Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Arriving Home

T he forty-five-minute drive came to an end as they pulled into a gravel driveway. Ahead was a large, two-story cement, stone, and wood building. Baskets of flowers, vine-covered urns, lemon trees, and olive trees adorned the slate walkway to the front door that was adorned with a beautiful wreath. Short palms were scattered around. It was the quintessential aged but well-kept Italian villa. Not fancy, but beautiful. Not opulent, but cozy. One could easily see and feel the care put into the maintenance of the gardens. Frankie thought she had stepped foot into a movie set.

"Oh, Gio. This is beautiful," she said dreamily.

"Welcome to my family home." He put his arm around her and looked up at the fa?ade. He noted there were a few things that could use some attention, but he wasn't going to mention it to anyone. Maybe in a few days, but not at the moment. There was too much to do, too many people to see, and he didn't want to give his mother something to be concerned about.

The sound of dogs barking brought two women to the front door. Giovanni was halted in his tracks. His mother was dressed exactly like her sister-in-law, Lucia. She looked as if she'd aged twenty years since he last saw her a year ago. He forced a smile on his face and threw his arms around her. "Mama!"

"Giovanni!" She made the sign of the cross and kissed him on both cheeks.

Frankie was also taken aback at Rosevita's appearance, but she, too, forced a smile and greeted her with the two-cheek kiss. Giovanni introduced her to his aunt. Frankie wasn't sure if she should kiss her, curtsy, or shake hands. Lucia smiled, held out her hand, and leaned in. Frankie figured it was a cue to give her a peck on each cheek. She wasn't sure how much English Lucia spoke, and Frankie apologized for not speaking Italian.

"It's-a no problem," Lucia said. "We try to speak both here. My son, Dominic, is a professor at Baronissi." Lucia always liked to brag about her children. "He says it's important for people to be bilingual."

"That would be a good lesson for me to learn," Frankie grinned. "I am trying. Ma non così buono ."

Lucia laughed at Frankie's explanation that she doesn't do it so good.

"Come!" Rosevita instructed, and escorted them to the foyer. The floors were tile. The walls were also tiled. Pretty much everything Frankie could see was covered in tile.

Giovanni placed the suitcases in the entry, wondering where they should go from there. He and Frankie decided to leave it up to Rosevita to instruct him. In the meantime, he had to explain that his suitcase was missing, and he'd have to borrow something from Marco. Rosevita had already said that his brother was currently running errands and Anita was visiting cousins with the children.

His mother shuttled the group through the kitchen and out to a tiled patio with a vine-covered pergola. In the distance, you could get glimpses of the sea beyond the rolling hills. The two older women directed Frankie to one of the chairs that faced the scenery, and a spread of food welcomed the travelers. It was antipasto heaven.

Stone steps led to the lower level with another patio, also covered in tile.

"It is quite beautiful," Frankie said in awe. "No wonder you wanted to come back." She turned to Rosevita, who in turn nodded to her sister. Frankie was still in shock over how both women were almost identically dressed all in black. When Rosevita lived in New York, she was always impeccably dressed in pantsuits or skirts and blouses. She was hard-pressed to recall Rosevita wearing anything that wasn't fashionable, or pretty, for that matter. This change in her was definitely a conversation for her and Giovanni to have later.

Within a few minutes, Giovanni joined them with a bottle of homemade wine. "Is this the poison Mr. Parisi gave you?" he joked.

Rosevita shook her head. "Not so funny. It's very good." She picked up Frankie's glass and handed it to Giovanni to pour the dark, ruby-red liquid. She handed it to Frankie. "Here. You try."

Frankie waited for everyone to have their filled glass in hand; then she raised hers. "Cent'anni!"

" Cent'anni ! See, you speak good Italian!" Lucia smiled.

Frankie was getting the idea that despite Lucia's appearance, she didn't come across as a cranky old lady. More fodder for her conversation with Giovanni later.

