She felt the outside of the deep apron pocket to make sure the medal was safe inside it. She would not share the note or the medal with her mother, father, or brother. She would not even share it with the LeDonne girl, even though Amelia was known for keeping secrets better than any girl in Viareggio.
Domenica didn’t know a single person in the village who would be happy that the Birtolini boy had given her a gift. Domenica believed Silvio and his mother were good and kind, even if the people of Viareggio did not agree. Besides, only the most devout remembered to get a medal blessed before they gave it to someone. Signora Vietro and Silvio Birtolini had faith despite their circumstances; therefore, the girl accepted their talisman with humility. Domenica Cabrelli had the protection of a saint, and at eleven years old, she knew she would need it.
CHAPTER 9
Viareggio
NOW
Olimpio Roffo parked his car on the street in front of Boncourso’s garden. Olimpio was an amiable husband who looked forward to a hot meal and conversation with his wife after a long day of dealing with artisans and customers. The rain and traffic had been heavy on the autostrada. He took the back road that snaked over the hills in curves that followed the streams that led to the sea. The fog was heavy on the road, which made him overly cautious, so he drove slowly, which caused him to be late. He had a good reason to take his time. Olimpio had news for his wife and wanted to make it home safely to deliver it. Wouldn’t it be like fate to ruin a run of good luck before he had a chance to enjoy it? He turned off the engine. The rain was so heavy, he could barely see out the windows of the car.
He checked the sleeve of paperwork from Banca d’Italia by the light of his phone. He had signed the banknote for Cabrelli Jewelers’ new venture, which, he was certain, would be the last major move of his career. It was also, most likely, the last major move of his life.
Thursday, March 3, would be a day to remember in a life calendar full of important dates to celebrate. He closed the folder, placed it into a large envelope, fastened the brads shut, and placed it in his briefcase for Matelda’s co-signature. He lifted the bakery box from the back seat. He got out of the car and made a dash for his front door as quickly as a fit man of eighty-one could move, which in his case was impressive.
“Nonno!” Anina embraced her grandfather as he came off the elevator. She helped her grandfather out of his soaked raincoat.
“My perfect day just got better.” Olimpio kissed his granddaughter.
“Perfect? You’re soaked!” Matelda observed from the kitchen doorway before returning to the stove.
“And I didn’t melt!” Olimpio turned to Anina. “Have you been here all day?”
“All day. I chose an old watch for my wedding and Nonna doesn’t want to give it to me.”
“I will talk to her,” Olimpio said quietly. Anina brought her grandfather’s wet coat and briefcase to the powder room to dry.
When Anina returned, Olimpio smiled. “So you know the story.”
Anina nodded. “Nonna opened up the family vault in more ways than one.”
“Don’t make it sound like a prison sentence, Anina,” Matelda called out cheerily.
“It wasn’t at all, Nonna. Your food is better.” Anina followed her grandfather into the kitchen. “Although they take your phone in jail and Nonna took mine.”
“I gave it back, didn’t I?” Matelda said sweetly.
“I don’t want to know why you were punished,” Olimpio said to his granddaughter as he handed Matelda the bakery box—“Buon Compleanno”—before kissing her.
“Grazie.” Matelda smiled as she opened the box filled with her favorite sfogliatelle, pastries made from paper-thin layers of dough filled with sweet ricotta, in the shape of a seashell, sprinkled with sugar and drizzled in honey.
“Nice. Biagetti’s?” Anina looked in the box.
“Who else? They’re family.” Matelda placed the box on the counter.
“What happened to your face?”
“A seagull attacked her,” Anina answered before her grandmother could.
“Those birds can be vicious when they’re hungry.” Olimpio examined the scratch on Matelda’s cheek. “Especially after the tourists have fed them during Carnevale.”
“She wouldn’t put on ointment, but I made her, and she refused to go to the doctor.”
“Sounds like you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Mama?” Nicolina Tizzi’s voice blared through the intercom speaker, startling them. “I’m here.”
“Is that how I sound when I call up?” Anina laughed. “It’s like the loudspeaker on the beach.”
“Olimpio. Please fix that thing. It scares me.”
“All right. I’ll take care of it. Remind me later.” Olimpio sighed.
“Come up, Mama,” Anina said into the intercom.
Matelda put her arms around her husband. No matter the time of day or night, Olimpio’s neck smelled like peppermint. His beard was always trimmed and the thick white hair on his head was neatly cropped. His dress shirt was as crisp as it had been that morning when he took it off the hanger, even after a full day of work, even after the downpour. “Thank you.”
“What did you make for dinner?” He pulled his wife closer still.
“Orecchiette. Fresh peas. Mint.”
“My favorite dish on your birthday?”
“She wouldn’t let me make dinner, Nonno.”
“Nothing to it.” Matelda drained the pasta and peas into a colander. The steam fogged her eyeglasses. Olimpio removed them for her so she could proceed with her task. “All went well with your meeting?”
“I have the paperwork with me.”
“Congratulations. You worked hard.”
“We worked hard,” Olimpio corrected her. “Your signature is as important as mine.”
Anina marveled at her grandparents’ partnership, as Matelda sprinkled olive oil on the orecchiette. She crushed mint leaves over the oil before she gave the bowl to her husband. Olimpio grated cheese over the pasta.
“Happy birthday, Mama.” Nicolina kissed her mother.