The Lost Art of Second Chances (3 page)

Bella extended the pillow toward Maria, who grasped the crown of tiny flowers, her hands shaking. She stepped forward to place the crown on the lowered statue’s head but her heel caught in the little dip in the rug marking the entrance to the underground crypt below. Every child in Ali d’Angelo knew to avoid the divot, just as they knew the stories of the wicked things living below. Maria stumbled and the miniature crown slipped from her fingers, toppling toward the sacristy floor. Maria froze with horror. Without thinking, Bella darted forward and snatched the blessed crown in mid-air, before it could hit the unblessed floor. The overstrained seams under her arms give way when she moved. She handed the crown back to Maria who gave her a shaky smile before turning away to place the diadem on the statue’s head.

Bella rolled her eyes. The altar boy stared at her, his chocolate brown eyes dancing with mischievous glee. Maria’s brother, Tommaso. Nearly 15 now. When had he gotten so handsome? His dark hair flopped over his forehead in a wavy fringe. He grinned at her and then, as Bella watched him, flushing with a heat she did not yet understand, he winked.

He actually winked.

Bella smiled. Suddenly the day didn’t seem so awful after all.

Applebury, Massachusetts
Present Day

When Lucy spotted the shiny black loafers, she stepped backwards, banging her hip on the stove controls. She clutched the dirty wooden spoon to her chest, spattering her tattered T-shirt with red sauce. Jack Hamilton stood in the doorway, holding a small moving box, his battered black leather briefcase resting on top of it. He grinned at her, amusement lighting his green eyes, boyish and carefree, more like the Jack she remembered than the careworn adult from Nonna’s funeral. As heat crept up her cheeks, she smiled back automatically, hoping he hadn’t heard her ridiculous wish.

“I knocked. It was open.” He pressed his lips together as though trying not to laugh. He didn’t meet her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was due to amusement or embarrassment—probably a little of both. Her cheeks grew warmer. “I brought those estate papers for you. The bequest I mentioned when I saw you the other day.”

“Oh, yes, I thought you were coming on Tuesday,” Lucy gasped, her heart still thumping hard in her chest. Did he hear her pronouncement? If he did, would he say anything? His blank expression showed no sign, his “lawyer face” sliding over his amusement like armor.

“It is Tuesday,” Jack answered, biting his lower lip, worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Oh well.” Lucy glanced at the cat calendar hanging on the refrigerator. It still showed last month. Whoops. Lucy gave the sauce a final stir, more to have something to do than anything else.

Don’t overstir, bellissima. You’ll agitate the vegetables and they will fight in your tummy, yes
?

She turned from the stove and wiped her hands on her makeshift dishtowel apron. “Have a seat, Jack. I made summer sauce. Have some lunch with me.”

“I couldn’t impose,” Jack began.

“Don’t be silly! You’re too skinny now without Jenny to cook for you.” Jack hadn’t weathered the divorce well. His well-cut blue pinstripe suit hung off his broad shoulders. His cheekbones were sharp slopes in his too thin face and the bones of his collarbone pushed against his blue dress shirt.

With a shrug, he nodded and walked to the scrubbed pine table, laying the box on the end of the table and moving his briefcase into the chair next to him. He slung his suit jacket over the chair back and began rolling up his blue sleeves as he sat, before wrestling his red tie loose in one smooth motion.

With little forethought, the same way she would have cared for Andrew or for Juliet, she poured Jack a glass of milk and ladled up a bowl of hot pasta and sauce. She set it in front of Jack with a napkin and utensils before turning to serve herself. She sat across from him, their knees bumping beneath the tiny kitchenette table crammed into the minuscule eating nook. Though her apartment always seemed tiny after her suburban McMansion, the kitchen seemed even smaller now with Jack in it. Lucy shook her head. Perhaps she just wasn’t used to visitors.

Jack sampled the sauce and smiled. “Just like Nonna Belladonna always made.”

“I’ve been cooking a lot lately. I’d gotten out of the habit of cooking from scratch. Relying on convenience foods is more like assembling meals.”

“It’s wonderful,” he assured her, taking another bite before asking, “How do you like living here?”

“Oh, well, it’s okay. Convenient to the shops and all that.” Lucy shrugged, glancing around at the tiny, depressing apartment. Twenty paces across and less than that wide. All in boring beige. “I don’t fit in here though. I don’t belong with the swinging singles and the newlyweds.”

