She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then reached inside the box and removed the cross. She gently undid the clasp and slid the necklace around my neck. Carefully, she lifted my hair and set it to the side. Her touch was cool and light, something most children would appreciate from their mammas, and I shivered.
She secured the latch and made sure the back was in place before she returned my hair the way it was.
“Grazie,” I whispered, my fingers clasping around it.
She squeezed my shoulder. “I remember how I felt the first time I put mine on.”
“For strength,” I whispered.
“For strength—and perhaps so much more. It feels like all my memories go through the gold before they’re permanently etched inside of my heart, in a place where no mere human can steal them from me, not even my own mind.”
I looked down, feeling a rush of emotion at the thought of this cross belonging to my great-aunt. From the letters, I understood she was in love with one brother and hated the other. She never got her happily ever after, but I was there to pick up her story where it left off.
Scarlett squeezed my shoulder again and sighed, this time much longer and harder. “You know all I could say about this family—the trials and tribulations that come with the last name. Strength, endurance, and?—”
Laughter rose up to the windows and danced in like a warm autumn breeze. It was an older laugh, cracked and bumpy, but it filled the room with so much joy, it almost felt like the luminous gold light was carrying it inside.
Scarlett and I glanced at each other before we both went to the open doors.
By the time the sight below us came into focus, three more laughs had joined in, and then there was my husband, grinning like I’d never seen him grin before, while he took his great-uncle Tito on a fast ride through the vineyard. Rocco held on to the handles of the wheelchair, running as fast as he could, so his uncle could feel the rush of flying again. Uncle Tito’s ride seemed to be made of wood, one of those old contraptions that looked much studier than the ones made in current day.
It wasn’t the wheelchair, though, that was the central focus of the scene.
It was the laughter.
The laughter, the happiness that also comes with the trials and tribulations of being a Fausti.
And I was.
I was a Fausti until the end, linked through my husband, my blood, my heart.
My hand automatically went to the cross. I held it, held it so tightly, there was no way the feelings inside of me weren’t being filtered before they made it to my heart and were etched there for the rest of my life and beyond.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
I hear you, Nonna,I thought with a smile that couldn’t stop the tears from rushing down my cheeks.I hear you.
Then my husband joined in with his brothers, laughing like I’d never heard him laugh before, and the old man in the chair paused his joy for a second, looking up at his great-nephew, before he began to roar with it again. Aunt Lola stood next to her great-nephews, between Brando and Dario, Romeo close to Brando’s side, waving a handkerchief at her husband, laughing too.
“Wooo, my Tito!” She waved. “You are running again, my love!”
“You want a turn, my love?” he asked.
“Yes, after you are finished!”
“I will push you,Zia!” Romeo offered. “Since my older brother has all that silver in his hair.”
Rocco laughed even harder.
Scarlett and I locked hands and looked at each other. It was the first moment we could pull ourselves from the scene and read each other—feel each other’s feelings, revel in our shared love for this family and what it meant to carry the name.
“See?” she whispered with tears in her eyes, her hands clasping her cross. “There are so many trials and tribulations in this life, the ones that come with the name ‘Fausti,’ but…when it’s good, it’s so good.”
“That’s why we’re floating in the clouds here.”
“My God,” she whispered. “Yes! That’s why we’re floating in the clouds here.”
We pulled each other close, sister to sister, and leaned our heads against each other’s. We laughed while we continued to watch the scene below, and when our men finally looked up, probably scenting our tears, we waved at them, cheering Rocco on as he raced around the land with Uncle Tito whooping and hollering.
