Downstairs on the second floor, the professor’s condo was modest in size. Everything was spotless and arranged in a functional manner. Mina promised herself she would keep it that way, no matter what.
Emilia’s apartment was the polar opposite, high ceilings, few walls, a massive fireplace and floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a large terrace. Inviting, comfortably messy. Not your typical Italian apartment. The smell of floor wax floated about faintly, and longstemmed white gladiolas stretched from a crystal vase on the dining table.
“Whoa! I like your place a lot,” Mina said.
“Thank you, dear, I’ve lived here since getting my degree, used to be two residences. I decided to treat myself and made it into one.
“Degree? Are you a teacher?” Mina stared into the distance beyond the terrace walls. The Little Dolomites looked back at her in a symphony of grays and purples airbrushed by the setting sun—breathtaking. She had forgotten the beauty and majesty of her mountains. Emotion caught up with her again.
“I’m a lawyer, retired—sort of retired,” Emilia said.
“Really? I don’t think I ever met a woman lawyer in Italy before.”
“Plenty of avvocatesse in Italy, just not around here. I was one of the first female lawyers.”
“I bet your parents were proud, huh?”
“My father was. My mother? She would have preferred I married and gave her grandkids.”
“Oh, no kids? Well the world is overpopulated anyhow.”
“Here, sit down,” Emilia said. “Make yourself at home. I’ll bring coffee and amaretti.”
“You have amaretti? I forgot all about the almond cookies, haven’t had any since I left Italy.”
“Why? They don’t have almonds in America?”
Mina shrugged. “So you knew my family?”
“Of course, and how is—Paola?” Emilia hesitated before she mentioned Mina’s mother’s name. What was that about?
“Not good.” She leaned back against the plush couch, a long pause. “Paola died a while back.” Her eyes met Emilia’s. Was she imagining it, or had Emilia’s eyes grown misty? Was she crying? About Paola?
“Oh, you poor, poor thing, so you are alone? And only what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
Mina nodded, close enough. Emilia sure knew a lot about her.
“Seems like yesterday when you came into this world.” She wiped her cheeks. “Let’s get the coffee going. You drink espresso?” She seemed less cheerful as she walked away and left Mina wondering again why no one asked her how Paola came to die so young.
From the kitchen, Emilia said loudly. “Hell, never mind the espresso. I need a glass of wine.” Emilia was back, no longer pretending to hide her distress. “What happened to Paola? Was she sick?” Without asking first, she poured white wine in two stem glasses and handed one to Mina. “Salute.” After a healthy gulp, she eyed Mina. “Aren’t you drinking?”
“You were right I haven’t eaten all day and so…”
Emilia set her wineglass on the table and went back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she carried in a plate bearing a fat sandwich.
Mina’s mouth watered at the sight. It had been ten years since her last rosetta, an Italian roll the size of a baseball, crunchy outside, soft inside. This one was stuffed with salame and cheese. She picked it up with both hands and took a big bite.
Across from her, Emilia sat quietly in a large, plush easy chair. Along with the panino she brought the open bottle of wine and sat it on the coffee table. Settling in for a long chat?
Mina waited until she finished the sandwich. The old rule of not talking with her mouth full was so embedded, even when no one was around to enforce it she couldn’t shake it. “Paola was murdered. It happened in 1989, had to do with her business. You did know she had a business, right?”
“Yes, I remember, with her second husband. Was it a robbery that went wrong?”
Images of Ismael and Sarah with Paola’s jewelry flashed in Mina’s mind. “Yeah, something like that.” Spare Emilia the family’s dirt.
“You poor, poor girl. You should have come back sooner. You’re not alone are you? What about Paola’s husband?”
Mina shook her head. She hated this conversation.
“Oh, you probably have your own man. Husband? Fiancée? Boyfriend?”
