“Her father. Alessandro.” She stood solicitously close, hovering, fretting.
“I thought the child was Anthony?”
“Anthony Alexander.”
“Ah.”
The boy fell quiet. Esther stopped fretting. Herman stopped talking. Alexander looked into his grandfather’s face, reached up, grabbed a good hold of Herman’s cheek and lip, moved from side to side to get comfortable, and then put his head down on Herman’s shoulder. His hand remained partly in Herman’s mouth. Herman settled back, reclined, got comfortable himself. Esther stood quietly by his side. “Do you want me to take him?” she asked.
“Oh, now that I’ve got him quiet, you want to take him?” asked Herman, his voice muffled by Alexander’s chubby fingers. “Some caretaker you are. Go do something else. But quietly. I’ll sit here a minute. Don’t leave me too long, though.”
The kitchen was dappled in afternoon sunlight streaking across the limestone floor and the oak tables. Herman sat facing the green lawn, beyond it the sparkling water shimmering like a mirage.
Esther backed out of the room, whispering that she would be right back, and when she was out in the hall, she put her hand over her mouth to stifle her deep and lingering cry of anguish, of longing, of happiness, all in one tormented silent O.
When she looked in on them half an hour later, she found them in the same position. They were both asleep.
Two
THEY SAT OUTSIDE on the lanai and had dinner. Herman said they would go inside if it got too cold for him, but it never did. Not even the night breezes from the Waterway drove him inside the four walls.
There was nothing sweeter to Gina than listening to Fernando teach her brother how to strum chords and to accompany himself as he sang. Fernando was supremely musical, supremely gifted, but he informed them that Salvo was hunting for a wrong vocation. “Because, señora, your brother has singing skills like I’ve never seen. He is like, what do they call it?”
“A prodigy?” offered Harry.
“A genius,” declared Fernando in front of the unabashedly pleased Salvo. “He has nearly perfect pitch. Do you know how rare that is?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Gina said.
“It’s not the only thing that’s rare,” muttered Esther.
“Well, never mind,” Fernando said. “It’s amazing. Salvo, if horticulture doesn’t work out, you can always become a troubadour. You will have to go to Miami for work, but you will be handsomely rewarded for your commute.”
“Amigo,” exclaimed Salvo, “that’s your big dream for me? You want me to be a busker?”
“Sounds about right,” Esther said under her breath.
“What can be better than being a singer?”
“A singer on the streets?”
“Better than the flower lessons you’ve been taking.”
Salvo started to hem and haw.
“Madre di Dio!” Gina exclaimed. “You’re still in the thick of it. You’re not already done with it, are you?”
“Yes, we want our money back,” said Harry.
Esther snorted. “Kiss it goodbye. You’ll never see a penny return on that investment.”
“Listen, all of you,” Salvo said, “Sorella mia, stop the overreaction. Gardening is not for me because I realized I don’t want to be dirty all day. What lady is going to like me if I’m on the ground digging dirt, have messy hands, sweat in the sun?” He gleamed. “No, ladies like it when I’m fresh and clean, and I wear silk suits and drive fancy cars, like the drunks next door. I want a nice house too, not the garage I live in. I want to treat the ladies like they deserve to be treated, like princesses.”
Esther was about to stiffly disapprove before she was stared into silence by Herman. “These are admirable goals, Salvo,” Herman said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“How do you intend to accomplish them?”
“I was thinking of taking another course.”
Everyone groaned loudly.
“Stop it, all of you. Basta. Hear me out before you mock me.”
“Why can’t we mock you first?” Esther asked.
“Salvo,” said Harry, “is this going to cost me more money?”
“Just listen to me, prego. I have a great idea.”
They complained, poured more drinks, toasted the night and the guitar and the family and Alexander sleeping in Harry’s arms, and then listened.
“I want to take a real estate course.”
“To do what?” asked Harry.
“To learn how to sell real estate.”
“What do you know about real estate?”
“Nothing. That’s why I want to take a course.”
“His logic is impeccable, Harry,” said Herman.
“Herman, how can a pazzo have logic?” Gina said. “Logic implies sanity.”
“Not necessarily,” said Salvo. “And, sorella, either defend me or keep quiet.” They had been drinking sangria for hours, and were on their seventh toast and third helpings of tres leches cake, before the profiteroles and ice cream were brought out.
“Harry,” said Esther, “can you believe your ears? Father thinks it’s a marvelous idea.”
“Well, look,” said Herman. “Don’t go overboard. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it marvelous. Salvo, I don’t know how many of these ideas you come up with each week . . .”
“Twenty-seven,” said Gina.
“Sorella! What did I ask you?”
“What I’m saying is,” Herman continued, “that of all the places in America to take a real estate course, Palm Beach is one of the best. The houses are spiking in value and flying off the market.”
“Exactly!” Salvo moved so close to Herman he was almost sitting in the old man’s lap. “And I get a commission every time they fly. Sell or buy. Soon I’ll be flying myself, like the Wright brothers.”
“It doesn’t sound stable,” Esther said. “Market rises, falls, people stop buying houses, and then what?”
