“I’m sorry too,” Antonio said finally, in a tone that had no room for apology, only an accusation.
Zia snapped her towel and draped it over her arm. “Tina è per strada. Stu venedo qui.” She sniffed once then spun on her heel and walked back into the kitchen.
Antonio looked stricken.
“What did she say?”
“I’ll take you home,” he replied, taking my arm.
“Wait, where’s home?” I shook him off. “And in what car? What did she say?”
He was still trying to guide me out. “Let’s just go.”
“Stop it!” I folded my arms. “What did she say?”
He looked at the ceiling as if asking God for help, just for once, a little help.
Outside, a car door slammed. Zia’s was on a short block, adjacent to a real estate agent and an optometrist, so there wasn’t much street traffic. The car door got Antonio’s attention.
“Let’s go out the back,” he said.
“What’s happening? You’re scaring me.” I followed his gaze outside. Through the curtains, I saw a man in a suit open the passenger door of a new Honda and a woman got out.
Not just a woman. Valentina Spinelli.
And the man in the suit turned around. Daniel.
Antonio took my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen. I yanked him back.
“Do you see?” he said, indicating the two people coming toward the door as if the situation were obvious. To him, they were a speeding tornado and we had to seek shelter.
“You’re as white as a sheet,” I said, tugging him back. “You’re not afraid of death or torture… but your wife and me in the same room terrifies you. What do you think is going to happen? We’re all adults.” I brushed by him and took three big steps toward the front door.
“You can’t be here,” he said.
“You have to deal with this. It won’t go away by denial.”
He went rigid and lowered his head so he looked me in the eye. “We. Are. Leaving.”
My eyes locked on his. I reached behind me, stretching, and turned the bolt on the front door. Clack.
A whoosh of cool air blew in as Daniel opened the door, and there was Valentina, in the same room as me. Breathing the same air. Haughty and righteous, wearing her skin as if it were a suit of armor, straight where I curved, long where I was short, she clutched a little bag in front of her and tilted her chin up.
“Antonio,” she said.
“Valentina,” he said.
“You won’t call me Tina, all of a sudden?”
“Come stai, Tina?”
“I learned a little English.”
“Fantastico. Mi dai il cappotto?”
“Don’t make your girlfriend feel left out,” she crooned.
“Can I take your coat?”
“I have it,” Daniel interjected.
Was I wrong to find the whole thing delicious? All of the emotional upheaval of the last few days had inured me to the threat of his wife. I’d already surrendered to her. I’d already accepted what her existence meant. I was already crushed under the weight of it. Her presence in the same room as us couldn’t hurt me.
Daniel slipped off her coat, and I felt not an ounce of jealousy for that either. I doubted Valentina Spinelli would let Daniel get one over on her.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Valentina asked, one eyebrow raised. She didn’t move but comported herself perfectly. She reminded me of me.
So that was it.
That had been the initial attraction. She and I couldn’t have been more physically opposite, but Antonio had seen both deeper than that and less deep. Because her comportment wasn’t courteous. She attacked by staying still and asking a question designed to make her husband feel ill-mannered and to draw attention to discomfort.
I didn’t like it, but I understood it.
“My name is Theresa,” I said, holding out my hand.
She waited a half a beat then shook gently. “I am Valentina. Valentina Spinelli.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She was far away, taking her own counsel. She had no intention of giving an inch. I’d seen that look in press agents and lobbyists who knew they had the upper hand and had no intention of budging.