Mina shook her head to every question. “I did have a boyfriend. Paola introduced us. Brian. Yes, Brian Starrs.” Her voice sounded monotonous to her, like she had repeated the story so many times it turned into a singsong. “He was nice and all that, but in the end it became obvious his mother would always be his priority. She wasn’t sick or anything. It was more a—”
“Un mammone,” Emilia said. “That’s what we call them here, and trust me, we have plenty of them. They think their fiancées will wait around until the mother passes. Heck, I can tell you stories of poor, trusting women dying of old age to this day waiting on their future mothers-in-law to pass on. Good riddance, Mina, good riddance.” She stood and topped off both glasses.
The cat slept on the back edge of Emilia’s chair. Night descended onto the town, and the evening breeze through the open window swayed the sheer drapes like they had a life of their own. Mina felt comfortable there, as if she had known this grey-haired woman all her life. In spite of that, she wasn’t about to mention she learned Paola was her mother not her sister, or how the ache in the middle of her chest carved away slivers of her heart since Diego was gone. Some things weren’t meant to be shared.
“Is it because of this Brian you came home? To forget about him?”
“Oh, no, no. Nothing to do with Brian. Things are happening in California. Changes, for the better I’m sure. I figured this would be a good time for me to revisit my old town. I’m taking a vacation. That’s all.”
“June is a good month for visiting, not too hot, not too wet. Perfect.”
Mina shrugged. “So, what kind of lawyer were you? Like Matlock? Solving murders?”
That got Emilia laughing out loud again. “No, no, nothing like that. Besides, the serious stuff goes to the big cities, here in Vicenza we get minor cases. I would have liked to be a divorce lawyer, unfortunately there was no divorce when I became a lawyer, end of discussion.”
“Italians cannot divorce? I had no idea, probably because when I left I was too young to care.”
“They can now. The law was passed in 1971. But very few get divorced. It’s business like usual. They cheat on the spouse or live separated but share the household because of the shortage of rentals. And by they I mean both, husbands and wives. Yes, my dear Mina, it is a very different world we live in. Since I sort of retired, I only represent gypsies.”
“Ahah, you are a funny lady, Signora Lauri.”
“Good, you didn’t call me Signorina. I’m old enough to be called Signora regardless if I’m married or not. But really, call me Emilia.”
“Were you serious about the gypsies? Where are they? Not in this town, right?”
“Gypsies are everywhere; that’s why they are gypsies. I’ve been doing this for a long time. They know the routine, the minute they get arrested anywhere in Veneto, they call Aunt Emilia.”
“You’re serious.”
“Of course. Usually they’ll get arrested for theft, trespassing, and it’s girls mostly. You know, the fortune tellers, the palm readers.” She winked. “They are always cash poor. I get them out, they pay me with a piece of jewelry, probably stolen… and they disappear.”
“I bet you have some interesting stories.”
“After a while they all sound the same, caught red-handed, sitting in jail, pregnant and on the same road to somewhere else. You see, that’s the trick. According to Italian law, a woman with child cannot be held prisoner for misdemeanors or charges like that. So by the time we get in front of the judge, if I can’t prove their innocence, I can prove their pregnancy. It solves the most immediate problem.”
Mina took the tale to heart. “That’s a sad way of livi
ng.”
“Mina, you don’t miss what you never had. Gypsy laws and customs are different from ours. Who are we to judge? The jewelry I’m given as payment is put away in a box with a note. When I die, it will be donated to the local orphanage. I don’t dare do anything with it. I’m convinced it is all stolen.” She took another sip of wine. “So, what did you do today? We know you didn’t go grocery shopping.” Emilia’s pale blue eyes twinkled.
“I bought a plant of cyclamens and went to the cemetery.”
“Aren’t you the sweetest little girl? You remembered your nonna loved cyclamens.”
She did say nonna. Could she be confused, or did she know a lot more about Mina’s birth than she let on?
“So you stopped by the Fioreria?”
“It’s the only place in town that sells flowers if I remember correctly.”
