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“How can I forget?” Darcy demanded. “When this man stoleyearsfrom me and my father. And you, Toni? Don’t you have some movie to be preparing for? Some terribly important audition somewhere? Why do you both insist on being around today? Is today not for me to mourn?”
“He would’ve wanted us to be civil,” said Giovanni.
“Do not tell me what my father would or wouldn’t have wanted.”
“I think we are more considerate of your father’s wishes than you are, Darcy.”
“Gio,” Toni warned. “Piantala.”
“Che cosa? Let’s not pretend we don’t know who is and who isn’t the bad guy here.” Giovanni’s eyes flicked over quickly to Bron and then back to Darcy.
“Oh yes, poor Giovanni, always the victim, never the problem,” said Darcy. “Might I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself and stop leeching off me and my family?”
“Leeching? You accusemeof that? And your family, are they? When you’d so happily abandon them for traveling and drink—”
“Watch it, Gio,” Darcy snapped.
“Where were you for your family when Dickie begged you to take responsibility for your actions? Where were you when Ada was growing up? Nowhere. You left them for all those years—”
“It is because ofyouthat I left!”
“You do not give ashitabout me,” Giovanni retorted.
“Boys, stop this, please!”
“I’m warning you, Gio.”
“Warning me, are you? Aha, e alora? Like when you dumped me like a piece of shit and fucked up my entire family? Look at yourself. Not even your own father could trust you with his life. He’d rather come to us than his own son—”
Darcy was the first to throw a punch. It all happened so quickly. Bron heard the crunch, saw the blood splatter from Giovanni’s nose and speck their shirts. The screams, from Ada, from Toni.
“Teo, Gio, smettetela!”
And, he realized, from himself. “What are you doing! Stop!”
Ada wailed, and Bron dragged her away; Toni, too, launched into pulling her away from the men in hustle, though she kept looking back.
“Stop it, both of you! What’s wrong with you? Mostrate un po’ di dignità, ah?”
Farther away, the priest was pointing and hoisting up his Bible. A man unknown to Bron ran toward them both to break up the fight. Giovanni’s nose was noticeably bent. Darcy had a slash up the side of his face. The crowd, meters away now, were looking on. Bron rushed to them, asked for any tissues they could spare.
It was Mrs. Flanders who supplied them to him, delicately brushing his chin again. “Be careful.”
“I will,” he said, thanking her. “I’ll see you soon.”
He handed them to Darcy, who snatched them and quickly walked away, one hand on his hip and the other dabbing at his face. Giovanni, delicately accepting the remaining one on offer, thanked him.
Toni came to hold the tissue to her brother’s nose and helped him sit up, tipping his head forward. Bron looked on, wanting to follow Darcy, but he thought it necessary to give him his space and stay by Ada’s side. Ada, who was staring intensely at Giovanni and Toni, with a stricken face.
Clarence soon came rushing up the lane and shouted, “What’s all this? What is this?” taking hold of Ada by the wrist and shielding her away from them all. “Shame on you—all of you.” She looked at Bron as if he’d been the one to cause the fight.
Toni looked up and said something to Clarence in Italian. Clarence responded in the same tongue, and Toni’s eyes dartedfrom Clarence to the retreating Darcy, who was quite a way off now.
“Go, go—I’m fine,” Giovanni said to her.
Toni waved for Bron to move closer to her side, told him to substitute her hands for his. He crouched down reluctantly, holding the tissue in her place. Giovanni’s head felt heavy in his hands.
“Don’t let him get up until the bleeding stops,” she said, and left them there as she rushed up the lane.