“After Jenny and I split, I moved into Cider Hill View apartments—though there aren’t any views at all. But it’s the same. Apartment living doesn’t suit me either but it’s close for the kids. And it’s better than living with dad. Bad enough to work with him,” Jack said, spooning up more sauce. “How’s your job at the craft store?”

“It’s not enough to support me for the rest of my life but it’s fun for now. I like being creative.” She slid back in the chair and stood to serve Jack seconds. “We moved so much while Andrew served in the military I never seemed to be able to establish anything. When we came back here, I figured I’d wait until Juliet was out of high school before settling on a career. I guess I just sort of drifted. I can’t figure out what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life.”

“When we were kids, you were the bossiest of the bunch. I’m sure there is little you can’t do,” Jack smiled.

“The only thing I ever loved was cooking. That frustrated my mom so much. She wanted me to go into business or accounting and all I wanted to do was make summer sauce.” Lucy smiled and waved at the dishes.

“It was wonderful, Lucy. As always.” Jack spooned up the last of his second bowl of sauce and waved Lucy off when she reached for his bowl to ladle up thirds. “What about a restaurant?”

“Nonna would have loved that.” She didn’t feel any desire to own her own restaurant. “Lot of work though. More business than cooking for the joy of it. How about you, Jack? How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” Jack answered automatically, and then continued as if by rote. “I’m happy for Jenny about the engagement.”

“Me too,” Lucy said, when Jack fell silent.

“The boys love Barb. She’s great, who wouldn’t love Barb?” Jack said. Lucy admired how he kept the bitterness in his voice to a minimum.

“Yes, but how are you?” Lucy asked again, gently this time.

“Same old. Working for the old man, who’s never going to die. Teaching business law classes to bored undergrads at the community college.” Jack cleared his throat and tapped his long, slim fingers on the table. Lucy waited, knowing Jack’s tell for changing the subject. “I brought you something else.”

“Is it strawberry cannoli from Mike’s Pastry?” Lucy grinned. Jack’s main office sat in the heart of the city, within walking distance of the newly revitalized North End. In college at Boston University, they’d all gone on many a late night study run for the delicious, gooey pastries. Lucy still adored the sweet treats.

“Not today, I’m afraid. I appeared in court in Newburyport this morning.” Jack shrugged and Lucy waved it away.

“Well, whatever it is, it looks serious. Let me make coffee.” Jack slid back on the chair in seeming relief at the small reprieve as Lucy stood to brew the coffee.

“Did you know I was Nonna’s lawyer?” Jack asked as she set out mugs of strong coffee and a small plate of iced lemon cookies.

“Not until you mentioned it the other day.”

“Yes, she came to see me in the city—”

“Nonna came to see you in the city?” Lucy couldn’t keep the note of incredulity out of her voice. “By herself? How did she get into the city?”

“Yes, about six weeks ago. I don’t know how she got there. She brought me lemon cookies and asked me to be the executor of her estate.” Lucy blinked at him, too stunned to form words at the thought of her ninety year old grandmother getting into the city without anyone else’s knowledge or assistance.

“Her will is simple. Everything to your mom except a few small bequests.”

“I’d assumed as much. She owned no significant assets, just a few personal things. We knew that when she moved into Sunset Manor.”

“I do
pro bono
work there from time to time. When I was there yesterday, Jolene gave me this box of her personal effects to pass on to you.” Jack patted the box next to him.

Lucy bit her lip, dreading opening that box, all that was left of her vibrant grandmother. With shaking fingers, Lucy pulled the box toward her and removed the lid. Inside, she found a half-full package of Luden’s cherry cough drops—Nonna’s favorite—and a nubby oatmeal cardigan with oversized brown carved-wood buttons. Lucy snatched the sweater up and, pressing it to her face, inhaled the scents of Nonna—talcum powder, lavender, and rosemary. Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked hard before setting the sweater aside. Beneath that, she discovered worn baby-blue bedroom slippers, a gift from Juliet two or three Christmases ago, half-empty packets of Kleenex, and a tangled set of pink rosary beads. A small binder, covered in a bold paisley pattern of turquoise, fuchsia, and chartreuse, sat to one side. Lucy pulled it out, the fabric silky beneath her hand.

