“You want Carson,” Izzy said.
His younger sister was a nurse, though she could’ve been a doctor. Definitely smart enough. She’d gotten an A- in Organic Chemistry. He knew doctors who’d had to take that class four times before passing. Couldn’t they see they simply didn’t have the right stuff? Wasn’t it obvious they were not meant to put their hands inside a human body? Many was the time when Lorenzo had informed a resident they were not cut out for medicine, not smart enough, not tough enough, not gifted enough. Someone had to say those things. Did the world want a C+ student from a fourth-rate college cutting into their child or spouse?
“Who is Carson?” he asked Isabella without missing a beat. His mind could hold on to dozens of facts at once and moved much faster than most people’s. This was not bragging. It was simply a fact.
“A butler,” Izzy said. “He never lets a detail slip, reveres the family he works for, and takes care of any and all problems without bothering his employer.”
“Is he free?” Lorenzo asked.
“He’s retired,” Izzy said, and she and their mother laughed.
“Would Bates do?” asked their father.
“Dad, of course not. He’s always in prison,” Izzy said.
“You’re not being helpful,” Lorenzo said. Obviously, they were joking about something, though what, he didn’t know. Popular culture, something he had no time for. He glanced to the head of the table, where his grandmother used to sit when she was alive, and felt a pang. She had understood him, at least.
“Anita, can I have some more eggplant?” asked Henry, Sofia’s husband. The entire family was gathered for Sunday dinner, which, though held weekly, Lorenzo only attended every other month or so.
It was September now, all the students back in school. A busy time of year for him. He’d endured the traffic from Boston to attend this dinner. The house has been his gift to his parents when his dad retired, and it was large and beautiful, on the bay side of Falmouth, with a dining room that could seat twelve, a chef’s kitchen—both parents loved cooking—and plenty of bedrooms for grandchildren, though they only had two at the moment. Sophia and Henry had just had Lucy, who was sleeping upstairs, and William, age almost three. The child stared at Lorenzo, eyes wide. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, and William burst into tears. Henry scooped him up, then passed him to Lorenzo’s mom, who made soothing sounds and kissed the boy’s hair.
Lorenzo sighed. He probably should’ve spent this afternoon working. He always felt a little awkward with his family; he never got their inside jokes (who were Carson and Bates?) and often found it hard to talk with his siblings, who always seemed eager to poke fun at him.
“I might know someone,” said Lark, his brother’s wife. “How about my sister?”
“I didn’t think your sister worked,” Lorenzo said. Lark’s twin was one of those vapid people who seemed to exist only to post on social media.
“My other sister.”
“Did the bookstore go bankrupt, then?” Lorenzo asked. Not surprising. Independent bookstores were notoriously susceptible to failure.
“No,” Lark said, her tone holding a note of irritation. “My other sister.”
Ah. The rude one. “Have I met her?” he asked, though of course he had.
“Believe it or not, she was at our wedding, Lorenzo,” Dante said. “Winnie. The youngest sister.”
“And you met at Joy’s house, before we, uh, broke up,” Lark said.
Yes. They’d had a brief and terse exchange then. He remembered the flash of irritation he’d felt. In the lead-up to Sofia and Henry’s wedding, Lorenzo had asked Lark to be his companion. It had been a convenient arrangement, nothing more, meant to reassure his grandmother, then ninety-nine years old and failing, that he wouldn’t end up alone. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Ninety-six percent of the time, solitude was quite appealing. At any rate, while he and Lark were pretending to date, she had struck up a friendship with Dante, and after Sofia’s wedding, they started dating and got married. It had all been absolutely fine with him.
“Is this sister looking for work?” Lorenzo asked.
“She’s between jobs at the moment.” Lark said, exchanging a look with Dante. “She’s organized and straightforward,” she added. “I think you’d get along.”
“She’d be a good fit, brother,” Dante said. “She’d stay out of your way and get things done.”
“I might need her on site in Chatham and Boston,” he said. “And I’d have to be able to fire her without you bursting into hysterics, Lark. No offense, but you do cry disturbingly often.”
“Tears of joy since she met me,” Dante said, and everyone else laughed.
“No offense taken,” Lark said, “and I understand. Never hire someone you can’t fire.”
“Exactly.” He gave his sister-in-law a nod of appreciation. “All right. Give me her contact information. And thank you,” he added. He wasn’t a boor, after all.
“Good job remembering your manners,” Dante said, and Izzy snorted, and Sofia looked at her plate, smiling. Lorenzo didn’t know what was funny.
“Have some more chicken, Lorenzo,” his mother said. “You love my spezzatino.”
