The crowd chuckled knowingly. Rachelle smiled.
“Ever since I met you, I’ve been on a wild ride of joy and good flavor and hilarity and beauty,” Riccardo said. “I never imagined that an American girl would take my breath away as you have. I never imagined that my life would change so completely.” He reached into his pocket to remove a velvet box, which he opened to reveal a perfect diamond engagement ring.
Rachelle couldn’t breathe. The smell of the pasta was overpowering, and the garlic made her eyes sting. Tears ran down her cheeks. Was this really happening?
“Rachelle, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Riccardo asked.
As Rachelle extended her fingers, preparing her heart to say yes, time seemed to slow. She felt every eye in the restaurant watching her. She felt the line cooks in the kitchen, craning over the top of each other to see this special moment. She felt the cars on the cobblestone roads outside, clattering, speeding. The yes was coming up her throat; she could imagine herself saying it. She could practically feel it on her tongue.
And then, something in the kitchen exploded.
The sound was enormous and all-powerful. All the glass in the windows burst and scattered. The staff members shot out from the kitchen, screaming and running for the exit. Rachelle was on her feet, her hand wrapped around Riccardo’s for dear life, as they headed for the street. Everything was chaotic and charged. As the sirens grew closer, Rachelle hurried to find each of her staff members, take them in her arms, and make sure they were okay. A few of them had scratches from flying equipment, but all were fine. The diners, who’d expressed that tonight was one of the most incredible culinary nights of their lives, hung their mouths open in horror. They held each other, watching as the firefighters stormed into the burning restaurant to put the fire out. Water surged from a long hose.
Rachelle couldn’t believe it. In the span of a few minutes, her restaurant had gone up in flames. Now, it sat in black char, the glass blown out of the windows, the smell of onion and garlic and baked bread replaced with the smell of burning. Rachelle nearly fell to her knees in shock. Riccardo remained beside her, holding her against him, his eyes lost.
2
Martha’s Vineyard
The ferry between Nantucket Island and Martha’s Vineyard took an hour and ten minutes, just as it always had since Estelle was a girl. Sitting in the little coffee shop up top, overseeing the Nantucket Sound as it spread in its beautiful turquoise around the boat, Estelle eavesdropped on the lovers at the table opposite her, a couple in their twenties planning to go swimming later that afternoon. It was early June, but the summer had been warm, which meant the beaches were primed and ready for full-summer activities. The girl told her boyfriend that she’d packed champagne and strawberries. He insisted that they stop at a grocery store for something salty, and she laughed and kissed him. Estelle averted her eyes.
At seventy-three, Estelle’s love story felt so far behind her that it often seemed like it belonged to somebody else. She’d fallen in love with her husband, Roland, as a teenager, then gone on to marry him and have three beautiful children with him. The fear of the unknown that existed within the couple's lovestory before her felt so far beyond her. Estelle expected it would make everything all the more exciting—questions about whether they’d know and love one another beyond that summer.
Estelle returned to her vehicle and drove it off the ferry when they arrived. In her front seat were piles of romance novels, which she’d rented from the Nantucket Island library that morning. She had half a mind to take herself to a beach later on, to read till her heart was full. It was delicious, the way she could spend hours in another story like that. It was essential to avoid her own story, if only for a time.
Estelle parked in the lot outside the retirement facility, then headed inside to say hello to the young woman working there these days. “Hi, Estelle,” Georgia said, smiling. “Oriana and Meghan are already here. You can head back.”
Estelle thanked her and cut through the retirement living areas, where old folks in their sixties and up watched television and played cards. She said hello to a few of them by name, then continued to the familiar mini-apartment in back. From outside the cracked door, she could hear her sisters-in-law laughing with their father. She knocked, and they called for her to come in.
Estelle melted at the sight of the three of them together. Oriana and Meghan, just as beautiful and smiley as ever, and their father, Chuck, who was ninety-nine years old yet seemed not a day older than when she’d met him eight years ago. Estelle hurried to kiss each of them on the cheek, then sat, crossing her ankles beneath her.
“We’re so glad you could make it today!” Meghan said. “Dad was telling us you might have changed your mind?”
Estelle eyed Chuck, remembering their phone conversation last night and how she’d told him that she wasn’t feeling so great and might stay home.
“I woke up this morning feeling better than ever,” Estelle lied. “And it’s always good to get off Nantucket for the day.”
“We’re thrilled you’re here,” Oriana said. “I can’t remember the last time.”
Estelle swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew she’d been hibernating, that she’d avoided their phone calls and tended to her own sensibilities and prayed for time to pass. But she couldn’t do that forever. Chuck was ninety-nine years old, for goodness’ sake. He wouldn’t be here forever. None of them would be.
They soon fell into conversation, talking about their children, the things they’d read, and Estelle’s most recent novel, which was set to come out that year. Estelle had written it before everything happened, and the idea of celebrating it made her feel foreign and strange.
“You have to let us read an advanced copy!” Meghan said.
Estelle agreed to send them some, but imagined that she’d forget. She couldn’t keep anything in her head these days. “I’ve been so scattered,” she said, laughing at herself.
“Tell me,” Chuck said, raising his chin. “Have you heard anything from our Rachelle over in Rome?”
Estelle’s heart thudded. Rachelle in Rome? They hadn’t heard anything from her in years at this point. Was Chuck asking her about Rachelle in order to hurt her?
No, she knew. He wouldn’t do that. But still. She hesitated, at a loss for words.
“Dad, Rachelle’s busy in Rome,” Oriana said, reaching for his hand. “Remember, we read that she was going to open her own restaurant?”
“That’s right!” Chuck seemed very pleased about that. “I can’t believe what she’s calling it.”
Estelle furrowed her brow. She’d avoided any new information about Rachelle, as it hurt her heart too much. But Chuck soon supplied the info.