“Nonna’s recipe book. I made her this binder at Brownies,” Lucy said, swallowing hard against the unshed tears clogging the back of her throat. At seven, she had thought the eye-wateringly bright fabric stunning, and reminiscent of a peacock’s tail. Lucy picked up the heavy volume and flipped through the folders inside. Every folder contained Nonna’s handwritten recipes, most spattered and smeared from decades of use. The small book contained the tastes and smells and memories of Lucy’s childhood. Lucy’s chest squeezed and she blinked back tears. This, far more than the funeral and the rites of the dead, convinced her the indomitable Nonna Belladonna was truly gone. She would never have given up her treasured recipes otherwise.

Jack reached over and squeezed her hand. She flipped up her palm and linked her fingers with his, grateful for the warm press of his hand against hers. Lucy closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears, and put a shaking hand to her forehead. She was so tired of living in the black dark tide pool of her grief, first for Andrew, now for Nonna. With a will she hadn’t known she possessed, Lucy fought back her emotions. Together, they sat holding hands for several moments until Lucy glanced up to find Jack’s green eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that unnerved her. She became aware of the press of their palms together and the thumping tempo of her pulse. Not wanting to examine what that meant, she slid her hand out of his and tilted the box toward her.

A small, framed portrait of the Madonna and Child, smaller than a sheet of copy paper, sat at the bottom of the box. Set in a grove of flowering orange trees, the Madonna, crowned with star-shaped white orange blossoms, cradled the cherubic baby Jesus. The infant clutched an orange in his outstretched hand, in much the same position of studio baby photos of infants holding a ball. Jesus seemed delighted with his accomplishment as his Mother glowed with maternal pride.

For as long as Lucy could recall, the painting hung in Nonna Belladonna’s bedroom, her rosary of pressed rose petals dangling lopsided from the frame. Lucy always liked it because it seemed like a hopeful, happy picture, as opposed to the gory crucifixion and heart-wrenching
Pietà
. Now, she wondered where Nonna got it. She’d never thought to ask and now she never would. But it didn’t belong here, in a box of castaway possessions. She’d find a space for it in her apartment. At least it would be a spot of color on the otherwise canned tuna beige walls.

“She did leave one bequest with an unusual condition.” Jack drummed his fingers on the table and raked his hand through his floppy dark hair. The gesture made him appear much younger and less sure of himself, more her childhood buddy and less like the confident lawyer he’d grown up to be. He rubbed his hands together. When they were about twelve and working together on a middle school report, Jack confided in her his hands went numb when he was nervous so she knew he was trying to rub feeling back into his fingers.

“Okay.” Lucy’s stomach clenched and goose bumps broke out on her arms. She chided herself to stop overreacting. “What did she do now?”

Applebury, Massachusetts
Present Day

Jack slid a package out of his briefcase—a large, lumpy, padded manila envelope, the kind she got in the mail all the time when she gave in to her online shopping addiction. Nothing out of the ordinary. Lucy couldn’t say why it deepened her sense of foreboding. Jack set it on the table between them and patted it.

“What’s that?” Lucy said. “Nonna didn’t have anything to leave. Nothing significant. Just . . .”

“Open the envelope, Lucy.”

“Jack, you’re scaring me. What is this about?” Lucy said, anger and fear making her voice sharp. In answer, he handed her the package.

Lucy wrenched it open and shook the padded envelope. A small box tumbled free, its contents rattling. Lucy flipped opened the box. Inside, an oval silver locket, engraved with angel wings, and a small perfect pearl dangling from the chain above it. All through her childhood, she’d never seen her grandmother without her locket. Just like the painting, she’d never thought to ask about the locket’s origins and she’d missed her chance.

“She bequeathed the locket to you, but it came with a condition.”

Lucy opened the locket. Inside, a photo of a handsome dark-eyed boy smiled up at her- her beloved Nonno Tony, when he was in the service. She snapped it shut before fastening it around her neck with an audible sniff.

“What’s the condition?” Lucy asked and Jack handed her the padded envelope again.

“I’ll let her explain.”

Lucy crinkled her brow as she shook the padded envelope again. Two thick cream envelopes fluttered out, Nonna’s bold, spiky handwriting on the front of each. One labeled with her own name, and another bearing the single word, “Paolo
.
”