Bella Fortuna (21 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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I make my way around the guests, thanking them and saying good-bye. When the last guest has left, my mother comes over to me.
“They were knives, weren't they? Tell me now. I'll find out sooner or later. I can always ask the Hunchback if you and the girls hide them from me.”
“Ma, just let it go. Antoniella didn't mean any harm by it. She probably doesn't know about that stupid superstition.”
“It's not stupid! What is the matter with her? She's Italian! Every Italian, no matter if you are from Roma, Calabria, Abbruzzi, Sicilia, knows it's bad luck to give knives as a wedding gift. It means the marriage will be cut. It will either end or not be a happy one.”
“I know, Ma. You've told me about other showers you went to where someone gave knives. And every time, you were outraged and told me what it means when a bride receives knives.”
“This is not good. First Michael sees your dress, and now the knives. These are signs.” Ma whips out her rosary beads and crosses herself repeatedly, whispering,
“O Dio mio!”
Though I try to ignore Ma's worries, the knives have struck a chord with me, too.
10
The Power
W
hen a woman is going through the worst, she often confides in her best friend first. So it was natural that Olivia had called Raquel on that exceptionally sunny day in April, two months before Valentina's wedding, to say, “I found a cyst in my breast.”
After Olivia had made the discovery, she immediately called her primary care doctor, who gave her the name of a breast cancer specialist. The specialist's office wasted no time in fitting Olivia into the schedule for the following afternoon. Dr. Preston was a female breast surgeon in her early thirties, but Olivia's primary care doctor had assured her that Dr. Preston was one of the best doctors in the field, despite her age. Olivia could see that she knew her stuff and was being very thorough. She was impressed that Dr. Preston could perform on the same day a fine needle aspiration. The procedure consisted of a needle that was inserted into the cyst to withdraw fluid. The fluid was then examined under a microscope for cancer cells. Dr. Preston and a pathologist by the name of Dr. Muhammed each studied the cells on a small microscope right in front of Olivia in the examination room. Her heart was pounding so loud that she was convinced the doctors could hear it. She almost fainted when they told her that they could not determine that the cyst was benign. Some of the cells were questionable. The only way they'd know for certain if she had cancer was after the entire cyst was surgically removed, and the cyst was sent for a pathology workup.
Olivia would never forget the irony that she had received such horrible news on a beautiful day. When she'd left the cancer center that Dr. Preston worked out of, she couldn't help but notice the clear blue sky and comfortable, mild temperatures. Everyone was enjoying the day and looking happy while Olivia felt so sad. She wanted to be like the other people she saw on the street—happy and seemingly without worries. And all she could think about was that she would not be around long to enjoy warm days like this anymore.
“Basta!”
she muttered aloud.
She was feeling sorry for herself and acting as if the death sentence had been decreed already. After all, Dr. Preston had told her that there was a good chance it was not cancer. But Olivia had learned from Nicola's illness to not put too much of your trust in the words of doctors. She needed to stop. The day Olivia DeLuca pitied herself was the day she might as well die.
When Raquel Sutton heard Olivia so distraught, she immediately asked her to spend the weekend at her apartment in Greenwich Village. Raquel's husband, John, had died of a heart attack a year ago, leaving the responsibility of running Sutton's Restaurant solely to his wife. The Suttons had never had children.
“I don't want to be a burden. You have your own problems.”
“Olivia! Don't be silly. What are friends for? And I know you. You haven't told your daughters yet, have you?”
The silence on the other end of the line confirmed Raquel's suspicions.
“Besides, you'll keep me company. This place is getting too quiet with just Mr. Magoo and me.”
Olivia heard a bark, as if he was objecting to Raquel dismissing him as an acceptable companion. The Scottish Westie had grown on Olivia. She couldn't resist sneaking some
Palline di Limone biscotti
to Mr. Magoo, who seemed to swallow them whole. Raquel kept him on a strict diet and never gave him food other than dog food. No wonder the poor dog followed Olivia around whenever she visited.
“Ahhhh . . . Okay. I will come over, but first I have to pay someone else a visit.”
 
The steps leading up to the fortune-teller's shop were enough to kill Olivia right on the spot. She had to stop and take a deep breath after reaching the eighth step. She used to be able to climb the fifteen steps all the way to the top before she needed to take a break. She'd been feeling very drained for the past three months. But at first, she wrote it off to all the preparations for Valentina's wedding and the increased clientele at the shop after they were featured in
Brides
magazine. So she'd started sleeping in on Sundays, opting to go to the eleven a.m. Mass instead of the eight a.m. Mass she went to every week. But that didn't seem to help her fatigue. She began going to bed two hours earlier than she normally did, and she even left the shop for lunch, using the excuse that she had to run errands, so she could rush home and take a nap. But the tired feeling would just not go away.
Valentina and Rita had noticed one day.
“Ma, are you getting enough sleep? The bags under your eyes are horrible.”
Leave it to Rita's trademark bluntness to cut to the truth.
“I'm okay. We've just been really busy lately.”
“Ma, why don't you go home and rest? We can finish up for the day.”
“Well, I—okay. A nap is probably just what I need. Don't forget to—”
“Lock up. We know, Ma. When have we ever forgotten to lock up?”
Olivia picked up her purse and walked out of the store.
Making her way very slowly up Ditmars Boulevard, Olivia was certain if she were to stop and retrace her steps, she'd be able to see her daughters staring at her from Sposa Rosa's storefront window as they debated her welfare. She couldn't help smiling to herself as she imagined the conversation her daughters must surely be having right now about her.
“I don't think she's okay. She's not even walking as fast as she normally does.”
