Page 17 of Secrets of the Brother
“What? Just because you might like to pull a girl’s hair and spank her ass doesn’t mean you’re not still a prude, Mr. I Have to Marry a Chick Because I Knocked Her Up.”
I finished my glass and poured another. “I’m not talking about my sex life with my elderly aunt.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Watch it with theelderly.”
She pulled out her cigarette case as we wandered over to the arched windows.
I opened two of them and we stepped over the low sills onto the narrow balcony. I took her lighter and lit her cigarette.
She took a sip of grappa and leaned her back and elbows against the wrought iron railing as she studied me.
I loved the view.
Italy.
Cavalieri village.
My home.
My legacy.
At this time of night, the usually crowded piazza was eerily still. It was the only time the smooth gray cobblestones, worn down from centuries of foot traffic, were visible. Usually they were covered by countless market stalls, coffee carts, and the small chess tables the old men of the village set up each morning to challenge one another to games.
The somnolent gurgling of the water fountain accentuated the peacefulness of the late October evening as its clear blue water eternally flowed from the stone jug of the toga-draped maiden in its center.
And looming over it all, in its forbidding gothic splendor, was Santa Maria Church.
The church where I was baptized.
The church where I was married.
And the church where I just buried my wife.
It was the church where I had hoped to baptize my son.
The child who never existed.
I drained my glass and poured another before topping off Aunt Gabriella’s.
“You have your mother’s eyes. Too bad that’s not the only thing you inherited from her.”
I paused in raising my glass to my lips. I cocked one eyebrow. “Thank you? I think?”
She exhaled several perfect rings of smoke. “I loved my sister, but the problem when someone dies when they are still young and beautiful is, the people who remain behind tend to beatify them. We turn them into sainted martyrs. We forget their flaws.”
I leaned my forearms onto the railing and stared at the water in the fountain below as it swirled around the basin. “What are you trying to tell me, Aunt Gabriella?”
“Don’t rush me, Enzo. It’s been a torturous day with your horrible in-laws, I’m drunk, and I have something important to tell you.”
I hid my smile and nodded. I snagged her cigarette from her, took a drag, and gave it back to her.
“As I was saying,” she said pointedly. “Your mother has been turned into this martyr, when the truth of it is, she was not nearly as innocent and sweet as everyone remembers.”
My shoulders stiffened.
She waved her hand at me. The glowing ember of her cigarette creating orange swirls in the darkness. “Calm down. You don’t know the full truth. All families have secrets, Enzo.”
I straightened and stared down at her. She seemed to be staring off into the distance, lost in the past.
