“He was a Scot.”
“We’re Scottish? This would have been nice to know. Do you have a picture of him?” Anina asked.
Matelda shook her head no.
“All your grandmother has of him is the watch he gave your great-grandmother Domenica. That’s why she couldn’t give it to you,” Olimpio explained.
“Papa, what watch are you talking about?” Nicolina asked.
“The green one,” Anina said impatiently. “The upside-down watch.”
“Have I seen this watch?” Nicolina asked her mother.
“It’s in the case. I thought I kept it at the bank, but I was mistaken.”
“You asked me to get the watch for you, honey. About a year ago. You wanted it close. Remember?” Olimpio said gently.
“Bisnonna Domenica was a nurse,” Anina said to her mother. “You didn’t tell me that either.”
“She wasn’t a nurse when I knew her,” Nicolina said defensively. “She was a grandmother with white hair. Like Nonna here.”
“Hey.”
“You’re in better shape, Mama. When Nonna Domenica was your age, she had a hard time walking.”
“Either your body or your mind goes when you get to my stage of life, and you are not offered a choice,” Matelda said.
“That’s why we need to know about our ancestors. We can prepare for the bad stuff if we know it’s coming,” Anina insisted. “I should’ve been told the story of Bisnonna Domenica before now.”
“What difference would it have made?” Nicolina wondered.
“Maybe I would’ve thought about becoming a nurse,” Anina said.
Her grandparents and mother laughed.
“Okay, maybe not. I can’t stand anything messy or anything sad. But it doesn’t matter. There might be something else in her story that would inform my life now. One person in a family impacts the whole group. Dad went to have his family roots traced at the Università di Milano. I found out the Tizzi family was partly French.”
“I looked John McVicars up and couldn’t find him,” Matelda admitted. “He was on a list of the merchant navy, but that was it.”
Nicolina was surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Now you know how I feel.” Anina sat back. “Pull up a chair in the dark.”
“Maybe I didn’t look hard enough. My mother had died, and when I mourned her, I found myself mourning the loss of my father, John McVicars.”
“Are there any other family secrets I should know?”
“Well, there was that great-great-grandfather of mine who spent a summer in Romania with an opera singer. I should follow up on that one,” Olimpio teased Anina.
“Maybe you should. No one should have a family of their own until they know their history.”
“Sensible girl,” Olimpio complimented Anina.
“Sensible is not a word I would choose to describe Anina.”
“Mama.” Nicolina put down her fork.
“Anina, forgive me. You’re a clever girl. You’re a beauty. Sensible? Well, work on it,” Matelda said.
“I don’t care about being sensible. Sensible is the cardigan sweater of character.”
“Thank you.” Matelda straightened the cardigan sweater she was wearing, sat back in her chair, and buried her hands in the pockets.
“You know what I mean!” Anina said impatiently. “Sensible is frumpy. I’m too young for frumpy.”
“And I’m too old for frumpy,” Olimpio joked.
“You will never be old, Nonno. Neither will you, Nonna. I can’t see you wearing a black wool dress and knee socks in the summer like the widows in the village.”
“We’ll have to see. I’m not a widow. Yet.”
“I won’t let you die first, Matelda. I’m going first. So pick out your black woolens now.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I couldn’t live without you. There. I said it.” Olimpio joined his hands in prayer. “Are you listening, God?”
Matelda laughed. Olimpio couldn’t live without her, and she couldn’t imagine living without him. He took care of the family business as if he were born a Cabrelli. He understood her pain despite her best efforts to hide it. When she was unsure where her impatience or anger came from, he gently guided her to the source. Matelda refused to believe the father she never met was the cause of her anxiety. She did not want to blame the dead—neither her father, nor her mother, nor her stepfather—for her problems at the age of eighty-one, but her problems were also Olimpio’s. He had spent their marriage attempting to convince her that the loss of her Scottish father was something she needed to face in order to heal her heart. Finally, Matelda was getting around to the task.
CHAPTER 10
Lucca, Italy
NOW
Anina stood in the kitchenette in the small apartment she shared with Paolo as he lay on the couch in the living room. The television volume was on full blast as he texted on his phone, oblivious to the football game on the screen. Anina arranged the leftovers from Nonna’s birthday dinner on the plate. Even though she was annoyed with him, whenever she was near her fiancé, she forgot why she was irritated with him. She knew what she had. Paolo was a catch, and there were plenty of girls in Lucca who pursued him, but he chose Anina. Anina grabbed a napkin and utensils and joined Paolo in the living room.
Paolo had taken off his shirt and shoes. His black curls were in need of a cut, and his beard was coming in, even though he had shaved that morning. There was a glass of wine on the coffee table.
“Nonna made your favorite pasta.” She placed the leftovers on the table.
“I’m starving. Thanks, babe.”
“I knew you wouldn’t eat at the café. I wish you would’ve come to celebrate Nonna’s birthday.”
“I couldn’t get out of the meeting.”
“I know. They like to see you once in a while, that’s all.”
“I’ll drop by and say hello when I’m in the village.”
“That would be nice.” Anina doubted Paolo would make a special trip to see her grandmother. Viareggio was out of the way. Anina turned to go.
“Where are you going?” Paolo took her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “Is there something wrong?”
“You’re watching a game.”