shuffled out.
Aunt Maria looked older than I remembered; her hair, which used to be black, was now peppered with gray. She grabbed hold of me—thankfully, her snug embrace hadn’t changed. She switched to hug Gianna and then back to me again. Either she’d shrunk or I’d grown—maybe both—but now I was taller than her.
I said, “It’s good to see you, too.” After three rounds of embraces, Gianna and I were both dusted with flour from her hands and apron.
She stepped back and studied us from head to toe. “Look at you.” She grew teary. “You are so bellissima, beautiful.” She lifted the tomato-sauce-speckled apron and wiped her eyes. “I am so happy you girls are here. You are like a breath of the fresh air.” She took us each by the hand and led us to a table. “Look at how skinny you are. I am getting you the pizza.” She frowned at our figures, then hustled behind the counter. “Sit. Sit. It will take me one minute.”
I hadn’t been to Amore since first grade. Evan though I didn’t remember the visit well, I knew the familiar scent of spices seeping out of the walls like ghosts of old friends.
Now the pizzeria looked worn, like Aunt Maria had tried to redecorate at some point but hadn’t finished. Paint covered the exposed brick wall. The chairs and tables needed attention—they were chipped, stained, and a little wobbly.
A picture of my great-uncle Ferdinando hung in the center of a wall covered with framed photos that looked like they hadn’t been dusted in months, maybe years. There was a ledge holding trinkets that seemed to be layered with a thin coating of Parmesan cheese.
Aunt Maria returned with two plates and three bottles of Aranciata (an Italian orange soda that I love!). Not sure why she had brought the extra bottle. “Mangia, mangia,” she said. “Eat, girls.”
Crispy crust.
Aunt Maria’s signature sauce.
Steamy, melty mozzarella cheese.
Ooey, gooey, cheesy, and crispy.
It was, like, delicious with an ice-cold glass of mmmmm.
We had totally hit the jackpot with these temporary summer jobs.
Let me tell you about Amore’s pizza, because it’s different from American pizza: first, they’re round, not triangle, slices. It’s like everyone gets their own small individual pie made specifically for them. And the toppings are different. The ones she brought out were smothered with roasted garlic.
“It’s quiet in here,” Gianna commented.
“Sì. There are not so much customers.” Aunt Maria sighed sadly. Maybe this is why she needed cheering up. “You like the pizza?”
“It’s as good as I remembered,” I said through a mouthful of cheese.
Aunt Maria nestled herself into a chair across from us and exhaled as she took her weight off her feet. “I have something to tell you.” She looked us both in the eye. “You cannot work here.”
Splat! Those words landed like a meatball plopped onto a plate of spaghetti.
“What?” Gianna and I asked together.
“Well, one of you can,” she clarified. “But not both.”
One of us has to go home? But we just got here!
“How come?” Gianna asked. “What’s wrong? We promise we’ll work hard.”
“It’s not that. It is the Pizzeria de Roma.” Aunt Maria spat the name. “It’s an old pizzeria in the piazza by the Fontana del Cuore.” That’s the Fountain of the Heart. “Now it has a big new flashy sign and shiny new forks,” she said. “Everybody go there. They see it right there in the piazza!”
“How’s their pizza?” I asked.
“You think I know?” She pinched her fingers together and flipped her wrist back and forth as she spoke. “I never go.”
“Then how do you know that they have shiny forks?” I asked.
“Signorina Jane Attilio. She live upstairs.” Aunt Maria pointed up. “She see them when she walk past.”
Gianna and I looked at each other. “Are you going to send one of us home?” I asked.
“No. No. No. You stay. Signorina Attilio, she says one of you can help her. She is very busy.”
“Oh, great,” I said. “Let me guess. She works at a funeral home, or a toothpick factory, or vacuuming dirt out of USB ports?”
(I didn’t think there was really any such thing as a toothpick factory.)
“What is this ‘ports’? No. No,” Aunt Maria said. “She is a tailor.”
Gianna’s eyebrows shot up. “Like, she makes things? I’m great at that.”
“Sì?” Aunt Maria asked.
“Yes. See these jeans?” Gianna stood and showed the rhinestone embellishments on the back pocket. “I added them myself.”
“Bella! You are good at the designs,” Aunt Maria said, admiring the bling. “You will like to work with Signorina, sì?”
“I think I will.”
“Then you are the one,” Aunt Maria said to Gianna.
Phew! I would’ve skinny-dipped in the Fontana del Cuore before I’d have given up working at Amore.
At that moment, a boy walked in Amore’s front door. Not just any kind of a boy. He was extremely cute, with a thick head of dark hair to match his thick arm muscles. He looked like he was Gianna’s age. Gianna’s eyes popped out of her skull at the sight.
“Buongiorno,” he waved. “I am Lorenzo.”
“You!” Aunt Maria pointed at him. “I know who you are. You do not come in here!”
About the Author
Cindy Callaghan is also the author of Just Add Magic, Lost in London, and Lucky Me, all available from Aladdin M!X. Lost in Rome is coming in August 2015.
A full-time writer, animal advocate, and supermom, Cindy lives, works and writes in Wilmington, Delaware, with her family and numerous rescued pets. She loves hearing from fans, speaking at schools and conferences, and zip-lining. Please visit her website, www.cindycallaghan.com.
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Also by Cindy Callaghan
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Lost in Rome
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN M!X
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First Aladdin M!X edition March 2015
Text copyright © 2015 by Cindy Callaghan
Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Annabelle Metayer
Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.
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Cover designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in Berkeley Oldstyle.
Library of Congress Control Number 2014957772
ISBN 978-1-4814-4178-0 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-2601-5 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-2602-2 (eBook)