by Susan Wiggs
That was true. He knew everything about her because he came to her world. She had never been to his. Still, that didn’t mean he was right to conceal something as important as this. “All right,” she said, “spill.”
“I just did.”
“Very funny.”
“Was it?”
“No.” She shivered. “It was...” Wonderful. But she felt cautious now. How could she tell him anything if she didn’t know how he felt? He claimed he loved her, that he had always loved her, yet he was a stranger still, in so many ways. Their differences hung between them like poison ivy on a wall.
“It was what?” he prompted her.
“My first time,” she said. “I don’t know why I assumed it was yours. I have two brothers. I should know it’s different for a guy. So do you have a girlfriend somewhere?” She braced herself, waiting for his answer.
“Of course not. Come on, Rosa. There was just a couple of times, back in school and one time at summer camp...I wish you wouldn’t think that it matters. It was special with you.” He stroked her hair and scooted toward her on the blanket. “I knew it would be.”
“I knew it, too,” she admitted, trusting the tenderness she saw in his eyes. “I’m glad I waited for you.”
He opened his arms and she leaned back against his chest, lifted her gaze up to the stars. “It’s going to be perfect once we’re at school.”
She swallowed hard. It all seemed so surreal, heading off to the strange new world of college. “I guess,” she said.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. Labor Day partying had probably gotten out of hand.
“What do you mean, you guess?” he asked. “You can’t change your mind now.”
“I’m not. I’ll probably go up to Providence a few days early to get a job.”
“Get a job where?”
“I don’t know yet. Waitressing. Or something at night.” She smiled at his groan of disappointment. “What?” she teased. “I can hardly hear what you’re saying around that silver spoon in your mouth.”
He didn’t take offense. How could he, when he knew it was true?
“It’s going to be hard, working and going to school.”
“Beats joining the navy. I’ve been working since I was fourteen,” she said, to herself as much as to him. “It’s no big deal.”
“It sucks.”
“It’s reality.” She couldn’t keep in a sigh of frustration.
“What?”
He seemed to read her mood even in the dark, perhaps from the way she felt in his arms. “Nothing. I’ll be all right. I feel lucky just to be going.”
That was certainly true. The town of Winslow didn’t offer a lot of escape hatches. Her best friend Linda would be working for a bookkeeping firm. Ariel was helping out at her mother’s alterations shop. Vince would be heading to Newport to bus tables at a high-end restaurant. Paulie diCarlo was joining his uncle’s waste management business. Some of her friends were getting married—a mistake, in Rosa’s estimation, but when people were in love, you couldn’t tell them anything. Only a few graduates of her high school were headed for college. Rosa was grateful for the shot, and moonlighting was a small price to pay.
She turned in his arms. “Tell you what. Let’s change the subject again.”
“Good plan.” He gave her a long, slow kiss and she ran her hands up under his shirt. He started searching his pockets for another condom, but she had the presence of mind to check her watch. “I have to get home.”
“Stay with me,” he whispered, and tightened his arms around her.
“I promised my father I’d be back by eleven,” she said. “It’s eleven o’clock now.”
He grumbled in frustration but didn’t argue further. At the front door of her father’s house they kissed goodbye, its sweetness unexpectedly piercing. She felt a sting of tears in her eyes as she lifted up on tiptoe and said, “I love you, Alex.”
He kissed her again, longer, harder. “Bye, Rosa.”
She floated into the house. “Pop! I’m home!”
He didn’t answer, but that wasn’t unusual. He went to bed early and was a heavy sleeper. All the same, she headed to his room to nudge him so he’d know she was home.
His bed was empty. She frowned, not overly concerned. He’d probably gone to the Fiores’ after the picnic and was still talking and smoking his pipe on their back porch, late into the night.
So she’d cut her date with Alex short for no reason, she reflected, scowling. The minutes with him were precious, but at least they had college to look forward to. Finally their lives were about to converge. They could be together without having to deal with their families and friends. Maybe it would last forever. Judging by the way she felt tonight, that was exactly where it was headed.
She stood in front of the hall mirror and contemplated her reflection for a long time. It was so strange that she looked the same even though her whole world had changed. She’d made love for the very first time and it was unexpected and bumbling but completely wonderful. So what if he wasn’t a virgin, too? There was no sense in trying to change the past.
She was filled up with love for him. She had given him everything she had, all of her heart. She hoped that was enough.
I love you, Rosa. I always have.
She clasped the invisible gift of his words to her heart. Then, too dizzy with elation to sleep, she went to the kitchen and poured a small glass of Mosto d’Uva. She took a sip of the intensely flavored grape juice, then went to the den to watch TV and wait for Pop. There were things she would never share with him, but happiness burst from her, and she could certainly share that. She was brimming with excitement about school, about her future. She knew Pop worried about her leaving home, probably even more than she worried about leaving him.
Tonight she finally knew for certain that everything would be all right, and she couldn’t wait to tell him.
