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“It was Deidre’s first communion. There were so many people at the house. Everyone was drinking and eating. Clary made oatmeal cookies with white frosting. They’re still my favorite. Do you have a favorite cookie?”
“CuccidatiChristmas cookies. They’re filled with fig. I think we loved them most because we always helped my grandmother make them.” I glanced at the phone. “No need for Google. I’ll teach you how to make them.”
She smiled.
“So, you ate oatmeal cookies. Hardly scandalous at all.” I took another drink.
She clutched a pillow in her arms. “I understood my father was mafia, but I wasn’t old enough to understand what it really meant. There were always men with guns at the house, the soldiers who protected us.”
I leaned back against the headboard and listened to my wife tell her secret. Her voice was soft, more potent than the brandy spiking my blood.
“It was a muggy night. I remember slapping a mosquito on my leg at the same time the gun was fired.” Her voice lowered.
“It was chaos. I remember thinking about what the Priest had said during the Eucharist, about the body and blood of Christ. My uncle Pauli was like Jesus now. Just a body and blood. He’d been shot in the head. My aunt Gigi screamed. She was next to him and…” She closed her eyes for a moment.
I waited for her to continue.
“Santi grabbed Dee and told me to run. But everyone was rushing into the house. Soldiers were scrambling. I realize now they were looking for the gunman. All I could think about was getting away from the screaming. My legs trembled badly. I almost couldn’t run.
“I was petrified with fear, so I ran toward the lake. I remember the lapping of the water against the dock. And the whispered words of a boy huddled against the boathouse.”
“The shooter?”
She nodded. “I can’t explain the look in his eyes when he saw me. Maybe I should’ve been scared of him, but I wasn’t. He stared at me, eyes blown with fear, as he squatted and rocked on his heels.
“God must have sent me to save him because I sat next to him as he debated whether or not to put a bullet in his head.”
I drained the glass. Fuck, she could have been killed. I wouldn’t have left a witness.
She continued. “He was a couple of years older than me, but like you, just a boy with a gun. He was ordered to kill my uncle Pauli.”
“Fuck.”
“That night I saved a life.”
“What happened?”
A faraway sadness darkened her eyes. “I couldn’t leave him at the boathouse. The soldiers would’ve killed him. We climbed the trellis to my room. I hid him in my closet. We ate oatmeal cookies. He said he was sorry he killed my uncle Pauli, but that he didn’t have a choice.
“But we always have choices. I was too young to understand I was betraying my family by protecting him.” Her voice softened. “He promised he’d never again hurt anyone in my family. In the morning, he was gone.
“That’s my secret, Marco. I’ve never told anyone. My father would disown me, and my aunt would never forgive me. I made a choice, and I don’t regret it. When I think of that boy, I know I was meant to save him.” She stared hard into my eyes. “But I wouldn’t make the same choice now.”
“And what would you do now?”
“Slit his throat before he ever realized I was there.”
“Hmm.” I leaned back into the pillows. “I want to hear about your knives.”
“Another bedtime story for another night. It’s late and you’re half asleep.”
Halfway to passed out. “I’m going to dream about you, topolina.”
“Will I be naked?”
“You can have your blade strapped to your thigh.”
“Good night, Marco.” Her finger closed in on the screen and the call ended.
