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As we stepped onto the ferry, the cool breeze coming off the water kissed our cheeks. It was cold enough to snow, but the night was clear. Almost clear enough that you could spot stars beyond the halo of light that enclosed the city. It was as if the universe was conspiring to create a moment only for us.
I guided Lea inside the sheltered portion of the ferry, and we took a seat on a cold metal bench. Paint was chipping off the edges from so many years of use, but Lea treated it like a throne. She watched as I spread a dish cloth between us—one of the ones she had gotten me, covered with cartoon watermelons—then pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in red checkered paper and a few bottles of Coke.
“Hope you like turkey,” I said. “They gave me two for one at the market.”
“Enzo’s?” she asked as she took a sandwich and unwrapped it, revealing layers of freshly sliced turkey, salami, provolone, and all the other makings of a good Italian sandwich on fresh bread.
I nodded. “It’s the best.”
“It certainly is.” Her eyes closed in bliss as she took a bite. “Mmm,” she hummed appreciatively. “Enzo’s sandwiches are amazing.”
“Christ,” I muttered, transfixed by the sight of complete and total ecstasy on her face. And by the very dirty thoughts it was sending through my mind. Just like that, I was hard as a fucking rock.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” She gestured at the food between us.
I smiled. “I am.” I unwrapped my own sandwich and took a bite. “Shit, that is good.”
I meant it too. I loved Lea’s cooking and her grandma’s too. But there were certain tastes that haunted me when I was in the joint. Enzo’s sandwiches were one of them.
“Did you know Enzo is my nonna’s second cousin?”
“Get out of the city,” I teased her. Was there anyone in Belmont her grandmother wasn’t related to? Then again, in Belmont, any Italians still left were second or third cousins to everyone else.
Lea gaped, sandwich held in mid-air. “Oh my God, did you actually quote Perfect Strangers?”
I grinned. “You remember that show?”
“It was my dad’s favorite.” A shadow crossed her face. “Funny, I haven’t thought of that in years. But he used to tune in every Friday at eight, right after we were supposed to be in bed. When my mom was gone—which was most of the time—Matthew and I would watch with him and put ourselves to bed, though. Kate was maybe three or four, I think? Marie and Joni wouldn’t have even been born yet, probably.”
“So you didn’t always live with your grandparents?” I wondered before I could stop.
Her face darkened a bit more, and immediately, I regretted asking. I actually knew a bit of this story now that I thought about it. I was only a little bit older than Lea’s brother, and even though I was too involved in my own shit to really care at the time, I still recalled the rumors about the Zola kids’ parents. Someone died. Someone went to jail. But I didn’t remember who was who or what exactly happened.
But instead of changing the subject, I found myself waiting for the answer. Lea Zola had a way of getting secrets out of me I’d never had any interest in sharing. I wanted a few of hers, too.
“My parents met in high school,” she said after she took a sip of her Coke. “Young, you know. Like us. My mom…well, I don’t really know. Nonna says she was no good. A bad influence on Daddy. He used to work at the shop with Nonno, I guess, and he was supposed to take over so Nonno could retire one day. But then he met Mami, and…I like to think they fell in love, you know?”
I offered a smile. Of course she’d want to think that. And maybe it was true, too. Her parents had six kids together, after all. That didn’t come from nothing.
It was funny, though. The way she said it didn’t sound like she thought love was a good thing.
She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed again before she continued. “Anyway, they had the first three of us quick. Matthew, me, then Kate. Mattie and I are only a year and a half apart. Kate’s not quite two years younger than me. We share a room.”
“I figured when she was at the window with you. You look alike, you know.”
Lea offered a funny little smile. “We all got Daddy’s hair and our mom’s eyes. Black and green.”
“Plus, you got something special just yours,” I put in.
That earned me a fucking adorable half-smile while her eyelashes swept across her cheek. But she was still in storytelling mode.
“Mami…had a problem—has a problem,” she corrected herself. “She drinks too much. Once she passed out while my dad was at work, and when he came home, he found us trying to cook rice on the stove. Mattie was only six. We almost burned the place down, and she was still asleep. At least, that’s what Mattie says. I don’t really remember. But after that, Daddy took us with him to Nonno and Nonna’s so Mami could straighten herself out. It took a while. A few years, actually.” She shook her head wistfully. “I think about those years with my dad, and I miss it. And then I feel bad for missing it, you know? Because she wasn’t there. And she’s my mother. I’m supposed to love her no matter what.”
“Well, she was supposed to take care of you, no matter what. So honestly, I don’t think you owe her anything.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that touched the statement. Sure, this story wasn’t particularly unique. Shit, it wasn’t even that unique between the two people on this bench. But for some reason, the idea of anyone abandoning Lea Zola in any way got to me good. I ignored the possibility that it came from the overwhelming urge I felt to take care of her myself.
Lea didn’t answer, just looked out one of the open windows on the other side of the ferry, where the Statue of Liberty stood bright and tall across the water.