Frankie took a sip of the wine and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't taste like lighter fluid or kerosene. Then she told them the story about her grandparents, who were also originally from Campania but moved to America. Her grandfather carried on the tradition of winemaking until one of his bottles exploded in her parents' garage. It was months before the smell of fermented grapes finally eased, bringing an end to a family tradition.

The two older women howled in amusement, recalling several instances when the very same thing happened in the shed that was set back from the house. Lucia pointed to a small building that was once inhabited by gallons of jugs fermenting homemade wine. She explained that after the third explosion, she put her foot down. It scared the animals.

Rosevita laughed. "I was here one summer, and I thought Vesuvius was erupting! I was used to loud noise in the city, but here"—she raised her eyebrows—"not so good. I was a scaredy cat. Now it's a potting shed."

"A much better idea," Frankie agreed.

About an hour into their meal, the sound of children laughing and screeching filled the hall. Anita was scurrying behind them, telling them to calm down, to no avail. Rafaella, Dominic Jr.'s wife, wasn't far behind, chasing after her three kids. Dominic and Rafaella were around Marco and Anita's age. Loud introductions carried over the squealing of the children as they ran to their grandmothers' laps, each one trying to climb up first.

Lucia pulled Gerardo, the youngest of her grandchildren, toward her and seated him on her lap and started bouncing him on her knee. She was singing a children's song about skipping up and down. Gerardo giggled and began to play with her necklace. " Stai attento . Be careful," she said softly.

Again, Frankie was impressed with the sweetness of this woman—a woman whose attire belied a softer side. She thought maybe Lucia would not be offended if she and Giovanni shared a room. But that idea quickly dissolved when Lucia instructed Giovanni to take Frankie's suitcase to the fourth bedroom, and when his suitcase arrived, he could bring it downstairs. Frankie crossed one issue off her mental list. If nothing else, Frankie was relieved. She really, truly, honestly did not want to step over any lines. She thanked Lucia and Rosevita for their hospitality and gave Giovanni a Don't you dare say a word expression.

"Speaking of suitcases," Frankie continued, "last year, my friends and I went to Lake Tahoe. I had a bit of an accident."

The other women's eyes went wide.

"Everything turned out fine, but Giovanni did not have any clothes with him." The other women inhaled sharply. Frankie chuckled. "No, you see, he had to leave without packing, and when he got to Tahoe, he had to go shopping. But . . . the weather was freezing cold, and there was snow on the ground, and Giovanni had no boots, just the loafers he always wears. He went to a sporting goods store and bought some sweats, you know, jogging stuff and changed at the store, but then had to go to the shoe store to get boots. Well, there was Giovanni wearing a tracksuit with Mauri loafers!" Frankie snickered.

Giovanni listened and slowly shook his head. "What else was I supposed to do? Walk barefoot on the street?"

"Of course not. But, according to Peter, you were getting some very strange looks from people."

"I am a fashion innovator." He shrugged.

Rosevita watched the two of them banter. She was impressed with the way Giovanni and Frankie interacted. Over the past two years, the two had developed a strong bond. Respect. Kindness. It was as if they had their own secret language. She was delighted her son was happy, and particularly proud that he stood up to his father and all the other relatives who disapproved of him breaking off his engagement. That was when Rosevita knew Giovanni had become a man. And now, he was a happy man.

Frankie suppressed a yawn. She wasn't sure if it was the eleven-plus hours of traveling, jet lag, or lack of sleep. Probably a bit of everything, including Giovanni's missing suitcase and her glass of Mr. Parisi's wine.

