All the Way to Heaven

by Becky Doughty

  “Wow. You don’t give me much credit, do you?” I muttered, not liking how crass he made things sound. “Or yourself, for that matter.”

  “Ani, please. You do not understand. I have not behaved responsibly. I have not protected—”

  “I’m not as helpless as I look,” I interrupted. “Even with this stupid broken leg.” I tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let me, his arm tightening around my back, his fingers curling possessively around my hipbone. “You’re not responsible for me, Paulo. I can protect myself just fine. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  He stiffened and I was immediately ashamed of my words. Need it or not, I craved what he was offering me as a man—to stand by me, for me, and between me and any who would malign me. I was really more sad than angry, though; sad that this day, this glorious day, was going to end like this.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his neck, knowing words spilled could not be taken back. “I shouldn’t have said that. I love that you want to protect me. I just think… I think you’re worrying too much about this situation.”

  He took a deep breath and lifted my face to his. “Perhaps you are right, Ani. And perhaps I am right. But we will not know sitting here arguing in the truck while it grows even later.”

  “Right.” I smiled gently.

  “So we will kiss and make up, and then we will go face whatever awaits us together, okay?” He brought his hand up to cup my face.

  “Yes. To all of it. Starting with the kissing part.” I closed my eyes and sighed, my body relaxing into the circle of his embrace.

  A few minutes later, he was wheeling me along in the chair, Margarite’s nearly empty basket on my lap, my crutches braced precariously on top. The wheels trundled along like an ox cart on the path, rattling the crutches together no matter how firmly I held them, and even our whispers seemed amplified, bouncing back at us off the stone walls of the house. Someone had left a low light on in the kitchen, and between the swath spilled through the panes of the French doors and the still bright glow of the moon overhead, we didn’t have too much difficulty finding our way.

  When we reached the three short steps leading up to the terrace, Paulo turned my chair around. “Lean back,” he instructed, quietly. I did so without hesitating, laying my head back and smiling up at him as he carefully bumped me backward up the steps.

  “Hey,” I whispered.

  “Hey,” he echoed, grinning down at me.

  “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

  He set the two front wheels of my chair down carefully, hardly jostling me at all, then came around in front of me, hands on the armrests, bending down so his face was only inches from mine. “Amazing is good. But do I still surprise you?”

  “I would be really, really, really surprised if you kissed me right now,” I giggled, reaching up to grab the scruff of his collar to pull him toward me.

  “So you finally decided to bring my guest home.”

  The voice that rose up out of the darkness sent all romantic notions charging out of my head on the heels of my screech. I twisted in my chair and my crutches clattered to the stone terrace beside me. Paulo straightened and stepped purposefully around me, placing himself between me and the man who moved into the light from the kitchen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Did I surprise you?” Cosimo’s voice was deceptively casual, but his words were a clear mockery of Paulo’s.

  Paulo spoke low in Italian, and even though I couldn’t understand what he said, his tone made his meaning very clear. He widened his stance, his arms loose at his side. I closed my eyes in frustration, not wanting to believe this was actually happening.

  “You guys,” I spoke into the tense silence. “It’s late.” I maneuvered my chair around Paulo so I was facing Cosimo. “Please.” I wasn’t quite sure what I was asking, but this was not the time or the place for a showdown.

  “Yes, Ani. It is very late. And you have been very sick.” Cosimo spoke to me, but kept his gaze trained on Paulo. He started rattling off a barrage of clipped statements clearly intended for Paulo’s ears only, his lip curling in distaste.

  “Basta!” Paulo’s curt response startled me, not because it was loud, but because I didn’t expect to hear words like that come out of his mouth, regardless of the circumstances.

  “Paulo,” I murmured, reaching over to lay a hand on his forearm.

  “Enough? Enough, you say?” Cosimo took a step forward, his voice raised, all traces of civility gone. “You do not come to my home and tell me basta!” Then it was back to Italian, volleying back and forth between the men, growing louder and louder as they began to speak over each other. Okay, so Paulo hadn’t called him a bad name, but clearly, he had overstepped his boundaries anyway.

