Eunice stopped and, for the first time that I saw, rubbed a hand over his head, smiling at him. His dusting of hair came up, just fuzz really, and we both laughed.
Taking a seat at the table, I pulled him forward, cradling his head in my hands. His eyes were bright blue, the color of the sky on a cloudless day. My heart twisted in pain and then in joy.
“Oh,” I breathed, smiling at him. “You look like your Uncle Elliott, don’t you?”
“He does,” Charlotte said, a note of pride in her voice.
Our eyes connected for a moment before I turned back to him. “Brando, come see. He’s a little Elliott.”
Brando put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing, and I realized after he wiped a tear from my cheek that I had started to cry.
Brando wiped breadcrumbs from his soft head. “He has Elliott’s nose and the shape of his face.”
“And his eyes,” my mother said, breaking away from her conversation with Niccolo again to admire his features since they were calm.
“He’s beautiful,” I said, not looking at Charlotte. “He truly is.Lep fant.”Beautiful boyin Slovenian.
Lothario entered the kitchen, a piece of melon with prosciutto in hand. “Ah, it does my heart good to see this.Bellisimo.” He swallowed his food down hard and then whispered loud enough for us all to hear, “God willing, again.”
No matter how hard Brando’s family was, they took family seriously. A loss for one was a loss for all.
At Lothario’s words, I swallowed down the sob that threatened to rise. Not only for our loss, but at the reminder of my brother staring back at me. Alive. Warm. Resting peacefully in the palms of my hands.
Livio came in then, smelling of expensive cologne and dressed in a more expensive suit and tie. He stilled when he noticed Lothario. Livio made the usual niceties out of respect, on his best behavior, though he itched like he had ants down his pants. He was ready to leave.
“Scarlett, if all goes accordingly, is it possible to invite Santina and herfamigliaover for dinner?” He turned to Lothario. “With your permission, of course.”
Lothario grinned. “I surprised Scarlett with our presence this evening. If she shall allow it, more does not trouble me.”
“Fine,” I said, motioning to his crooked tie. “Fix that before you leave.”
“You are leaving, nephew?” Lothario turned to Brando.
Brando nodded and explained the gist of the situation. Then he asked for his uncle’s forgiveness if his absence would displease him.
I knew Brando better than most. The sentiment towards his uncle’s feelings came after his decision and declaration that hewasleaving, whether Lothario liked it or not.
My husband was the king of his own castle. Lothario noticed. Rarely did anything slip by him. Well, any of them, for that matter. The art of subtleties ran through their blood. It was a way with them—one small gesture could make war, or peace, or a wife, or even a baby.
Lothario repeated the nod, so much like his nephew’s. “Does your wife’s rule of not speaking business at her dinnertavolostill apply?”
“Sì,” Brando said, leaning down to place a firm kiss on my head before he walked toward the door.
“Then we have time to talk business in your office, after you return. Over cigars, ah? Do not be long. Paolo retires early. There will be magic in the air tonight. A phenomenon you will not want to miss with your beautiful wife.”
* * *
“Why did you come back?”
The way the question came out was at odds with the question itself. I said it with a polite but interested tone, yet my mother still took offense to the inquiry.
“You do not want us here?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, matching her defensive tone. I removed a stone dish of stuffed peppers from the counter, moving them to another counter closer to the stove. Pans moved like clockwork. “You usually make plans in advance when you and Daddy come to visit.”
“Yes, well.” My mother’s shoulder’s stiffened, a gesture that meant she huffed on the inside. “I took time off. Your father can work from anywhere now. With Charlotte having Charles, we needed to be there. And your father—and I—wewanted to come back and spend time with you.”
“Oh,” I said, dropping the dishrag in my hand. I hastily picked it up, staring at the delicate rose pattern on the cloth.
