“I’m sure it will work,” I encourage her with veiled irony. “Two ... apple juices?” I venture.
She shakes her head in denial. “Eve.”
“Two sparkling waters,” I finally say to the waiter.
“Would you like ice and lemon with that?” he asks, with a look that I interpret as heartfelt pity.
Intemerata nods and I give the okay. “Ice and lemon! Let’s splurge.” This is going to be a long date.
“You speak Italian very well,” she comments.
“I grew up in a bilingual family and went to an Italian-English school.” I feel knowledgeable enough about education to keep the conversation on this track.
“I studied with nuns,” she replies. “What about religion? Are you Catholic or Anglican?” she asks me.
“I’m not religious.” Her eyes narrow into two angry slits. “But I prefer Catholics to Anglicans.” Betrayal. I don’t deserve to be Her Majesty’s subject. But my life is at stake here.
The waiter comes to rescue me with the two glasses of water, and I practically dive into mine, hoping to drown in the cup.
“What do you think about sex before marriage?”
“Uh, umm ...” I mumble. What do I think about sex before marriage? That train left the station a while ago.
“I think that sex should be reserved for having children,” she decrees seriously.
“But children are born out of wedlock all the time,” I object, regretting it a second later.
“Who would be so cruel as to give birth to a child in sin? And then how would you dare to have them baptized?” she blurts out.
“Yes, that’s quite the dilemma.”
“I’d like to have four girls and four boys. I’d call the girls Maria Chiara, Maria Benedetta, Maria Gioia, and Maria Incoronata. And I’ll name the boys after the four evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. What do you think?”
“I might prefer John, Paul, George, and Ringo ...” But her hardened expression makes me realize she didn’t get the joke. “But your names are beautiful too.”
“Well, parents should be in agreement on what to name their children.”
Stop right there! Whose children? I don’t have time to pour cold water on her enthusiasm before I’m distracted by two figures that enter my field of vision.
One of them is Elisa, in a light-blue flowered dress that skims her thighs with every step, her long, dark-blond hair swaying freely on her back. I refrain from abandoning Intemerata only because Elisa is not alone.
“Who is that?” I ask, pointing to the lanky man in a black suit next to her.
“Elmo Colli,” she replies dryly.
“Do you know him?”
“His family runs the local funeral home. He’s in business with his father. They’ve expanded to other towns too. A real shame he doesn’t come to visit more often.”
“Why is he with Elisa?” I ask, still without looking away from the couple, as if I were a sniper keeping them in range.
“I don’t know, but Elisa and her sister will take anything they can get.”
“Are they dating?” I ask.
“Why do you care?”
I don’t know, but I care.