Emilia nodded, her eyes half-closed, she appeared deep into some inner assessment. Then she was back, smiling and cheerful. “Yes, it is. Some things haven’t changed.”
“The cemetery smelled awful. That man, the gravedigger, said something about not enough space.”
“You met Piero. He is a strange character. I guess you have to be strange to do that kind of job. Yeah, the population grew a lot after the second war, and now we are dying in larger numbers than the cemetery can handle. The church softened its stance regarding cremation. Eventually it will help, but now it’s still tough.”
“I’m going back to the cemetery first thing in the morning when no one is there. I’ll come knocking at your door when I’m back, and if you’re not doing anything, you can give me a refresher tour of our lovely town.” Mina got up and stretched.
“Oh, better get my beauty rest then. I mean, it’s going to take all of twenty minutes on foot from one end of town to the other. Sleep well, Mina.” She walked her to the door and gave her a hug. “Don’t be surprised if the stairwell lights go on or off. They’re on timers.”
Chapter 3
It wasn’t the chirping of birds that woke her in the early morning. It was the mournful toll of the church bell. Did it ring for the passing of a man or a woman? It didn’t matter; the knell haunted her to the core. Bad way to start the day.
A cappuccino would help, except there was no place to get one, and she didn’t feel comfortable knocking on Emilia’s door asking for coffee. According to the names listed by the doorbells outside the apartment building, there were four residents. Emilia and the professor accounted for two. What about the others? So far, Mina hadn’t crossed paths with anyone or heard doors open or close. Strange.
The cemetery should be open by now. It would be quiet so early in the day, and she wanted a peaceful place to collect her thoughts, to figure out what drove her to come back to her hometown. What was she looking to accomplish? Ten years hadn’t changed the way the town buried its dead, but it sure changed many other things. She had a list of old schoolmates she hoped to reconnect with. Okay, she did bump into Lola, but her name wasn’t on that list. They weren’t close friends when Mina lived there and didn’t seem to have much in common now.
Maybe she could borrow a phone book from Emilia and call a few of the kids she used to hang around with. Ten years ago. Damn. Suddenly ten years turned into eternity. Many of her girlfriends were probably married with different last names.
Sort of bizarre, these plans to call on friends, drive to Venice, visit the beach. Fantasies of a lonely soul.
Ah, what was she going to do? Spend a month talking to Emilia and her cat?
Deep down she knew the purpose of the trip, to remember as well as forget. Remember the way life was when she spent every day dreaming of moving to America to be with her big sister Paola. The dream came true and then died, like Paola—like everything and everyone she cared about, all gone. Now she was back in Italy, looking for purpose in her life. To find it, she must forget the past, forget her empty house, empty life and broken heart. She must forget about Diego, about her love for him, about her pain when he was taken from her.
She reached the end of the one-way street, and headed for the main road.
A lot of cars were parked near the cemetery gate. The elongated white car with frosted windows told the story—a funeral. She remembered the tolling of the church bells that woke her earlier. She stopped at the gate. A large group of mourners crowded at the corner where the gravedigger worked the day before. The sight put a new spin on the lack of space comment.
She wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t just stand there by the open gateway. God forbid someone recognized her. While she wanted to reconnect with old friends, these were hardly the ideal circumstances. She didn’t feel social. The gravedigger stood under the vaulted porticos watching her. Instead of going straight to the Calvi crypt as she first planned, she turned away to sit on an outside bench.
She felt she should leave before the crowd of mourners went to their vehicles. She just wasn’t sure where to go. Back to the condo? To town in search of a coffee shop? This Italian summer wasn’t shaping up to be much fun, not so far at least. Mina crossed herself, blew a kiss in the direction of the Calvis’ crypt and left.
Chapter 4
Some dance to remember. Some dance to forget…
The Eagles song blared over the roar of the car approaching behind Mina. She scooted to the side of the road. Who was the loud fool? So close to the cemetery.
