Page 114
I sunk down in my seat and tried to hide behind the steam coming from my large snowman mug.
“No,” Nona said while pushing another batch of scrambled eggs around the pan. “He sent them a message that he didn’t feel well, and they left soon after.”
I sighed.
“Maybe that’s who made all those tracks in the snow out front, then.” Bianca sat down opposite me, her gaze boring into my face, but I didn’t dare look up. She had inherited the same Mancini superpower as Nona: calling someone’s bluff just by looking at them.
“A lot of tracks for just one person, especially one who wasn’t feeling well,” Nona mumbled. “Strano.”
Bianca continued to stare at me over her mug. “Strange indeed.”
I pushed back my chair, accidentally banging it against the wall. “I gotta go.”
“Now?” Mom asked, looking up from today’s newspaper.
“Yeah, I, uh, told Eve I’d help get the café ready, since Jo and her dads ended up staying over in DC because of the snow.” The second part of that was true, at least.
“Eve won’t open on time today, cara,” Nona said, stepping away from the eggs. “Everyone will be shoveling and scraping out their storefronts.”
“Exactly! She’ll need an extra hand with that, too.” I hurried into the front hallway and threw on my coat, hat, and gloves, but before I could slip into my boots, Nona stopped me.
“Are you feeling okay?” She cupped a hand to my cheek. “You look all flushed.”
“I’m fine.” I stepped back, focusing on the floor.
“Okay.” Nona put her hands up and started walking toward the kitchen but then stopped. “Oh, and Gianna?” She looked over her shoulder, a knowing smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Next time, stomp out your boots, per favore.”
Good grief.
Nothing got by that woman.
I took the long way home, savoring the way snow muffled everything after it fell. Jacket zipped up to my chin and hands deep in my pockets, I stepped quietly down the unplowed street, squinting as the sun glistened off the now-sparkling branches. The air tasted damp but clean and fresh, as if some higher power granted all of us a new slate, a new perspective to take into the holidays.
My dad used to say that nature held its breath after a snowstorm so that we could take the time to appreciate it before everything went back to “business as usual.”
Dad was good about those kinds of things.
Slowing down.
Savoring small, quiet moments instead of filling them.
Which probably explained how I ended up going to see him first before going home.
The Mullings Creek cemetery was small but beautiful, outlined with tall oaks and birches, which were always filled with birdsong in the spring and summer, a fitting accompaniment to the soft trickling of the creek that ran behind the western end. I had to push the snow away with my boot before I could open the wrought iron gate and enter.
With a mind of their own, my feet carried me down the winding path to Dad’s headstone. I wiped the snow off it before running my fingers along the familiar epigraph:
Anthony Enzo “Pop” Mancini
Beloved Husband, Father, Son, and Teacher
Sempre nei nostri cuori
“Always in our hearts,” I whispered before standing, my throat now tight. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while. I’ll be better about that.” I sniffed. “I got into that Adventure Italy program I told you about before Thanksgiving. Jo and Mom have already helped me pack. I get a certain number of free weekends. You should see the way I’ve mapped them out.” I smiled. “You taught me well, but…” I sighed and rubbed my gloved hand against my cheek. “I’ve gotten myself into a real pickle, Dad.”
The wind blew, and snow from the nearest birch twirled in the air before settling onto the ground.
I took a deep breath and told him everything that had happened over the last few weeks. Mr. Paxton’s untimely passing. James and Mr. Bailey coming to town. My agreeing to the fake-dating thing with James, how I started having feelings for James, and how crappy the timing of it was because Sam and I could have been finally moving past being just friends.