She flipped through a few channels. There were probably things in this world more boring than a telethon, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what those things were. The first time she nodded off, she caught herself and tried to follow the telethon totals, but the second time she gave in and stretched out full-length on the sofa.
Alex was everywhere, surrounding her, whispering I love you into her ear, and she was annoyed when an insistent ringing sound awakened her.
The phone. She lurched up off the sofa and stumbled to the nearest extension in the front hall. “All right, all right,” she muttered. “I’m coming.” It was probably one of her brothers calling from overseas. Or better yet, it might be Alex, who was still thinking about her.
She grabbed the black receiver in the middle of a ring. “Hello?”
“Is this the home of...Pietro Capoletti?” asked a voice she didn’t recognize.
The official tone was an icy spike, poking her awake.
“This is his daughter, Rosina. Who’s speaking? What’s the matter?” Even before he replied, her body instinctively braced itself for a shock. She had her feet planted firmly on the floor, her arm against the wall.
“Miss Capoletti, your father is here in the emergency ward of South County Hospital. I’m afraid there’s been an accident....”
twenty-nine
The ensuing days melded into a blur. There was the rush to the hospital with Mrs. Fortenski, whom Rosa had to awaken by pounding at the door. Under the glaring, unkind lights of the emergency ward, the grim news was delivered to her alone. Her father, the victim of a hit-and-run, had suffered massive injuries including severe head trauma. He was in a coma.
She made frantic phone calls, summoning her brothers, informing family friends and phoning Mrs. Montgomery in the wee hours of the morning, asking to speak to Alex.
Mrs. Montgomery informed her tersely that she would re
lay the message when Alex awoke. Then she hung up on Rosa.
People arrived in a steady stream from church, the neighborhood, Mario’s restaurant. It was an outpouring Rosa had not seen since her mother had taken ill. There were prayers and tears and whispered questions about why he had been out so late, but no one had an answer.
The next day, her brothers arrived and the consultations began. The doctors said Pop’s condition was grave, but he might improve with intensive therapy. That meant a lengthy stay in a private care facility providing extensive, round-the-clock rehab. Sheffield House, a facility in Newport, was such a place.
Then someone from hospital administration sat down with Rosa and her brothers. An indefinite stay at Sheffield House was something only a heavily insured private patient could afford. And of course, with no insurance at all, their father wasn’t likely to have that option. Lacking any means to pay for his long-term care, he would be moved to a public facility.
Rob put his fist through the wall of the consultation room. Sal stopped him from doing further damage and then went straight to the church to see what could be done.
There were more meetings, of course. Discussions with the church, with the bank, with friends. But the bottom line was, Pop’s destiny was a state facility with little hope of recovery. Rosa was so terrified for her father and so confused by all the meetings that she had no time to stop and wonder where Alex was or why he hadn’t called.
A few days later, Father Dominic had news. On behalf of an anonymous benefactor, a Newport law firm was going to pay every penny of Pop’s medical bills, including his private care treatment.
People speculated about the identity of the benefactor, but Rosa and her brothers didn’t dare question a miracle.
And Rosa didn’t allow herself to wish for more than she’d already been granted. That fall, instead of going to Brown, she stayed alone in the house on Prospect Street and continued working for Mario. Her brothers both took extended leave, but once Pop was settled in Newport, Rosa assured them that she was fine, and they both shipped out again.
She had a hard time letting go of the dream. She contacted the professors of the classes she wanted to take. Without exception, each one gave her a course outline and reading list and expressed the hope that she’d arrive the following semester. She kept herself from going insane from boredom by practicing Latin, studying invertebrate anatomy or reading opera libretti. She fully intended to go her own way once Pop was on his feet again.
But in the process of taking care of business, she made a disturbing discovery. Her father had taken a high interest loan and was about to default; he was on the brink of destitution. How could she think of going to school when her father was in such trouble?
That moment, plugging numbers into the cheap discount-store calculator, had marked her transition from childhood to adulthood. The change was invisible and no one witnessed it, but that didn’t matter. When she got up from the table, she was a different person. She closed the door on being someone she’d always dreamed of being—a college girl, living in a dorm, working toward a fabulous future. The door she forced open that day led to long hours, hard labor, aching feet. And a paycheck every Friday.
Adding to her heartache was the fact that Alex never called, not once. Hurt and mystified by his silence, she phoned the college and got his number. Several times she dialed it but hung up before anyone answered. Finally, late one night, her anger fueled by loneliness, she called him. A strange voice answered.
“I’m looking for Alex Montgomery,” she said.
“Hey, Montgomery! Some chick for you....”
When Alex came on the line, she coldly asked, “Were you ever planning to call me?”
“No, I...no. I do want you to know how sorry I am about your father’s accident—”
“In order for me to know, you would have had to call.”
“If there was something else I could do, I’d’ve done it, Rosa. It’s complicated.”