  “Please stop, you guys!” I started wheeling toward the French doors, my crutches still on the terrace behind me. Maybe if I left the scene, the two of them would simmer down and go their separate ways. But at that moment, an outside light flickered on over Cosimo’s head, and Franco stepped into the kitchen from the hallway, Claudia in a robe behind him, both of them with eyes fixed on the scene outside.

  Lord. Have. Mercy.

  There I sat, the two angry men exchanging verbal blows over the top of me, after three o’clock in the morning, waking up the household on the eve of their busiest time of the year. I dropped my head in my hands and moaned.

  Within moments, Claudia had corralled me inside, closing the door on the three guys who stood in a triangle under the porch light, each of them wearing a different expression. “We let the men sort it out, okay?”

  “Oh, Claudia, I’m so sorry. I meant to just slip in quietly. I know we’re so late, but it wasn’t Paulo’s fault. I don’t want him to be blamed for it.” I felt like a teenager justifying her boyfriend’s behavior to her mother. “And I didn’t expect Cosimo to be home tonight. Or waiting for me.”

  “It is Cosimo’s home, Anica, and you are our guest.” Her tone was gentle, but the reprimand was not so subtle. Paulo had been right. Regardless of our intentions, we’d walked all over the hospitality of my hosts. Claudia took the basket from me and carried it to the sink, her back to me as she emptied the contents of it onto the counter. I saw her eye the nearly full bottle of Chianti with some curiosity, then set it aside with the cruet of what was left of the olive oil. We’d eaten the olives, the foccacia, and the last two apples out near the aqueduct.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated lamely, my ears tuned in to the muffled voices outside the doors. I glanced over at the men to see Franco shooing them both off the terrace. Cosimo had his hands shoved in his pockets and took a few steps backward down the path toward the pool house, watching as Franco followed Paulo the opposite direction around the front of the house. I suddenly did not want to be sitting here in the kitchen when Franco returned.

  “Mama?” Isa came into the kitchen, her eyes bleary with sleep, her hair still perfect. “Ani? Is everything okay? I thought I heard arguing.”

  Claudia said something in Italian, nodded in my direction, then turned around and leaned her hips against the counter, tucking her long hair behind her ears. “I will speak with Franco when he returns, Anica. Isa can take you to your room.” She smiled kindly, but her eyes were clouded with emotions I couldn’t decipher. I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  I turned my chair toward the hall and let Isa push me, even though I didn’t need her help. I didn’t want to offend anyone else. We moved along in silence until we were out of earshot of Claudia.

  “Ani, do not worry. Everything will be okay.”

  “I don’t know, Isa. Did you see your mom’s face? I feel like a kid again. And poor Paulo. He warned me this would happen.” I scrubbed my face with my hands as she pushed me inside my room and closed the door behind me. “I can’t believe this.”

  “It will be okay, I promise. Mama and Papa are worried about the olives, Ani. They are not upset at you.”

  “And
Cosimo. Oh, Isa! I didn’t know he was here. His car wasn’t out front.”

  “Cosi was here? Mama only said Paulo brought you home so late.”

  “He was waiting up for me, Isa,” I moaned. “He and Paulo started arguing and your dad had to separate them.”

  “Oh!” And then she started giggling, leaning against the door at her back. “So Cosi came home to see you and he found you out with another man.” She clapped her hands softly, slowly, nodding in appreciation. “Poor Paulo, you say? Poor Cosi, I say. He is not accustomed to being the second man in the line.”

  “Stop laughing, Isa! I’m mortified that your parents had to step in like that. That we woke them up at all. I have caused so much trouble in this household since coming here.”

  She crossed the room to my side and leaned down to put her arms around me, giving me a quick squeeze. “No, no, Ani! You have brought excitement to this house. You have given us something to think about besides the harvest. In Italy, we live for drama. Do not be sorry! Now you need to go to bed and get some sleep, okay?” She turned back the covers on my bed. “You can tell me all about your day tomorrow while we collect olives, okay?”

