—
On our way home my parents were quiet. Timoteo gazed out the window, listening to his portable CD player.
“So how about a big yard sale at the end of the month?” my mother finally said.
“What more do we have to buy?” I asked.
I gave my brother a nudge to take his headphones off.
“No, how about having one? We’re thinking of moving back to Rome after this summer,” my father announced, glancing quickly toward Serena before speaking.
“We didn’t want to say it at dinner. We wanted to tell you alone, first.”
They spoke fast like they needed to get things off their chest at once. Some part of me kept saying no, another said yes or I understand, but mostly I didn’t understand and I looked at them like I didn’t understand so they’d know they would have to speak slower.
“A couple of producers in Italy saw the film and liked it. They want to meet with Dad and talk about doing some work together. Possibly a TV series in Rome. It’s good news.”
“Really?” Timoteo asked, excited.
“If it works out it’s a big deal. We need the money,” Ettore explained. “We’ll be able to deal with the house and the mortgage.”
“But we need to be there and we can’t be here,” Serena said.
“Can’t you go and meet with these producers, and then come back?” I asked.
“It doesn’t work that way.” My mother sighed. “You need to live where the work is. People need to see your face.” She sounded like a responsible person who now knew how things worked or didn’t work. “We’re tired,” she admitted and just saying that made her cheeks droop and her eyes water. “We’re out of money and this thing with Max took a lot out of us.”
Even though there was a new prospect on the horizon, they did seem tired, both of them. A bit crooked, like they’d had enough. It was the end of a dream or the end of an idea of a dream—it was hard to tell at that point.
“It’s not time for fun and games anymore,” Ettore concluded. “It might be a big opportunity. And if it is, I have to take it. These Americans, they’re so uptight. I’m much better off in Europe with producers who understand my artistic sensibility.”
“But what about school? And the USC application and the letter they sent me and all those SAT tests I took? I have one year of high school left,” I said.
“Your brother is graduating junior high, so he’ll start high school fresh in Rome. You can pick whatever school you like to finish your studies. Afterward you can go to any university in Italy and it’s free.” Serena was full of solutions.
“What about your romantic vacation at the end of the month? I thought you were going because things were better. And what will you do with grandma’s ashes? Smuggle them back?”
“We are still going on our romantic vacation. We’ve anticipated the trip. Grandma will be coming back to Rome with us. We’ll find a way.”
“So you won’t come to my junior-high graduation?” my brother asked, disappointed.
“Your sister will come. You know, honey,” my mother turned around to face him, “nobody in Italy cares when you graduate junior high. It’s a ridiculous American thing. It’s not like it’s some big achievement.”
My brother looked down. They’d been rehearsing the ceremony at school and having cap-and-gown fittings. Everyone in his class took it seriously. I squeezed his hand.
“I’ll be there,” I reassured him. Then I sat back and didn’t say another word.
When we got home, Serena put her arms around me in the driveway. “What do you think?”
I shrugged my shoulders. I hadn’t felt much of anything except sadness since the last time I saw Deva.
“What will you do?”
“I’m thinking cooking lessons. Maybe I can get some American clients. They seem to like it.”
Ettore came closer to us, dragging Timoteo along with him to create a graceless group hug.
“How about it, guys? I think we’ve had enough of summer all year long, don’t you?” He laughed, but there were tears in his eyes and I didn’t understand how he could laugh if he was also crying.
My brother hugged him back. He was so terrified by the idea of going to my metal-detector school, being called “the Italian Tomato” again by everyone. He would have done anything to avoid it.
I looked away.
“You know, guys, school in Rome gets out at lunchtime. You’ll finally have your afternoons back and just think about it: We can go places where it actually snows on Christmas.”
“And we won’t feel like thieves when we go through customs at the airport.” My mother smiled.
“No more cops on beaches if we feel like getting naked, no more private health care!” Ettore was giving himself courage, but I walked away from their posturing and retreated inside the house to my bedroom and shut the door, fumbling for my rubber suit, hating the fact that I’d thrown it out.
I turned my TV on. Why not, I thought as I got under the sheets without removing clothes or shoes. Why not take myself out of this mess. After the earthquake, darkness had expanded until it covered everything with a feeling of indistinct gloom. Even the showerhead, as I sat under the needling water staring at the black, spiky leg hair I’d stopped shaving, looked like a grayish amoeba to me. Everything had gone downhill and I stopped sleeping. The good nights were the ones when I wallowed in the backyard crying because tears brought surprise or at least texture to my feelings. USC had accepted me as a student. Henry had invited me to work at the store. But were those reasons to stay somewhere? I was only seventeen. What would I do? Where would I live and was it worth it? Rome would be manageable, like a small town to me now—a place where cars and trees were smaller, where people cared for each other’s babies and fed each other’s relatives. A quaint town, the Eternal City.