"Frankie, come. I'll show you to your room. I think maybe a nap," Giovanni suggested. He thought he heard Lucia gasp and bit his lip, knowing his aunt's imagination was taking a walk on the wild side. He turned to everyone at the table and said, "I will come back and finish my coffee." He could swear he heard long exhales coming from her nostrils. It hadn't occurred to him before, but seeing how she dressed, he realized that Aunt Lucia had parked herself in the past. And she was dragging his mother with her. He couldn't wait to have that discussion with Frankie. His mother was in her early sixties. She had many years ahead of her. He didn't want her to be stuck. Granted, it was just over a year since his father passed, but the old tradition of wearing black from head to toe forever was expecting too much. People grieve in their own way. Putting expectations and pressure on someone to behave in a particular way wasn't fair. He hoped Lucia wasn't putting that kind of pressure on his mother. The women got along well, but Lucia could be very bossy. He wanted to be sure his mother was okay and that she could go on because life goes on.

When they got to the bedroom, Giovanni pulled the door so it wasn't quite shut all the way, but enough so no one could hear them from the other side of the house. He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the quilt. "Please. Sit."

"Giovanni? Is everything alright?" Frankie sat next to him.

"It's Mama."

"What?" Frankie's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped. Her fertile mind was on the high-speed track of something terrible has or is about to happen.

Giovanni took her hands into his. "No. Nothing's wrong. Well, not exactly. You see how Mama is dressed?"

Frankie nodded. "Of course. Duh."

"I mean, I never saw her like this."

"She lost her husband, Giovanni."

"I know. I know. But she was always positive."

"I think she still is. She seems very happy to see all of us."

"True. But the clothes. The clothes, Frankie. I don't remember so much black."

"She's a widow." As if Frankie had to remind him.

"I know. But it's supposed to be for a year, and it's-a been almost eighteen months."

"Oh, Gio, I noticed it, too, but I think you're overreacting. They were married for how many years? Forty?"

" Sì ." Giovanni hung his head.

"That's a long time." She wrapped her arm around his waist. "Maybe we shouldn't rush her. I know you miss your father, too."

"Of course. I think I'm worried she will become solitaria . Alone."

"Your mother isn't the alone type. She lived in New York for over twenty years. She helped with the restaurant. She loves people."

"I thought she would move back to New York. Be with her sons and grandkids. But she says she likes the peace here."

"I don't blame her. It's stunning here." She rested her head on his shoulder and gave him a side hug. "She'll be okay."

Frankie wondered if she was employing wishful thinking. Maybe when her girlfriends arrived, they could somehow influence Rosevita. How? She had no idea, but with her strike force with her in the near future, they'd figure out something. Even if it meant hiding all of Rosevita's clothes. She'd leave that escapade up to Rachael if necessary. She chuckled to herself at the thought of it.

"What?" Giovanni asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking about the girls and the rest of the trip." She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Now scram. I need a nap."

She kicked off her shoes and got horizontal. Giovanni pulled the quilt up to her shoulders.

"Thanks, sweetie." She drifted off as soon as he kissed her on the top of her head.

Giovanni approached the patio slowly. He wanted to hear what they might be talking about. When he heard the words calamari and scungilli , he knew the conversation had taken a turn toward the Christmas Eve menu. So far, everything was flowing at a nice, natural pace. All except for his luggage. Maybe he should never travel with luggage. Just a pair of sneakers and a tracksuit in a carry-on. That would cover most bases until he could get to a store. He wondered if Amazon Prime had next-day delivery in Campania. Probably not.

He approached the table. "What do you need for me to do?"

Lucia reached into her black apron pocket and produced a sheet of paper with items that had to be picked up at the bakery. Rosevita and Lucia planned to make the stromboli, but the pastries had to be from Fiorucci's. The stromboli was served on Christmas Day as part of a buffet for visitors. A formal dinner with roasted veal and all the other trimmings of a feast was an option, but with so many relatives coming and going, Rosevita and Lucia opted for an open house instead. They would serve the roast on New Year's Day.

A casual Christmas Day was well-deserved and much appreciated. The doors would be open to greet people from one o'clock until six. That allowed visitors to stop by for a drink and something to eat without having to worry about coming by a specific time. It also gave the children the entire day to play, and the adults time to relax and enjoy everyone's company.