  I balked at the idea of working companionably beside the Lazzaro family after tonight’s fallout, but Isa batted away my concern. “It will all be well by morning, you will see. Perhaps Cosi will pout, but it is good for him to remember that he is not the only man in this world, I think.” Her eyes darkened a moment, and I wondered at her somewhat catty reaction. It seemed so out of character for her. “It is good for you to remember that as well, Ani. Cosi, I love him, but sometimes he is not careful with matters of love.”

  I wondered, then, if she knew about Cosimo’s assistant. I considered asking her, but decided against it, not wanting to stir up any more trouble tonight. I nodded instead and dug my pajamas out of the cupboard. The adrenaline was starting to run its course and I was suddenly bone tired.

  “I’ll just go brush my teeth and wash my face first. What does tomorrow look like? What time should I be up?”

  “You sleep, Ani. When you awake, there will be someone here who can show you the way. You have the crutches, too, yes? Paulo gave them to you today?” She glanced around the room as though expecting them to suddenly appear.

  I shook my head and snorted. “They’re out on the terrace. I dropped them when Cosimo jumped out of the dark at us.”

  “What?” Isa cocked her head to one side. “He was sitting outside in the dark waiting for you?”

  I just nodded again. So much for not stirring up any more trouble, if her expression told me anything. She muttered something under her breath in Italian, but I thought I caught the word imbecille.

  “What will happen to Paulo?” I asked suddenly. “I mean, he wanted to help with the harvest. Will he be… can he still….” My voice trailed off.

  Isa shrugged. “I do not know, Ani. It is up to Papa and Cosi.”

  Great. In other words, Paulo wouldn’t be setting foot on Lazzaro land any time in the near future. If ever again. What a mess I’d made of things!

  “It is all okay, Ani,” Isa assured me again. “Men will be men. Boys will be boys. They must tear into each other like angry bulls, but in a day or two, it will be like nothing ever happened. You will see.”

  As it happened, I awoke early, feeling surprisingly rested, in spite of the rocky night. I could hear loud conversation from the kitchen, but it sounded boisterous and excited, not like an angry argument. I crossed the hall to the bathroom, took a quick shower standing on one leg, bracing myself against the wall, then dressed in comfortable jeans and layered shirts, pulling my black hoodie over the top to ward off the morning chill. I quickly wove my hair into a French braid over one shoulder, slathered on some sunscreen and a little makeup, and gave myself a brief pep talk. I wasn’t excited to face the music, but I might as well get it over with.

  The kitchen was teeming with activity. Margarite, Claudia, and Isa were there, along with Gilda and a few other women I didn’t recognize. Margarite was the first to spot me, and she greeted me boisterously. Isa hurried to my side and kissed both cheeks. “You are up so early, Ani. Did we wake you?”

  “No, no,” I assured her. “I don’t usually sleep in. And I didn’t want to miss anything.”

  Claudia, to my surprise, also crossed the room and hugged me warmly. She looked just as composed as she ever did, no traces of a disrupted night on her smooth features. “Buon giorno, Anica.” She introduced me to those I didn’t already know, neighbors who helped with the harvest in exchange for oil, then shortly after, we all headed out together, gloves and baskets and floppy hats all around. Because I had the wheelchair, my lap was loaded with a monstrous basket of food, courtesy of Margarite.

  “The men have been out already, combing the trees,” Isa explained as we walked down the driveway together. “They have electric rakes that vibrate while they pass them through the branches. The olives fall into nets under the trees. We will gather the olives from the nets and separate the good ones into crates to be taken to the mill in the morning. It is not a difficult job, but it is a long day in the groves and your back will be sore from bending.”

  “The sunshine is good for your bones, Ani, and your skin will turn brown like mine,” Margarite declared, laughing as she pulled back the long sleeve of her denim overshirt. Everyone laughed, and I could feel the tension in my body begin to ease. Isa had been right and things were much better this morning. Granted, I had yet to come face to face with Franco or Cosimo, and I was desperate to call Paulo as soon as I got a chance, but I hoped the fact that we all had to work together would help smooth things over.