“Well, Vee, she is getting old.”
“She's only sixty, Rita. Sixty today is the new fifty, haven't you heard?”
“Yeah, maybe if you're Christie Brinkley or Diane Sawyer, not a seamstress who doesn't know the meaning of relax and take a vacation.”
“Maybe we should take her to the doctor.”
“I think you're over-worrying, Vee. Like Ma said, we've been very busy. We're all tired. We're younger, though, and can bounce back quicker than she can.”
“Yeah, I guess you're right. Let's get back to work. We have five Bridezillas coming in tonight for fittings.”
“All brides are Bridezillas.”
“Are you accusing me of being a Bridezilla, too?”
“Of course not, Vee.” Rita smirked.
Olivia sighed. How would she go on without them? Ahhhhh!
“I'm doing it again,” she muttered aloud to herself.
At the sound of her voice, a young teenage girl opened the door to the fortune-teller's shop.
“I thought I heard someone out here. You didn't ring the bell, did you?”
“I forgot. I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
The girl stared into Olivia's eyes.
“Come in. Would you like a glass of water?”
“I don't want to trouble you.”
“Trouble? It's just water. I'll be right back.”
Olivia sat down on the black sectional that wrapped around half of the shop. She loved coming here. The fortune-teller had done a wonderful job of creating a welcoming, intimate feel to the shop that also served as her apartment. Lush scarlet wall-to-wall carpeting complemented the black sectional and matching loveseat. Mirrors covered two of the walls from floor to ceiling. A sweet fragrance always lingered in the air—a mix of recently burned candles and incense.
“Here you are, ma'am.” The girl set the water down on a coaster with a picture of a maple leaf and
Canada
underneath it. The tacky souvenir coaster seemed out of place on the expensive glass coffee table it rested on. In fact, all of the furnishings looked pricey. Olivia had never noticed that before. The drapes were shantung silk. The chandelier looked very much like a Swarovski crystal chandelier Olivia had seen in a copy of
Architectural Digest
. She turned her attention back to the girl, who was staring at her with that same intensity again.
“Where is your mother?”
“She's not here.”
“Oh. Is it okay if I wait for her?”
“Sure. But you'd be waiting a long time. She's out of town.”
“I see.” Olivia's heart sank.
“Well, will she be back this weekend?”
“I doubt it. My grandfather is dying in Romania. My mother flew out right away last night. We have no idea when she'll be back.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you here alone?”
“My father, brothers, and cousins are at church, praying for my grandfather.”
Olivia knew that the girl's mother, Madame Elena, was married, but Olivia had never known that she had children, which she found odd. When the girl had opened the door, there was no mistaking that she was Madame Elena's daughter. The resemblance was striking.
How had Madame Elena managed to keep from her that she had children? Olivia had been seeing her for over a year now. Why hadn't she ever mentioned them? The only reason she knew the fortune-teller was married is that once she saw Madame Elena's husband walk out from a room in the back and say hello as he was leaving. All Madame Elena said was, “My husband.” She hadn't even introduced them. Olivia thought Madame was too focused on her reading to distract herself with introductions. Olivia had always been curious about Madame Elena, but the few questions she had asked about her life were always met with vague responses and sometimes they were ignored altogether.
Olivia took a few sips of water, then got up.
“I shouldn't be here at this difficult time for you and your family. Thank you for the water. I'll come back when your mother is here.”
“Why? I can give you a reading.”
“How did you know I wanted a reading? I could just be a friend of your mother's.”
“Because I saw it.”
Olivia frowned. Was this girl playing a joke on her? She might be old and have an accent, but she was no idiot.
“I'll have to get going. Thank you again.”
Olivia made her way toward the door.
“You don't believe me.”
Olivia froze just as she was about to place her hand on the doorknob.
She turned around. “It's not that. I'm just used to seeing your mother.”
She hoped that would be enough, but this girl was even more stubborn than the mule her grandparents had owned on their tiny farm in Sicily.
“I have the power, too. So do my brothers and father.”
“The power?”
“The power to read thoughts, see the future.”
“Oh.”
Olivia frowned. She couldn't help but find it strange that this young girl referred to her psychic ability as a “power.” Did she see herself as some sort of superhero like Spider-Man or Wonder Woman?
“It runs in the family?” Olivia asked, her curiosity beginning to win over her doubts.
“Of course. Why wouldn't we inherit it if our parents have the ability to see the past and future? Come back to the couch and we can begin your reading.”
“That's okay. I really need to return to work.”
“You still don't believe me. I can feel it. Why don't you let me prove it to you?”
Olivia sighed. What did she have to lose? Some money? Lord knows she'd given the girl's mother quite a bit of money over the past year for her readings. But Madame Elena definitely had the gift of foresight. She had predicted several events for Olivia, including Valentina's engagement to Michael.
“All right. You can give me a reading. But first I need to know your name.”
“Sonia.” She extended her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”
“I'm Olivia. Please stop calling me ‘ma'am.' I know you're being polite, but I don't like it. It makes me feel like I'm from the last century. I'm old but not that old.”
Sonia looked a little taken aback by Olivia's forthrightness.
“Of course. Whatever you like.”
This girl was odd. Olivia had never heard a kid talk like this before.
She
sounded old.
“So would you like a palm or tarot card reading?”
“I always do tarot cards.”
Sonia nodded her head, approving Olivia's choice.
“Would you like the cross-style reading?”
“Yes.”
Olivia didn't mind paying extra for the full cross-style reading, which showed her past, present, and future. The only way she'd know if Sonia were the real deal was by seeing how accurately she read Olivia's past.

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