“Then on to the next adventure.” Salvo grinned. “Maybe I’ll learn how to drive a boat. Or become that street singer Fernando was talking about. But for now, real estate is where the money is, and where Salvo wants to be.”
“Gina, dear,” said Herman, “this would be a wise investment on your part. Because if Salvo is out of a job, guess where he’ll be living. With you.”
Gina raised a glass of sweet sangria to her family. “Then it’s settled,” she said. “I will not lend him a penny. For nothing would make me happier than to have him live with me again.” Live with all of you, she thought but didn’t say.
It was Herman, to Gina’s great surprise, who quoted from Nathaniel Hawthorne. “The ideas of people in general are not raised higher than the roofs of their houses,” Herman said. “All their interests extend over the earth’s surface in a layer of that thickness. Only the meeting-house steeple reaches out of their sphere.”
“I like that, Herman,” said an approving Gina. “And I agree with you. Nothing for me rises above this house and all that’s in it.” She gazed at her husband holding her huge and sprawled-out sleeping boy.
“I don’t agree at all, Father,” said Harry.
“Of course not, son,” said Herman, winking at Gina. “You’re the objection maker.” He turned his attention to Harry. “All right, I’m ready.” He took a swallow of wine. “Tell me why you don’t agree.”
“Because there are ten things you’re overlooking.”
And fueled by wine, off they went, communicating the only way they knew how—adversarially.
Palm Beach has magic and majesty in it. It has the world in the palm of its hand. It has lakes and seas and extreme weather, dramatic skies, and comforting breezes. It has beautiful people, dressing in finery, clicking their high heels, twirling their parasols. You’re the lady of the house now, Gina. Carmela’s work is no longer your work. You pay someone to do what used to be your work. Now you walk with us down Worth Avenue in tony Palm Beach, you peek through
the shop windows at wide-brim silk hats and velvet buckles, you walk in and buy them, just like that. No more taking in sewing to make an extra few dollars so you can afford a pair of used gloves that other beautiful people have discarded. You are the beautiful people now. You discard. You don’t sew, you don’t launder. You don’t make your own bed or breakfast. You sit and let someone else bring you the fruits of Henry Flagler’s labors.
They would leave Harry at home with Fernando, and Gina would drive the rest of the clan south to Palm Beach. They stopped at the Breakers, for it was a magnificent hotel, even Herman had to admit it. After a leisurely lunch one afternoon, they walked half a mile under the tall palms to Whitehall, Salvo carrying a heavy Alexander. Herman said he wanted to see Henry Flagler’s Taj Mahal of Palm Beach, wanted to see the seventy-three-room house Flagler built for the last woman in his life. Herman stood in the front driveway and appraised the marble house. He refused to go in, even for afternoon tea, even for a quick drink, and on the way back home said only, “I’m glad I finally got to see the house that man built for the woman he preferred to the woman I couldn’t discard.”
Herman forgot to go back home. December, January, February flew by. He and Esther got into the daily habit of taking Alexander with them in the early mornings for a walk on the beach, even though it meant that Esther had to carry the squirming giant the entire way. When she dared put him down, he would eat the sand and crawl toward the ocean like a laughing black-haired squid. Esther said she had never been so fit in her life as she was after months of carrying her restless nephew. Sometimes Gina and Harry joined them for their morning constitutional, and sometimes even Salvo, if he hadn’t been out too late the night before. Esther grudgingly admitted to Gina that when Salvo and Harry came to the beach, they made it easier—because they took turns carrying Alexander. Three generations walked along the ocean spanning the divided cultures. Salvo loved to carry Alexander and was ceaselessly patient with him, throwing him up into the air, swinging him upside down, hoisting him onto his shoulders, dangling him above the foam of the waves. Even Esther could disapprove of the Sicilian man only so much in the humid mornings. After watching Esther watching Salvo, Gina nudged Harry. “Marito, look at your sister’s face.”
Harry looked. “I see nothing.”
“Look at the way she is looking at my brother play with our son. I told you she’d warm to him eventually.”
“No, she liked Alexander right from the start.”
“Ilare!” She squeezed his arm. “Do you see? No one can stay indifferent to Salvo for long. Not you, or your father, or even your hard-to-please sister.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Harry said. “I think you underestimate her. Look, she’s about to engage Salvo in a discussion. What could those two be possibly chatting about?”
A curious Gina hurried from her husband’s side to her father-in-law’s. She gave Herman her arm and sped him along, straining to hear Esther and Salvo over the crash of the high tide and the warm wind. Harry sidled up to them, a mischievous grin already wide on his tanned and rested face. Gina strolled between father and son.
“You seem to enjoy your nephew, Salvo,” she heard Esther saying.
He nodded. “Well, he is my nephew, Esther. You quite enjoy him yourself.”
“Indeed I do,” she said. “I haven’t been fortunate enough to have children of my own.” There was a deliberate pause from Esther, like an inhale. “Have you been this fortunate?”
“I am blessed in many ways,” Salvo replied.
“Blessed with children?”
He nodded. “Blessed even with children.” Grinning he spun around to glance back at Gina, who shook her fist at him. Stop it!
