As Rita, Connie, Ma, and I make our way toward Tracy’s casket, we hear the guests whispering how beautiful Tracy looks.
“Rita’s right, Vee. People are taking one look at Tracy and then looking right at you.”
Mrs. Santana is sitting in the front row with her husband. I still can’t imagine how they must feel, losing their only child. Tracy’s uncle has his five children present, including Kathleen, who had come into Sposa Rosa to buy her wedding dress with Tracy. She is sobbing uncontrollably. It’s obvious they all loved Tracy very much.
When Mrs. Santana sees me, she gets up and takes me in her arms.
“I know I thanked you already, but I have to thank you again. You don’t know how much this means to me.” I look into Mrs. Santana’s eyes and just nod my head.
Ma, Rita, and Connie shoot questioning glances in my direction.
Mrs. Santana embraces my family and thanks them, too. They say, “You’re welcome,” even though they have no idea what they are being thanked for.
When they take their place in line again, Connie whispers, “What is going on, Vee?”
I know she’ll get her answer in a moment.
Rita gasps as she comes into view of Tracy. I then hear Ma murmur a “Dio mio.”
They all look at me, just the way everyone else has after seeing Tracy.
I’m frozen in place, staring at Tracy. The tears I could not shed when I had first learned of Tracy’s death flow freely now. The funeral parlor has done an amazing job. I know everyone says that at wakes, but in this case, it really is true. Her long jet-black locks have been lightly curled. Her makeup is not too heavy and gives her a pinkish glow, as if life is still beating within her. Bobby pins with rhinestones in the shape of a flower are placed randomly on the crown of her head. A ruby-red rosary is wrapped around Tracy’s clasped hands. Her face looks very peaceful, and her trademark, bow-shaped lips look like they’re slightly puckered as if they’re waiting to be kissed.
Though her coloring has always lent itself more toward Snow White, the image of Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince to wake her up with a kiss comes to mind.
But for all the great work that the funeral home makeup artist has done, what really makes Tracy look beautiful is her dress. She is wearing a wedding dress, but not just any wedding dress. It’s my wedding dress.
That was the revelation I had at Sposa Rosa the other night. I couldn’t get Mrs. Santana’s words out of my mind about never seeing her daughter get married. Never seeing her dream—or her daughter’s—come true.
I had felt her pain and knew it only too well with my first broken engagement, but now I was getting another chance at happiness with Stefano. Tracy would never have that second chance.
I know I could have donated one of the hundreds of dress samples our shop carries, but I felt that wouldn’t be enough. I wanted Tracy to have something that had once meant a lot to me, something that I had loved. For after all, Tracy’s friendship had once meant a lot to me, and I had loved her before she hurt me. By my giving her my own wedding dress, I hoped she would know wherever her spirit now was that I had finally forgiven her.
So that night at the shop, I worked feverishly to make a few alterations to the dress. First, I dropped the hem and couldn’t help thinking of Michael. Maybe he’d had a point after all about making the gown long? I then cut the halter straps of the gown and used some of the sheer lace I’d bought at Burano to cover the neckline of the dress. I also created sleeves out of the same lace so that the dress was no longer strapless. It would be more appropriate for a funeral yet maintain the beauty of a wedding dress. I wasn’t worried about the dress fitting Tracy since she was much thinner than me, and the caretakers at the funeral home could clip the dress in the back to take it in. The dress looked as if it had been made for her. It fit perfectly.
I kneel down to say a prayer and look at the gold chain around Tracy’s neck. A small charm in the shape of a snake hangs from it. Snake God must’ve given it to Tracy. I notice him sitting in the front row with Tracy’s family. His eyes are bloodshot.
My mother is kneeling next to me and has been whispering my name, but I’ve been too wrapped up in my thoughts to hear her until she touches my shoulder.
“That was very generous what you did. We know how much that dress meant to you.”
“It felt right, Ma. I hope you’re not upset.”
“How can I be? I have the most amazing woman for a daughter. Seeing what you did for Tracy and her mother only makes me love you more. Now let’s go. We’re holding up the viewing line.” My mother places her arm in mine as she leads me away. I glance over at Mrs. Santana and can’t help but think how much different her relationship with Tracy was compared to my relationship with my mother. I don’t doubt that Mrs. Santana had loved Tracy, but the way she loved her might’ve been the only way she’d known how.
My family and I sit down in the last few remaining seats at the back of the viewing room. People seated around us lean over and tell me, “That was so generous of you giving Tracy’s mother one of Sposa Rosa’s wedding dresses.”
The guests have no idea that the wedding dress was my own. That secret would remain with my family and me—and Tracy.
24
A Revelation
Tracy is buried the next day at St. Michael’s Cemetery. The throngs of guests that were present at the wake aren’t at the funeral Mass or at the burial. Just Tracy’s family, Snake God, and a few friends are in attendance. I’m there alone. Ma, Rita, and Connie had to work.
Long-stemmed white roses are handed out to the guests to throw over her casket after it’s lowered into the ground. After I throw my rose, I whisper to Tracy, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me wherever you are. And please remember the good times of our friendship.”