“What, speaking to me?”
He paused. “I don’t really have anything to say for myself. I screwed up, okay, by not calling and then by making you think I...we... Listen, we had fun this summer, but everything’s different now. We have separate lives. And anyway, I...I wish you all the best in the world,” he said with a regretful finality. “But this—us—we’re not going to happen. I hope you understand...”
“Actually, I don’t. What made you change your mind? Did your mother finally convince you not to associate with a beach mongrel?”
“This was my decision,” he said tonelessly.
Through a haze of shock, she managed to mumble, “Then there’s nothing more to say,” and hung up.
She still couldn’t believe what was happening. The night of the accident had started out as the best of her life. With that phone call, it deteriorated to the worst. Worse even than losing Mamma, because she had faced Pop’s ordeal alone. And now this—another blow, another loss. All the joy she’d found in Alex’s arms was shattered by one phone call.
No one returned to the Montgomery place after that year, not Mrs. Montgomery and not Alex. Rosa considered this a small mercy. She didn’t think she could stand it if he and his college pals showed up at Mario’s Flying Pizza, to be waited on by Rosa Capoletti in an apron and hair net, a romance novel stashed under the counter.
She rationalized the loss in hopes of making it easier to bear. On one hand, she knew they were impossibly young and belonged in different worlds. But on the other hand, she had always felt a certain magic shimmering between them, invisible but very real. She’d believed in the power of that magic, so deeply that she couldn’t let go.
As the weeks and months dragged on, she slept poorly, in short naps, and often forgot to eat. She worked full-time for Mario, and filled in as a sub every chance she got, willing to do anything to stay away from the empty house on Prospect Street and from memories of Alex.
Maybe he already understood what she was discovering for herself. It was easier to forget when you stayed miles apart.
thirty
Summer 1994
Rosa rubbed her aching back as she labored over a secret project. She was working on a business plan. Mario was talking about retiring. He wanted to hand the business over to his son, but Michael wanted nothing to do with it.
Rosa did, though. She was only twenty, but she had six years’ experience in the business and she had a vision. Her plan would take years to complete, but at the end of it all, she would have something of her own. She wanted to turn Mario’s into a fine restaurant. So far, she had only the germ of an idea, but she knew Mario would support and encourage her. With Pop laid up, Mario took it upon himself to look after her.
The phone rang, startling her out of her daydream. She grabbed it and answered.
“Rosa? Hi, it’s Dr. Ainsley at Sheffield House.”
Her heart dropped the way it did every time they called about Pop. “Is my father all right?”
“Better than all right,” said the doctor with a smile in her voice. “He’s coming home.”
Immediately tears washed down Rosa’s face. She shook all over. The staff had been promising her for weeks that once he reached certain benchmarks, he’d be discharged, finally.
She sobbed as she carefully took down all the information the doctor gave her. A social worker would come to the house and help her prepare for her father’s return. Her brothers, currently stationed in Pensacola and Virginia Beach, would fly back for the homecoming.
Two years, she thought. What a long journey it had been. Pop was getting better, too. He would never hear again, but he’d regained the ability to walk and talk, to function just like anyone else. She had been praying for a long time that he’d be able to come home.
As he walked out of the hospital, his familiar flat cap in place, leaning on a cane, she saw that he
was a different man, an old man, and it broke her heart to see how thin and weak he was. But his smile was filled with love for her.
She cooked for him and scolded him to eat like the most vigorous Strega Nona, and he grew stronger every day. Once assured her father was going to be well, she let down the invisible wall she’d built around her heart. She could breathe again. She could be young.
* * *
One of the first things Rosa did after Pop came home was to say yes to Sean Costello, a young sheriff’s deputy she had met during the accident investigation. He’d worked longer and harder than anyone else, gathering clues from the vacant roadside field where a passing semi had spotted Pop and called in the accident. Sean had combed the scene inch by inch, seeking clues as to who had mowed her father down. Despite his best efforts, the hit-and-run incident was never solved. People speculated that it was someone passing through, a stranger who would never be apprehended.
As for Sean, he ordered pizza at least three times a week, trying to get Rosa to go out with him. He was steady and good-looking, reliable and gentle. And he had a large, affectionate Irish Catholic family. Even Mario approved of him. Now, with Pop at home and getting better, she had run out of excuses. It was time to join the living again.
All through that summer, she went to the movies with Sean, and sometimes he took her dancing in Newport. She saw him in church every Sunday and invited him to dinner at her house with Pop. Everything about the courtship proceeded as planned. It was perfect, right down to the roses he brought her at work every once in a while.
Except that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fall in love with him. And she did try. She wanted to feel that sweet burn in her chest. She wanted to float around thinking of him at all hours of the day. She wanted to picture herself in the future with him and their babies. However, the wish was a long stretch from reality. Love, like time, would not be forced, no matter how much she wanted it.
