Anina lit the overhead work lamp with a single bright beam. She was alone inside Cabrelli’s Jewelers on the main boulevard in Lucca. Night had fallen but she didn’t notice it. She didn’t check the time because she didn’t care how long it would take. She could hear the laughter and conversations coming from the street as the young set in town headed out to the clubs. She looked up and smiled to herself. That used to be her routine. Soon, the sound of the car horns and their voices fell away as she concentrated on the task before her.
Anina slid the work goggles over her eyes. She flipped the switch to turn on the bruting wheel. She tapped her foot on the pedal, gently pumping the machine wheel. She cocked her head to listen for the sound it made when it was operating at the proper speed.
The apprentice picked up a sliver of peach quartz and held it against the rough edge of the wheel. It jumped between her fingers and out of her hands. She turned the machine off. Anina got down on her knees and looked for the stone. When she found it in a crack in the floorboard, she stood and held it under the light.
She heard her grandfather’s voice in her head. She examined the quartz, turning it over to find the stone’s point of strength. She adjusted the light and started the machine again. She hoped the stone would not shatter in her hand and tumble into the catch tray below the table. The stone felt substantial as she tilted it against the wheel, slowly grazing the quartz against the abrasive rim of the wheel. She held on to the stone, gently guiding it, shifting it slightly to create an edge on the cut. She heard the music of the cutting as the wheel spun faster, the notes climbing an octave. Anina stopped breathing as the quartz squared in her hand. The stone, cut by her own hands, had a top, smooth, without cracks or fissures. Anina stopped the wheel. She looked at the stone. The quartz grabbed the light. Cutting was all about the light. Yes, Anina said to herself, yes.
* * *
Anina sat with her grandmother on the terrace. “This is the best view in the village,” she decided.
“I think so. But it’s the only one I’ve ever known. Maybe the Figliolos have a better one.”
“Maybe.” Anina pulled the chair closer to her grandmother.
“I’m afraid, Anina.”
“Are you in pain?”
“I’m all right if I don’t move.” Matelda grinned.
“So don’t. Are you afraid of death?”
“No. Not at all. We’re promised that the afterlife will be beyond our imaginations. I’m looking forward to seeing what that could possibly be. But I am afraid I won’t recognize John McVicars when I meet him in heaven.”
“Maybe you won’t recognize him, but he’ll know you.”
“That’s actually wise.” Matelda nodded. “You with the tattoo knows about the afterlife?”
“Nonna, a jab? Really?” Anina took her grandmother’s hand and squeezed it affectionately. “I’m trying to help.”
“I’m sorry. I say whatever I’m thinking and half the time it’s just rot.”
“It’s your sense of humor. Don’t apologize for it now.”
“My humor is so dry, it could be the bread crumbs in your meatballs. Well, that’s what happens as you get older. You lose your patience, and it’s replaced with sarcasm. I can’t help it. I look around and what I see is stupid. You will find out for yourself when you’re my age. It’s the sign that it’s time to go.” Matelda took sips of air. “Have you heard from Paolo?”
“He wants me back.”
“Do you think you’ll take him back?”
“The Ulianas are good people. A little overbearing. His mother texts me to see how I am. She says she doesn’t care whether I go back with her son or not. She says she loves me.”
“Who cares what she thinks?”
“You told me, ‘You marry the family.’ I should have it tattooed prominently.”
“No tattoos! I didn’t mean what I said. You marry the man. It was my attempt to get you to think with your head and not your heart. Can I take it back?”
“You can do whatever you want, Nonna.”
“If Paolo makes you feel that everything is possible, marry him. If you think you have to make everything possible for him, don’t marry him. A woman appreciates support; a man needs to believe he did it all on his own. It’s ridiculous but accurate.” Matelda shielded her eyes from the setting sun. “Is there still a bottle of prosecco in the refrigerator?”
“Would you like some?”
Matelda nodded. Anina went into the kitchen and opened the bottle of prosecco and poured two glasses. She had made her decision about Paolo. It wasn’t anything he had done; it was what he had left undone. He had not taken an interest in her dreams. It was never a bad idea to listen to her grandmother.
Anina gave Matelda a glass of prosecco and toasted her.
“No, no, let’s toast you,” Matelda said, holding up her glass. “Screw Paolo Uliana.”
“Nonna.”
“Listen to me. Love yourself. That’s the greatest adventure. When you love yourself, you want to find your purpose, something only you can do in the way only you can do it. Make things. Create. And if a man comes along—and believe me, he will—the relationship is already off to a good start because both of you love the same person. You. Lucky him.”
* * *
The church bells rang in the distance. Matelda hummed along to the melody of the chimes.
Nicolina prepared her mother’s breakfast in the kitchen. She placed it on a tray and brought it out to the terrace. “I don’t miss those bells in Lucca. Every hour on the hour is too much,” Nicolina said as she placed the tray on the table next to her mother. “Mama, Matteo is coming today.”
“Again?”
“Yes. He wants to see as much of you as he can.”
Olimpio carried the moka pot to the terrace and poured a cup of espresso for his wife.
“You eat,” Matelda said to her husband, pushing the tray of food toward him.
“I had my breakfast.” Olimpio gently pushed the tray back toward her.
“I don’t feel like it.”