I walk away and head toward my car. I’m not going to wait until the dirt is thrown over her casket. That’s too much to bear.
“Valentina.”
I turn around.
“Michael.”
We stare awkwardly at each other. Michael finally breaks the silence.
“I wasn’t able to make it to the wake.”
I nod my head. “I didn’t see you at the church.”
“I was standing at the back.”
“My sisters told me the two of you had become friendly.”
I know Michael picks up on what I’m implying. I can’t help myself. Of course I’ve been wondering if at some point Michael and Tracy had resumed where they left off that night when I saw them making out in the alleyway.
“A little bit. I started running a couple of months ago so I would see her at the park. We just talked.”
I nod my head again. I’m beginning to feel like one of those bobble-head dolls.
“I heard you still went to Venice.”
“You heard correctly.”
“I hope it wasn’t too hard.”
I want to laugh, but I don’t. Of course, all the wrong things are coming out of Michael’s mouth. I feel my engagement ring resting against my breastbone. Knowing it’s there gives me some added strength in talking to Michael. I had slipped the ring off my finger on the plane back to New York and transferred it to the chain around my neck so that I could keep it concealed under my shirt. Once I tell my family the news of my engagement to Stefano, I can wear the ring on my finger again.
“Venice was all I expected it to be and more. I actually extended my trip to another week, but then I heard about Tracy and decided to fly back for the funeral.”
It’s Michael’s turn to nod his head.
“You know, Valentina, no one would’ve blamed you if you stayed in Venice and didn’t attend Tracy’s wake. Everyone was quite shocked that you went. I heard about the dress you donated. That was very kind of you.”
“It wasn’t just any wedding dress, Michael. It was my wedding dress.”
Michael’s eyes widen in shock.
“Are you crazy?”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t expect you
to understand, Michael, plus I don’t owe you any explanations over what I decided to do with my wedding dress. I suppose I can’t call it my wedding dress, though, since the wedding never happened.”
A flash of pain shoots through Michael’s eyes. I turn around and walk to my car.
“Wait, Vee! I’m sorry. I was just thrown by that news.”
I ignore him as I insert my key into my car’s door.
“Please, Valentina. Just another minute.”
Michael places his hand on my shoulder. I look down at it, and he quickly withdraws it.
“I’m sorry, Michael. I really need to be going. Just please do me a favor.”
“Of course, Vee. You know I would do anything for you.”
Anything—except marry me, that is.
“Don’t tell anyone that it was my wedding dress Tracy was wearing. Except for you and my family, no one else knows. I don’t need the gossip mill revolving around me—again.”
Once more Michael’s face looks hurt. Naturally, he knows I’m referring to the gossip mill of our broken engagement.
Hanging his head low, he softly says, “You got it.”
“Thanks.”
I get into my car and quickly back out of the lot. I can’t resist glancing in my rearview mirror before I exit the cemetery’s gates. Michael has turned around and is walking away, still looking down at the ground. He’s changed since I last saw him. His confidence seems to have vanished. And he’s even aged a bit. There are lines around his eyes that didn’t used to be there.
I chide myself for telling him about the dress. But in that moment, I just wanted to hurt him. And from his reaction, I can tell I succeeded. Who would ever think I had it in me? But I don’t feel good about it like I’d always envisioned I would. Since the broken engagement, I’ve had fantasies of getting him back and hurting him just as much as he’d hurt me.
Haven’t I learned anything from Tracy’s death? How can I truly move forward in my new life with Stefano if I’m still holding on to this baggage with Michael? Maybe Michael is right. Maybe I should’ve stayed in Venice.
I let out a long sigh and wonder what Stefano is doing at this moment. I glance at my watch. Eleven a.m., which means it’s five p.m. Italian time. He’s probably waking up from his siesta. I feel an ache in my heart and wish I were lying next to him in bed right now. I drive back home and take my own siesta.
A week has passed since Tracy’s funeral. Stefano is scheduled to arrive in New York on Wednesday, just two days away. And I still haven’t told my family about him or our engagement. I can’t wait any longer. I need to give them at least a couple of days to digest the news. I suddenly feel like a big coward and selfish. I should’ve told them last week. Two days is hardly enough time to get them used to the idea that I have not only fallen in love with a man—a much older man—from overseas but that I am also engaged.
I suppose I’ve been waiting because I know there is something I must do before I can make my announcement. Since running into Michael at the cemetery, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our meeting.
Instead of going home after work that night, I walk over to Michael’s parents’ house. Connie mentioned to me that Paulie Parlatone told her Michael had moved back in with his parents this past weekend. I didn’t believe it when I heard it, but Connie said she drove by Michael’s street yesterday and saw him carrying luggage into the house. Strange. Did he lose his high-powered Smith Barney job? Maybe that was why he looked so dejected walking away in the cemetery’s parking lot that day.
Of course, I have no assurances that Michael will be home, and I haven’t called ahead of my visit. I’ll just take my chances. The larger part of me knows, however, that if I don’t do this now, I might chicken out and never do it.
I ring the bell. My heart is pounding.
The door opens. I’m expecting it to be Michael, as if he’s the only one who lives here, but instead Mrs. Carello opens the door.