Lola?
The red convertible stopped just inches from Mina’s open-toed shoes. Lola sat behind the wheel. She wore a bright yellow dress so fitted Mina could count her every breath. Lola turned down the radio and stretched toward the passenger seat. Her dark sunglasses, sporting a gold YSL logo, slid to the tip of her powdered nose.
“Mina, what happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come on; get in. I’ll give you a ride home. I assume you are going home.” The last statement coincided with a sweeping visual assessment of Mina’s clothes.
Caught off guard, Mina got into the BMW without objecting. “I didn’t sleep well. I need some coffee.”
“Oh, great idea, let’s get a cappuccino at the caffè in the Piazza, unless you prefer to go home and change first.”
“Change into what? A pumpkin? It’s not even noon.”
Lola glanced at Mina’s jeans and faded T-shirt. “Sorry. What happened? Did the airline lose your suitcase?”
“What? Noooo. Never mind, we obviously have different taste in clothing.”
“Obviously.”
“But this is a nice car.”
“Isn’t it? 1992, the latest model convertible. Got it four months ago. You should see this baby on the autostrada. I can put the big boys to shame.”
Five minutes later Lola parked her flashy car in the one-hour parking zone. She didn’t bother to lock the vehicle before heading to an outside table at the caffè. Drained physically and emotionally by the spoiled cemetery visit, Mina followed her like a well-trained puppy.
“Girl, you need to let your hair down and have some fun, then you’ll sleep better.” Lola snapped her fingers at a waiter in the process of delivering drinks to another table. He didn’t look up or even seem to notice them, yet was at their table in a flash.
“Signorina Lanza.” He bowed his head, a sign of respect, or was he mocking her? Could have gone either way. A heated look passed between Lola and the young man. Those two had met before and not necessarily with all their clothes on.
The YSL sunglasses were back in place, hiding Lola’s eyes. She tilted her head displaying her long, graceful neck. An encore of the show-and-tell she pulled on Mina when they bumped into each other at the cemetery. This time she had a more appreciative audience.
“Enzo, be a sweetheart. Fetch a cappuccino for my friend Mina and bring me my usual.”
A rush of blood reddened the young waiter’s face to the point Mina was concerned about him. Underneath the thin, blond mustache, a smile stretched his narrow lips. He would be okay. It looked like a simple case of puppy love, not a stroke.
The place had been there ever since Mina could remember. She only saw the indoor section of the caffè once many years ago. The espresso machine, a gleaming silver thing, made noises like an idling locomotive. Hundreds of glasses and colorful bottles were lined up against the back of the bar.
It had been bitterly cold. Her grandmother had gone inside with some other lady after church, and they had had a cappuccino. The room had very high ceilings, the highest Mina had ever seen outside a church or the railroad station in Vicenza. Back then the place intimidated her. Not today. The sidewalk caffè with the colorful umbrellas and the whimsical rattan seating created an atmosphere of laid-back dolce-far-niente, the pleasant idleness of midday siesta. This was the only bar in the whole square. Restaurants and other drinking establishments were located on the outskirts of town. There were no fast food drive-throughs. Most of the townfolk came for their aperitif then headed home for lunch. After that, the piazza would be quiet again until after the siesta.
Enzo brought Mina’s cappuccino and what looked like a Spritz, a concoction of Aperol and Prosecco served chilled in a tall stem glass. He also brought a small dish of patatine, paper-thin salted slices of baked potato meant to go with the Spritz. Mina played the dumb tourist and gobbled them up, but Lola didn’t even seem to notice. Mina sipped and watched people cross the square in all directions as merchants began to roll down the metal shutters to break for lunch until two-thirty. Try that in California.
“I forgot how laid-back life is around here.” Mina wiped some of the frothy milk from her lips. Love it.
Italian Summer (Mina's Adventures Book 3) Page 2