  Cosimo spotted us long before we reached the group of men working amid a section of olive trees. He was a few rungs up on a ladder, a long-handled rake probing the branches overhead, its long, orange electric cord snaking across the ground to the back of a sturdy truck with a generator in its bed. Leaping to the ground, he hurried toward us, and I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the worst.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Even in scruffy jeans, work boots, and a plaid flannel shirt halfway buttoned up over a salmon t-shirt, he looked remarkably suave and put together. His strides were long and purposeful, and I was surprised to see a broad smile on his face. His eyes quickly scanned the group of women in greeting, but his focus stayed on me until he was right in front of me, giving me no choice but to bring my chair to a stop. Isa, bless her heart, stayed with me, hands still gripping the handles at my back.

  “Ani! Mia passerota!” Cosimo put his gloved hands on both armrests, leaned down, and kissed my cheeks in greeting. Without straightening, he smiled beatifically, his eyes locked on mine. “I am so glad you have come to join us on this fine day.”

  Isa cleared her throat meaningfully and Cosimo shot her a quelling look over my head.

  “I am deeply sorry for my bad behavior last night. It was only that I was very worried for your safety because of the late hour and I had no way to reach you. Will you forgive me?”

  Clearly, Cosimo wasn’t one to hold grudges. And clearly, too, Isa had already given him the what-for about his part in the whole event.

  “Of course,” I said, my tone careful.

  “Come, ladies!” He straightened suddenly and skirted my chair to take over for Isa. “We need your help, your sharp eyes, and your quick fingers.” His cheerfulness actually grated on my nerves a little. Cosimo, for all his polish and style, epitomized a human chameleon. One minute throwing a temper tantrum, the next charming and sweet, and then a moment later, amorous and sensual.

  He parked my chair under the shade of a tree already picked clean before taking Margarite’s basket from me. He set it in the front seat of the truck to keep the bugs from getting to the food before the humans had a chance. I watched as all around me the activity resumed, the women finding their places in the well-oiled machine. As soon as the men were finished raking the olives from one tree, a few women worked to wind up the nets beneat
h it, scooping all the fruit into one corner and dumping the whole pile onto a blue plastic tarp to be sorted through. Then they’d spread the net beneath another tree farther along the row ahead of the men and their electric rakes and return to help with sorting, slipping right back into the middle of whatever conversation was going on. I joined Isa on the ground in front of one of the piles of olives to be sorted. Margarite sat her bulk on a low stool across from us, and others settled in around us. Claudia sorted olives, too, but she often rose to help with nets, to speak encouragingly to the men, to converse with her husband over the quality and quantity of the fruit. I could tell they were both deeply invested in the process, and I was glad to be able to slip into the proceedings with hardly a glitch.

  Isa showed me what to look for, clucking sadly over the ratio of olives we were throwing away compared to what we kept. The crates around the tarp filled incrementally as we worked, and I grew accustomed to spotting evidence of the larva-riddled fruit without having to break them open, and by noon, I no longer even made a face when I saw one of the little white worms.

  The whole large group sat companionably together to share in the glories of Margarite’s food basket. Ham and cheese on ciabatta rolls, grilled vegetables on wooden sticks, fresh-squeezed lemonade so sweet and refreshing one couldn’t help but let out an “Aaah!” after the first sip. She topped off the lunch with a surprise, having sent one of the young men up to the house to fetch a cooler already packed and waiting in the kitchen; coconut gelato topped with honey-glazed pear spears. I was tickled to cross one more flavor off my list.

  Cosimo sat across from me with several of the younger men during the meal, but when Margarite began dishing up the frosty treats, he stood and helped serve them all around, insisting Claudia stay sitting. When everyone had a dessert, he came and sat down on the ground beside me. I glanced across at Franco, who’d been busy all morning and had only greeted me with a simple “Buon giorno, Anica.” He nodded warmly at me now and went back to the conversation he’d been having with Benito.