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Paola’s funeral was small and took place on land outside the village. The church would not bury her in the cemetery. Her mother-in-law refused to bring her boys to witness their mother’s final shame. I was the last one to leave the gravesite, the one to close her eyes and kiss her cheeks, to apologize to her for the many ways the world had failed her.
—
When the flu made its way up the mountain, I tried something new to keep us all safe. I asked Leda, the tailor, to help me stitch together old bedsheets and other linens and turn them into tents. I dragged mattresses out of houses and set up an outside clinic on the edge of town where germs could be more easily disseminated by the winds blowing in from the ocean. The fresh air was good for the lungs, and it was easier for me to treat our patients, both young and old, in a single place. The tents protected all of us from the sun and I saw many more people recover than the other villages did. This was when Marco got his idea:
“If you had more space, you could build a real clinic.”
“If I had an airplane I could fly to Rome.” I gently mocked him the way I always did when he mentioned his big and impossible ideas.
“There is land below the village, the abandoned abbey next to Cettina’s family’s farm. My family has owned that land for as long as I can remember and we have never used it. There is a building and a well for water and it could be yours to treat the sick outside of town, away from the healthy people. I can give it to you.”
“The land where I was...” I didn’t finish the sentence out loud. The land close to where I was attacked by Carmine.
“Carmine is gone and the land has always belonged to me.”
“What would people say about that? About you just giving the land to me,” I asked.
“They would say the mayor gave the town doctor a place to treat our people.”
“You know I am not a doctor. And that is not what they would say.”
“It is what they should say.”
“There is a difference between what they would say and what they should. We have been so careful.” I said this even though I knew it wasn’t true. I kissed him right then as if to underscore my point. We were alone in his car, parked far out on the coast overlooking the sea. It had been longer than usual since our last meeting, and I did not want to be talking. I wanted his hands on my body, his tongue on my skin. We had so little time. But he was insistent.
He knit his brow in consternation. “We can do this. I can do this.”
“Gio would never accept the land.”
“It would be in your name.”
“No one here would accept a woman owning the land.”
“I am the one in charge here and I accept it.”
I reached over and began to massage the tight muscles on the back of his neck. I ran my other hand across the inside of his thigh hoping to entice him away from this wild plan, but he was undeterred.
“I can make it happen soon.”
“It would make people talk about us.”
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel so hard I retreated into my own seat. “They talk about everyone. They talked about Paola and look what happened to her. It was a tragedy. We cannot let their talk rule our lives. You can save more people if you have space to do it. It is for the good of the village and for you. I love you. I want you to have this.”
It was the first time he uttered those words and I never expected to hear them. I had never heard them from a man’s lips, not my father’s, not my husband’s. I had only heard them from Cettina, who told everyone and everything how much she cherished them.
“I love you too,” I whispered. I meant it. I loved him with a ferocity that sometimes burned greater than my love for my own children. I didn’t have a choice about loving my children, but my love for Marco was something I chose every day despite the dire consequences. “I love you too.” Louder this time. I wanted to shout it.
He turned to me and instead of kissing me he placed his hands on either side of my face, his massive palms covering my cheeks. “I cannot give you everything. I cannot give you all of myself, but I can give you this. Please let me.”
What choice did I have? I let him.
SEVENTEEN
SARA
Luca somehow managed to get better-looking overnight. It was almost unfair how attractive he was, an assault on us average-looking people the world over.
“Ciao,” I managed, my heart stumbling at the sight of him in his white linen shirt tucked into loose khakis, the collar unbuttoned the perfect amount.
