Our eyes connected, and we both grinned. She plucked a piece of hay from my hat.
A throat cleared, and we both turned toward it at the same time. Nino. His wife was why we were going to the island in a week. She had other patients to attend to before she could leave.I had demanded she come with us since my wife felt comfortable with her. Especially since Sistine was pregnant. I wanted all hands on deck.
Nino pointed at the dangling sign. “This needs to be fixed, ah?” He pulled a face.
I refused to look at Sistine.
She refused to look at me.
It was such an Oscar-worthy face that, if we looked at each other, we would start to laugh—not able to stop. That magical shit my wife had referenced in the house was running through our veins. I was fucking levitating too.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing my voice to normalize. This was something Fausti men were accustomed to doing. Getting ourselves under control when we were around family. “I’m about to fix it. I need the tallest ladder I’ve got.”
“In the tool shed,” Nino said. “I will get Oscar and have him grab it.”
He walked out.
Sistine looked at me. “It always amazes me that they do not even see it—the resemblance to the puppet characters on television.”
“I’ve seen pictures of Nino when he was younger. The resemblance only grew in time. Now Oscar could be his stunt double.”
She grinned. “I wonder if Oscar’s wife notices it?”
“Oscar’s wife?”
She nodded. “When I was not feeling well, he told me his wife enjoys tea. He offered to make it for me, but I could not even stomach the thought.”
“Oscar’s not married,” I said, burying the fact that Oscar was there for my wife when I wasn’t. It didn’t sit well in my stomach, like the thought of the tea didn’t sit well in my wife’s thoughts.
She pulled a confused face. “Perhaps I was too sick…perhaps I am not remembering right.”
Oscar came in with the ladder, and I asked him if there was something I should know. He made ascram!face, and then said, no, all was the same.
“Marriage,” I said to Oscar.
Sistine shot me a narrow look. Our silent conversation went like this after:
I narrowed my eyes back.What?
Her eyes popped open.You were not supposed to ask him now!
I shrugged.Why not, Annie?
She shook her head.My husband. He does not participate in the family gossip train, but he is as subtle as a train.
It was our own language, and it reminded me of the language I spoke with my youngest brother, Maestro, at times. We used sign language, because during his life, he might lose the ability to hear altogether, just like Mamma’s brother, Elliot had. Uncle Elliot, who my old man used to call Maestro, died before any of us were born. He was my old man’s best friend. Mamma and Papà still spoke of him. They both demanded they keep his memory alive.
Oscar’s face went completely blank, and then he stood taller. He met my eyes, but I could tell he wanted to look anywhere but at me. Sistine groaned in the background. She felt bad for Oscar. Most of the women did. His looks endeared him to them. They almost felt maternal over him.
“No,” he said to me, standing as a solider who was about to receive punishment would. “I am not married to Noemi, yet. She will be my wife, someday, therefore I refer to her as my wife. If this is not to be, I will honorably bleed for the lie. It does not feel as though it is a lie to me.” He turned to Sistine, and she looked so helpless, like she wanted to hug him.
This time, when I narrowed my eyes at her, she sighed. I would fucking pummel him if she hugged him. She knew this.
“My apologies, Signora Fausti,” he said, as respectful as a peasant to a queen. “I did not mean to confuse you, or to give you the wrong impression. In our world, this deserves blood. It is still a lie.” He pulled out a knife and cut his palm. His blood instantly welled up and ran. It rushed to the floor, then dripped.
“Sistine,” she breathed out. “Call me…Sistine.”
I set my hand around my wife. She looked pale. Too pale suddenly.
