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“Good afternoon! It’s probably strange that I keep dropping by like this. I came to this house nearly every day for twelve years. It’s bizarre that I’m no longer needed,” she said.
“Would you like to come in?” Janine stepped back, opening the door wider.
Francesca waved her hand. “No. But it’s good you’re here. I want to invite you to a small family party tonight. Your cousin, Eva, will be there, as will several other Cacciapaglias, all of whom are very curious about you.”
Janine knew better than to refuse an offer of food from an Italian. It wasn’t just rude, it was idiotic, as they were some of the most brilliant home chefs in the world. “We won’t miss it. What’s the address?”
That evening at seven-thirty, Janine and Maggie entered a water taxi and floated down-canal toward Francesca’s family home, which was located on the mainland, several streets away from where “proper” Venice began. This stood to reason, Janine supposed. Francesca worked as a secretary, which meant her family just didn’t have the wealth of someone like Teresa. Still, other Cacciapaglias would be at the party, which meant that Francesca’s family was still incredibly respected in the community— a part of the fabric of the very, very old and historic place. Perhaps the money rules in New York City didn’t apply here. In New York, if you had money, you didn’t deign to speak to people who didn’t.
Well, Jack had, she remembered. He’d come up to a poor, young waitress. And he’d changed her life forever. How complicated.
Just like the rest of Venice, Francesca’s family home was very old, made of a clay-like material Janine had never seen in the United States. Before they had the chance to knock on the door, Francesca opened it and called out in Italian to the others in the house to announce their arrival. She then kissed first Janine on the cheeks, then Maggie. As they followed after her, Maggie whispered in Janine’s ear, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the cheek-kissing thing. I guess I’m not really Italian!”
As they breezed through the house, Francesca introduced them to a stream of her own family members, along with four Cacciapaglias— Teresa’s second niece, a second-cousin, a second-cousin once removed, as well as Teresa’s first cousin, who was in his nineties and hardly spoke to anyone as he sat in the corner, his eyes glinting mischievously, almost like a little boy’s.
“Tell us,” Francesca’s sister said, clasping her hands together, “has Teresa sent you to all corners of the city?”
Janine laughed. “She’s certainly run us around.”
“And in your condition!” Francesca’s sister eyed Maggie nervously.
“Don’t worry,” Maggie assured her. “I’m not even as pregnant as my sister, and she hasn’t slowed down once.”
Francesca ushered them into the dining room, where they sat alongside family members, most of whom squabbled in Italian before taking small breaks to speak to them in bright English. As Francesca came in with a heaping pot of pasta, she paused and said, “Where is that sister of yours?” to which Maggie explained, “She’s on a date!”
Francesca’s sister cried out. “Who! Tell us! We know everyone in this city.”
Maggie and Janine exchanged glances.
“He works at the Gallerie dell’Accademia,” Janine explained. “I believe his name was…”
“Federico? Gio? Nico?” Francesca spouted.
“Nico,” Maggie affirmed.
Francesca breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh. Good! He’s wonderful.”
“He adored Teresa,” another family member said. “Funny that you met him.”
“Alyssa interrupted his tour to ask him questions about a painting for Teresa’s scavenger hunt,” Maggie said.
Francesca’s eyes glistened. “That must be another part of Teresa’s plan!”
Janine stifled a laugh, knowing that those who knew Teresa well respected her “seeing eye” in a way she, a doubting American, never could.
To add drama to the night, Alyssa appeared around nine-thirty— a time when Janine, Maggie, and the rest of the family were stuffed to the gills, overwhelmed with wine, and praying Francesca wouldn’t serve them too much chocolatey dessert. Maggie had texted Alyssa the address, telling her to swing by when she was finished.
“Look who it is!” Francesca led a red-cheeked Alyssa into the dining room.
Immediately, everyone in the dining room peppered her with questions about her date, about Nico, about whether or not he’d acted like a gentleman. Alyssa tossed her head, howling, “They can’t keep a secret to save their lives!”
Another chair was procured, and Francesca forced it in between Maggie and Janine, both of whom hugged Alyssa. In Janine’s arms, her youngest seemed small, frightened, and Janine caught her eye, curious, suddenly fearful that Nico had done something wrong. Sensing this, Alyssa shook her head and whispered, “It was magical.”
“What?” Maggie strained to hear over the rest of the conversations in the room.
Alyssa laughed, closing her eyes. “I mean, it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t have been.”
Janine had never seen a woman lie to herself so overtly.