“Valentina? Hello. How are you?”
Mrs. Carello looks embarrassed and nervous.
“Hello, Mrs. Carello. I’m sorry for dropping by like this. I should’ve called, but I was walking by and just thought I’d stop by quickly.”
“You don’t need to call ahead of time. You are always welcome here, Valentina.”
Mrs. Carello smiles but again she looks very nervous. I see her glance over her shoulder.
“Actually, Mrs. Carello, I’d heard that Michael was staying here. He wouldn’t be around, by any chance? I wanted to talk to him.”
Surprise registers in Mrs. Carello’s face and then something else. Is it hope?
“Yes, he’s here. Come in.”
I walk in and smell garlic and oregano. Mr. Carello is walking out of the kitchen with a platter of London broil. He stops short when he sees me.
“Valentina.”
“Hello, Mr. Carello. How are you? I’m so sorry. I’m disturbing your dinner.”
“That’s okay. Ahhh . . . would you like to join us?”
He exchanges glances with Mrs. Carello, and now he’s the one who looks nervous.
“Valentina wants to speak to Michael.”
“Oh. I’ll go get him. Please have a seat, Valentina.”
Mr. Carello places the platter of London broil on the dining room table and turns to leave, but just as he does so, a little boy of about six or seven years old runs out from the back, giggling.
I turn to Mrs. Carello. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
But before Mrs. Carello, whose face looks absolutely ashen now, can respond, Michael comes running out and screaming, “I’m going to get you.” He freezes in his tracks when he sees me.
“Valentina.”
“She’s here to see you, Michael.”
Mrs. Carello looks like she’s going to cry. What is going on? Obviously, I have not come at a good time.
“I’m sorry. I should have called. I can come back another time.”
I turn to leave, but Michael is by my side in a split second.
“No, that’s okay. We can talk.”
The little boy is staring at me shyly and smiling. I smile back. Michael had loads of cousins, most of whom had married in their early twenties. Maybe the Carellos were babysitting for one of them?
Mr. Carello says, “We’ll go for a walk with Ivan so the two of you can have some time alone to talk. Let me just place the London broil back in the oven to stay warm.”
“Ivan?” What Italians would call their kid Ivan?
After the Carellos leave, Michael asks me, “Do you want a soda or some wine?”
“Actually, just a glass of water is fine.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I have something a little stronger.”
I wave dismissively to Michael, letting him know I don’t care what he drinks.
I sit down on the plush couch in the living room.
Michael comes out with what looks like Scotch in his glass, and offers me a tall glass of water, filled to the brim with ice. Only three months apart, and he’s already forgotten that I don’t like a lot of ice in my drinks. But I merely thank him and take a sip.
“Who’s the little boy?”
“That’s Ivan.”
“So I heard. Is he one of your cousins’ kids? I know I didn’t meet all of your cousins, but I think I would’ve remembered an Ivan. That’s an unusual name for Italians to call their kids.”
“No, he’s not any of my cousins’ kids. Look, Valentina. There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it. Ivan is my son.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. His son?
“What? You’re joking, right?”
Michael shakes his head.
“This is what I wanted to talk to you about that day at the cemetery. I wanted to tell you. I knew it would only be a matter of time before you and everyone else in the neighborhood found out, especially since Ivan and I are staying at my parents’ for the remainder of the summer.”
“Oh, how noble of you to want to tell me right before all of Astoria found out! How about telling me when you first found out you had a son? How about telling me when you broke off our engagement ?” I let out a disgusted sigh and turn my back to him. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Valentina. That’s all I can say. I wish I had acted differently. I wish I could take it all back and do it right.”
“Who is the mother?” I still have my back turned to him.
“It’s this girl I was seeing when I was in business school in Germany.”
“Oh.”
It’s silent once more. So he was dating someone while he was in Munich. No wonder he’d stopped e-mailing me. I can tell Michael knows I’m adding two and two.
“Germany. Hence the name Ivan,” is all I can say.
“Yes.”
“How long have you known about him? Did you know when we were together?” I turn around. I want to see the look in his eyes when he answers.
Michael stares at his Scotch. He takes a quick gulp.
“I found out a couple of weeks before we broke up.”
So that’s how he chooses to see it. “We broke up.” I laugh out loud. It’s a cruel laugh, one I’ve never heard escape from my throat before. “You’re still choosing to think our breakup was a mutual decision. When are you going to own up to your responsibility, Michael? You walked out on me!” The rage I’ve been trying to quell finally bursts, and I’m shouting now at full force.
“You were right that day, Valentina. There was more than my just getting cold feet and not being ready for marriage. Finding out about Ivan was the real reason why I ended our engagement.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought about it. I swear. I did. But I didn’t know how to drop this bomb on the woman I was about to marry. It would be unfair for me to do that to you.”
“Unfair? You don’t think it was unfair keeping the truth from me? You think it was fair that I didn’t know the real reason why the man I’d known, or thought I’d known, since I was a kid was breaking my heart so badly? I blamed myself! Do you know that? I thought I wasn’t sophisticated enough for you and that you had realized that and couldn’t be with me forever, knowing the vast differences between us.”
Bella Fortuna Page 34
