On Friday morning, after Vincenzo waddled out of the house, after she’d fed all the children and sent them off, Josephine took a bath in the big silver tub. She put lavender in the water, and rubbed aloe from the plant she kept by the stove to treat burns on her feet and elbows. Then she put on a dress, one of the ones that made men look at her when she wore it. And she swept her hair up with a sparkling pin.
Then, Josephine Rimaldi sat and waited. Just when she decided he wasn’t going to come, he appeared. He walked right into the house, and said her name, so soft and tender that tears spilled from her eyes. He reached for her, and she nodded.
Tommy Petrocelli kneeled in front of her. He slowly lifted her dress and ran his large, cool hands up her thighs, as if he knew this was the very place where jolts of electricity shot through her. When his hand touched her down there and found her wet, Josephine was embarrassed. But then Tommy did the most remarkable thing. He kissed her down there. He licked her and sucked her and she heard someone moaning, loud. That feeling she’d had so long ago in the tub was back again. But at the point she had stopped, guilty and ashamed, Tommy kept going. The noise grew louder. Such moaning! Josephine was gripping Tommy’s head now, shoving herself into him, and she realized she was making all the noise. But she couldn’t stop herself. He was doing something to her, something she had been longing for. And when she found it, she knew. Her scream was like the cats in heat, but longer and more intense.
As soon as it ended, Tommy pulled down his pants and lifted her onto the table, where he entered her. She was still trembling, wondering what had happened to her, when she realized he was not moving. He was inside her, and he was looking at her.
“Do you believe it?” he whispered.
She knew what he meant: soul mates. Her voice seemed to have vanished, but she managed to nod. Tommy Petrocelli was her soul mate. They were—incredibly, wonderfully—in love. So many questions bubbled up in Josephine’s throat that a strange, choking sound came from her. Would he take her and all these children with him somewhere?
He took the pin from her hair, and he began to kiss her. Without those fast thrusts, Josephine was able to actually feel Tommy inside her. Soon she was clawing at him, begging him to move inside her. He moved so slowly that she thought she might die from the pleasure of it. And again those jolts were shooting through her, and she heard herself moaning, and she was digging her nails into his hard shoulders. Soon he was moving faster and grunting, and then she actually felt him come inside her.
“Feel my heart,” she whispered. It was beating wildly. “I might die,” she said.
“Le petit mort,” Tommy said.
“Death?”
“It’s French. They call it the little death.”
FOR TWO MORE FRIDAYS he came to her, his hands cold from delivering ice. She brought him into the bed she shared with Vincenzo. She imagined leaving her husband, following Tommy Petrocelli anywhere he wanted her to. Everything vanished in the hour they were together each Friday. On the fourth Friday, Josephine woke with her head spinning, and the taste of vomit rising in her throat. And she knew.
But she couldn’t let Vincenzo see her like this, or he would know too. She pretended to be asleep until he left for the mill. Then she buried her head in the chamber pot and puked. That day, Tommy Petrocelli did not come to her. He didn’t come the next week either. He never came again. People said Alfredo died. Some believed his cousin did too. The blond one who had helped out for a while. Soon a new ice man came.
Josephine tried to think of what to do. It had been years since her husband had lain with her. If he learned she was pregnant, he might kill her. Unless he believed it was his. That night, when he heaved himself into bed, Josephine said, “Vincenzo, do you no longer desire your wife?” The words made her sick, but she had no choice.
Immediately his hand forced her legs open. He grunted, like a pig. Luckily it was dark and he couldn’t see her crying. She imagined her passionless life, stretching endlessly before her. She wondered if she could leave this place, leave all of her children, and find Tommy Petrocelli? But even as she wished for such a thing, she knew it was impossible. She had no money; she didn’t even speak enough English to find him in the world outside this neighborhood.
When Vincenzo climbed on top of her, his weight pressing down on her so that she couldn’t breathe, Josephine thought she might be sick. But she only had to count to five, and he was done.