“They figured out a nice way to get along with each other. I think she grew to love him eventually. It might have occurred to Nonna on her deathbed. My nonna wasn’t working with my father day-to-day. My grandfather was. I never heard the men argue about the business. They went to and from work together.”
“You and Nonno had your fights.”
“Most married couples fight about money, but I was the bookkeeper and knew the numbers. I had the facts on my side, you see. Your grandfather learned to be a businessman, but it took years. He’s an artist, and they’re dreamers. Never trust an artist to hold the purse, because it will be returned to you empty. Olimpio and I were good for each other. We worked together. We held each other accountable. You need that in a good marriage.”
“Paolo and I did fine with money. It was the intangibles we had trouble with—Don Vincenzo told me that the recipe for a happy marriage was Forgive. Forget. Repeat. I wrestle with forget.”
“I do too. I hope I’ve been forgiven for my shortcomings,” Matelda said quietly. “I hope you can forgive me, Anina. I know I’ve been difficult.”
“We’re good, Nonna.”
“I’m glad. When I was young, my nonna Netta was impossible. And I couldn’t understand why old ladies were so mean.”
“I wonder about that too.” Anina rolled her eyes.
“When you see an old lady who’s on the wrong side of a good mood, now you know why. She has a past that you can’t understand because you didn’t live it. As she ages, her feet hurt, her back aches, her knees click, she cooks, she cleans, she worries, she waits, and then she gets sick and dies. Be kind, Anina. Someday you’ll be the old lady.”
CARNEVALE
February 1946
Domenica followed the screech of the bruting wheel when she entered the shop. She found Silvio in the back room working. “Busy day at the clinic,” Domenica shouted over the sound before Silvio turned off the wheel. “One broken arm and two migraine headaches—the migraines are from the limoncello at Carnevale. Pretucci hates Carnevale. He says it’s an excuse for drunkards and daredevils to act like fools and drink like fish.”
“I’m almost done.” Silvio tapped diamond dust in the tray into a box.
When he was finished with his work, Domenica put her arms around him. Silvio pulled her close and kissed her. “What would you say if I told you I didn’t want to renew my agreement with Signora Pipino?”
“Where would you live?”
“I’d like to move closer to the shop.”
“There are lots of rentals.”
“I don’t want to rent another room. I don’t want to be in another room if you’re not in it. Would you—” Silvio stammered.
“Yes.”
“How do you know what I was going to ask?”
“I’m a strega,” Domenica joked before placing her head on Silvio’s chest. His heart was beating fast, which meant that she mattered to him. When Domenica had returned to Viareggio last fall with her daughter, it appeared that everything was broken, from the pier to the roads to her heart. She found herself tiptoeing around the pieces when she rediscovered the only thing that could make her whole. “I have to know if you love Matelda too. She is a good child, but the day will come when she will understand what she lost—and she may take it out on you.”
“I can’t be him. But I will love her as my own daughter. I will listen when she wants to talk about her father.”
“We won’t be the young couple who builds a family together,” Domenica said wistfully. “I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”
“You gave me a family. There is nothing else I want. And now that I have it, I will protect it for the rest of my life.” Silvio reached into his pocket and handed her a small box.
Domenica opened it and lifted out a ring. Silvio placed it on her finger.
“This ring is the symbol of our new life,” Silvio began. “The blue sapphire for Il Tirreno, the purple amethyst for the thistle of Scotland, the yellow citrine represents the Italian sunflower, and the diamond is the clean slate. We have one, you know, as we begin again. We can choose to be happy together. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She kissed him.
“I cut the stones just for you.”
“I will never take it off,” Domenica promised. “What can I give you?”
“It’s not customary for the bride to gift the groom. But there is something you can give me. Our family needs a real name, not one my mother chose from a list. A barrister in Firenze made up the surname Birtolini for a boy without a father to claim him. We will be a family when we’re married, and our family deserves a name worthy of it. I want to be a Cabrelli, if you’ll have me.”
Domenica was elated. She kissed him again. “We shall be Cabrelli.”
The newly engaged couple walked home arm in arm to share the news with Netta, Pietro, and Matelda. They were waiting with cold champagne and cake because Silvio had already sought their permission before he proposed. All that was left for Domenica Cabrelli to do was to be happy.
* * *
Matelda slept in her bed in the alcove. Domenica gently brushed powdered sugar off her daughter’s cheek before kissing her. Domenica hoped that Matelda was happy about the engagement and not just about having cake before bedtime.
Domenica reached into her closet and pulled out the hatbox where she kept important papers. She opened it and lifted out a stack of letters tied with a white satin ribbon. She tiptoed past her parents’ room and down the stairs. She pulled on her coat, tucked the letters inside her pocket, and walked to the beach.