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Morgana unzips the holdall and takes out the bundle of letters. I showed them to her weeks ago, and we spent an evening reading through them.
"Remember these?" She hands them to Luca.
"Of course,bella." He smooths the ribbon with his thumb. "Stefania wore this in her hair. She was such a carefree girl. So happy, so kind. It hurts me to find out what happened to her, but I'm glad she is at peace." He closes his eyes. "I never married and I didn't move away. Instead, I stayed, hoping she'd come back to me. She was the only love I had, and I lost her." He sighs and opens his eyes again, looking at me. "And you know something? She wasworthit."
I reach around my neck and remove the chain, holding it out to Luca.
"Here. Please take this." I place the ring on his palm. "It was hers. She'd want you to have it."
He closes his fingers around it. "I remember this ring.Hermother wore it. She wanted so much for her daughter to be happy, and not in a heartless marriage like her own. You'd have loved your Nonna, Vladi. She's the person that gave Stefania the strength to be a good mother toyou." He tucks the ring into his shirt pocket and pats it. "I will cherish this. You don't know the kindness you do to come all this way and talk to me. I'm honored. It does not surprise me that your Mama raised such a good man, even in terrible circumstances."
"We plan to scatter Stefania's ashes near her home," Morgana tells him, "but we don't know where would be best. Do you have any thoughts?"
Luca takes her hand and kisses it. "As a matter of fact, I do."
* * *
We drive out to the place the following morning. It's not far from town, and at the early hour, there's no one around.
Morgana helps Luca out of the car, and he walks slowly but steadily over the gravel path. The church is a ruin, left over from Etruscan times, and there are still some ancient gravestones sticking up like loose teeth from the overgrown grass.
Luca points. "Over there. That tree."
We reach the oak, and he places his hand on the trunk, feeling around. "This tree was not so tall when we were here. It may be too high up." His wrinkled fingers move over the bark, and he unpicks a small patch of lichen. "Aha!" he says, pulling the moss away. "Right here."
There's something carved deep into the wood.LV + SR. Sempre innamorato.
"Always in love." Luca puts his fingertips to his lips and presses a kiss onto my mother's initials.
Morgana takes a few steps back and pulls out her camera. She doesn't take any time to frame the shot or adjust the lighting, and with a quick motion, she takes the photo.
"I carved this for her," Luca says. "This was our special place, where we could be together without her father's watchful eyes on us. Here, we could justbe."
My eyes fill with tears. Morgana hands me the urn, and I sprinkle the ashes around the tree.
“Amore di Dio, my Stefania,” Luca murmurs. "God's love be with you."
Morgana takes his arm and helps him to a wall, sitting beside him.
"What do you do for work,bella? Or are you a kept woman?"
"I just sold an article, actually. About Vladi. He'd never given an interview to anyone before, soThe New Yorkerwas very keen."
She's too modest. She's sold many articles since then. Her work is causing quite the buzz, and those in the know say she's one to watch for the Pulitzer.
"You don't mind that I took a picture, do you?" she asks Luca. "It was so moving. I didn't want the moment to vanish."
"All moments vanish." Luca pats her knee. "You must be sure to treasure them. Especially with thebambino. They grow so fast."
"Baby?" I turn to look at him. "What baby?"
He laughs. "Vladi, my son. Your wife is with child. Look at her beautiful face, so serene, so glowing." He shrugs. "I'm no doctor, but you mark my words. There will be a grandchild for my Stefania soon."
* * *
We take Luca back to the home, with plans to visit again soon. I hand the manager a check as we leave, and she has to sit down when she sees the amount on it. The entire staff waves us an enthusiastic goodbye as we pull away.
Back at the villa, Morgana's parents have been chased away for the evening to a local trattoria. The owners promised to keep them occupied with Aperol and terrible Italian folk songs until long into the night.