Big dinners were wonderful, but they required a lot of heavy lifting on the part of the hosts and hostesses. Christmas Eve dinner of seven fishes should satisfy everyone in need of a gastronomical experience, although the buffet they planned for Christmas Day was nothing to sneer at. Stromboli, antipasto, grilled vegetables, salads, and breads would sit on a long table under the pergola.

The weather would be crisp, but the sun would warm the patio to a comfortable sixty-plus degrees. Cool enough for a sweater, but warm enough to sit outside and enjoy the blessings of food, family, and fun. If it got too chilly, they could fire up the tall propane heater. The kids knew to stay away from it, and they could run around the large yard and gardens until they fell over from exhaustion. The grown-ups could eat, chat, and sample Mr. Parisi's wine, if they dared.

Giovanni spoke: "I think I should have a car service pick up Frankie's parents. I don't think I could get to the Naples airport and back without getting into too much traffic." He pulled out his phone and called the driver from earlier that day and gave him instructions to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Cappella. Then he sent a text with their flight information. The driver would drop them off at the Lombardi house, Giovanni would do a quick introduction to whoever was scurrying about, and then he would take them to the house a few blocks away.

Giovanni was thankful accommodations had gone smoothly. Now to find his suitcase. The rest of the week was going to be one thing after another. What kind of order was the question, and knowing Frankie's crew, it could be disorder, as well. He smiled to himself. Maybe he should take a nap as well, but there was still much to do.

For big family meals, they would place a large sheet of finished plywood on top of the existing table, making it big enough to accommodate twelve people comfortably. The kids would have their own table in the kitchen. He went to the lower level and pulled the wood from the storage area, took it outside, and carefully carried it upstairs to the second level patio and then through the kitchen. Rosevita was moving things around and placed several large pads on the existing classically styled table. He leaned the heavy piece of wood against the wall and would wait for Marco to help maneuver it onto the pads covering the beautiful sesame wood finish.

Giovanni watched his mother fuss with the pads. Her hair was grayer than usual. He shook his head. Maybe Frankie could coax Rosevita into a fresh start. Woman to woman. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk to his mother about her attire. She would just pat his cheek and tell him not to worry. He wondered if she was dressing like that to placate Lucia.

Rosevita pierced his contemplation. "Gio, why so pensive?"

"Huh? Nothing, Mama. Just thinking about all the holidays we had here when I was growing up."

"Yes. Then we moved to New York in two thousand. You were thirteen."

"Is that when Aunt Lucia and Uncle Dominic moved into this house?" Giovanni was trying to remember the course of events.

Rosevita raised her eyebrows. " Sì . And then when Uncle Dominic passed in two thousand and ten, Lucia decided to stay here. Dominic Junior and Sergio started their own families and moved."

"So, she's lived here for fourteen years alone?"

" Sì ." More raised eyebrows.

Giovanni was getting the impression that Aunt Lucia might think she had squatters' rights. "Has there been any conversation about selling the house?"

"Sell? Never!" Rosevita was aghast at the suggestion.

" Scusa . Sorry, Mama. It's a big house."

" Sì , it's a big house, and it's the family house. You, your brother, and your cousins will own it one day. This is one of the reasons I came back here."

"I thought it was because of Aunt Lucia."

"Yes, in part. But also for the family legacy."

Giovanni had mixed feelings about that tidbit of information. It could be a blessing or a curse. Many families were devastated by wills and estates.

Rosevita patted him on the shoulder. "Not to worry. Everyone gets a piece."

Giovanni wasn't sure how all that would go down, but with any luck, it was years away.

"One more thing, Mama." He was thinking about the odds and ends that needed mending around the house. "Who helps take care of the place?"

"Sometimes Dominic." She paused. "Sometimes Mr. Parisi."

Giovanni stifled a grin. Mr. Parisi had a much bigger role than providing a friendly bottle of wine.