What? mouthed Salvo. Alexander rode facing forward on his shoulders, pulling his hair.
“Gina,” Herman said, “do you think this talk they’re having is going to end like hell in a handbasket?”
“Yes—for Esther.”
“I thought so.”
Next to her Harry laughed soundlessly. When Gina glared at him, he whispered, Told you.
“Children as in . . . plural?” Esther asked Salvo.
“Yes, yes. But all girls,” Salvo added wistfully, patting Alexander’s chubby bouncing leg. “Haven’t been lucky enough to have a boy. Right, Harry?” Salvo turned around. “You feel lucky to have a son, don’t you? Like all fathers.” He tutted. “I keep trying, but with no success.”
“Yes, Salvo,” Harry replied. “I don’t know about all fathers, but I’m pleased with my son. But, don’t let me interrupt your conversation. By all means—continue.”
Esther pressed on. “All girls? How many, um, girls do you have?”
“That’s a good question,” Salvo said pensively.
“I thought it was a simple question.”
“Esther,” Herman said, “stop grilling the poor man. He’s not steak.”
“No, no, Father, please let her,” said Harry. Gina pulled a blond hair out of his tanned forearm and groused at him. He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Harry is right, it’s fine, Herman,” Salvo called back, now holding Alexander upside down by one ankle as they ambled down the beach. “I don’t mind. What was your question again, Esther?”
“How many children do you have?” she said sharply.
Salvo counted off by bending all the fingers on his left hand. “I’d say five,” he said and, after a considered pause, added, “Five that I know of.”
Esther gasped. Even Gina nearly laughed.
“Where are they?” Esther asked. “These babies, your children, your daughters?” She used her most demanding tone.
Salvo shrugged. “I don’t know. With their mothers, I presume. I hope.”
“Mothers?” Esther put a hand on her heart.
“Yes. Is this upsetting you, Esther? I hear something in your voice. You’ve gone so pale. Or am I being overly sensitive?”
“Mothers?”
“The children have mothers, yes. Why does that surprise you?”
“Mothers as in plural?”
“Yes, yes, five girls, five mothers.”
Nearly falling over, Esther spun around only to see Harry bent in half by laughter. She stormed away from them as they continued to laugh behind her.
Gina pinched Salvo hard. Alexander threw his arms out to his mother. “How is she ever going to like you,” Gina said, “when you torture her like this?” She hoisted the boy onto her hip.
“You’re right I might have to try something else to make her like me.” He winked at Gina.
“Salvo!”
“What?” He was all innocence.
They both turned, and there was Harry staring at them unblinking. “That’s my sister you two are slandering.”
“Salvo! Harry is right,” Gina said, with a mock frown. “How can you even joke about a thing like that?”
While they bantered, Herman caught up with Esther. “Do you know why he torments you?”
“It’s not funny, Father.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Answer me, do you know why?”
“No, why?”
“Because he can,” said Herman. “You make it too easy for him. It’s not even fair. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“But who jokes about things like that?” Esther said, her voice high-pitched.
“He knows you judge him, so he toys with you.” Herman nodded. “Believe me, I know something about this.”
Esther fell quiet.
“Daughter, if we sat in judgment of every person who didn’t behave to the standards of the house across the road, we’d be too busy to eat, wouldn’t we?”
“There are no standards in the house across the road.”
“Well, no, you’re right, not back then.” Herman regrouped. “But these days, except for Gina, who is above reproach”—he continued through Esther’s scornful exhale—“we have your brother, who is doing God kn
ows what, while pretending he’s a changed man. We have Salvo attempting to make all of South Florida Italian, and infuriating well-born women from Boston, turning them into shrews. Fernando is smuggling mansionfuls of liquor from his native land, hoping not to get arrested for committing a felony. Carmela is a terrible housekeeper, who speaks English but pretends she doesn’t, and Emilio is a mediocre cook at best. Gina is heads above him. When she prepares the food, I actually look forward to dinner. Rosa has behaved so badly that she won’t even come to the beach with us because Salvo is here. And you, my dear, sit and tsk all day. You’ll wear out a hole in your cheek, Esther, where your tongue is.”
“And where did I learn to render judgment on everything and everyone, I wonder?”
Now Herman looked chastised. “Well,” he said, “perhaps the children should strive to be better than their parents.”
“Was Mother critical, too?” Esther asked after they had walked a while by each other’s side.
Herman was quiet as the tide got lower. “Her problem was just the opposite,” he said at last, staring straight ahead. “She wasn’t critical enough. She loved everyone, accepted everyone. She had no protection of any kind against life.”
Three
“ESTHER, CAN WE PLEASE TALK about something other than your salacious interest in Salvo’s romantic endeavors?”
“I have no interest in them whatsoever, salacious or otherwise.”
Herman and Esther strolled down the street. Esther took his arm, to touch him, not to burden him with her weight. Today it was just the three of them, Herman, Esther, and Alexander. Fernando had dropped them off at the Breakers for breakfast, and afterward they ambled past the fancy shops, Herman pushing the carriage along Worth Avenue.
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