David joined the other men before the TV, and Gianna followed Connie back into the kitchen. Nonna and Mamma left the couch to put out the food, while Angie finished setting the dining room table. When the men came to sit, the table was laden with bowls of food and two bottles of Papa’s homemade red wine.
Everyone bent their heads while Papa said grace in his heavily accented English. Greg sat immobile as the Catholics around him made the Sign of the Cross at the beginning and end of the prayer, and from across the table, Nonna watched him, her face tight with disapproval. She muttered something in Italian that only Mamma, who was sitting beside her, could hear. Mamma shook her head but said nothing, turning her attention to acquiring the bowl of pasta and passing it to her mother-in-law. In true Italian tradition, Nonna would begin her meal with only pasta, saving the meat and side dishes for her second course. Everyone else at the table had adopted the American habit of combining everything into a single course.
They ate in relative silence, the only sounds being requests to pass something and words of approval regarding the food itself. Whether out of nervousness or taking his cue from the rest of the family, Greg concentrated on eating and did not attempt to make small talk during dinner, although he smiled approvingly at Connie several times.
When everyone was finished, Connie and her sisters cleared the table and replaced the bowls and platters with baskets of fruit and mixed nuts in their shells. Angie distributed nutcrackers, picks, and napkins, while Gianna poured coffee into individual cups and Connie delivered condiments and a dish of biscotti.
David’s attention was on Greg as others busied themselves attempting to crack the hard shells of the nuts. “So, Greg, how’s life at UVM?”
Greg looked up from the walnut meat he was prying from its shell. “Good.”
“What year are you?”
“Junior.”
David’s gaze remained on Greg’s face. “Looking forward to Winter Carnival?”
Greg’s eyebrows knit together in the hint of a frown as he gave David a small, questioning smile. “Not particularly.” He glanced at Connie, seated beside him, then returned his attentions to the walnut in his hand.
Connie gave David a quizzical smile, but he looked past her, continuing to stare at Greg.
“Which frat are you in?” David asked.
Greg looked up at him once more, his smile gone. “I’m not. Why?”
“No reason.”
His jaw tensed as he set down the nutpick and stared down the table at David. “Like hell. Why don’t you just say it?”
Gianna’s eyes went wide as she turned from David to Greg and back to David. “Say what?” She looked across the table at Connie. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”
Connie nodded, her stomach in a knot. She had never expected this from David, especially not at her parents’ dinner table.
“My mistake,” David said. “This is hardly the time or the place. Sorry.” He turned toward Gianna and put his arm around her shoulders as if to apologize, and out of the corner of her eye Connie saw Greg stiffen. She realized then that he had not considered David might be there as Gianna’s boyfriend.
“Well, you’re not getting off that easily.” Gianna scowled at David. “What are you talking about?”
Everyone at the table, except Nonna, was staring at David. Nonna continued to slice the pear she had taken from the basket, apparently oblivious to the drama occurring around her.
David grimaced. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Sorry.” He gave Gianna a contrite smile.
“He’s talking about the Kake Walk,” Greg said angrily, and Connie closed her eyes in exasperation. She had hoped they had dodged that bullet.
Angie leaned forward from Connie’s left side and peered around her at Greg. “The cake walk? What’s that?”
Greg gestured with his chin toward David. “Ask him. He brought it up.”
David’s eyes shifted to meet Angie’s. “It’s a special minstrel show the frat boys at UVM put on every year at Winter Carnival.” Connie saw the muscle in his jaw twitch as it had in the Main Street Diner when he was angry. “They wear blackface and kinky wigs and ‘walk fo’ de cake’ like black slaves.”
Angie shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
Connie glowered at David. “It’s a stupid tradition that goes back to the turn of the century. Lots of students are against it. And they’ve changed the blackface to green, and they have to wear straight-hair wigs.”
“I still don’t get it,” Angie said. “Why bother?”
“Dark green. It doesn’t change anything.” David stared back at Connie. “They speak in dialect—how they think black slaves talked—and make asses of themselves, but it’s the biggest event on campus.”
Connie turned to Angie. “It’s a competition among fraternities. Two guys from each fraternity dress up and parade around and do stupid things, and they’re too dumb to realize they’re mocking black people and it’s inappropriate.”
“You don’t think they know what they’re doing?” Gianna’s voice cracked with disbelief.
David caught Connie’s eye once more. “You and I were talking about the KKK in Vermont not that long ago, remember? Did you know that sometimes they spell Kake Walk with all three of the K’s capitalized? And that it used to be called Kullen Koon’s Kake Walk?”
Connie sighed. “I’ve heard that, yeah. I’m not defending it, David. I’m agreeing with you. It’s a worthless, asinine thing that’s been going on for decades. I’ve never gone.” She glanced at Greg. “Have you?”
He looked away from her and picked up the walnut pieces once more. “Once. When I was a freshman. I didn’t go again.” His chest rose and fell beneath his sport coat as he drew a deep breath; he was obviously agitated. Connie moved her hand beneath the table and rested it on the soft fabric covering his thigh as a gesture of support.
At either end of the table, Mamma and Papa watched and listened, their eyes moving from one young person to the other, their faces solemn.
“I’m sorry,” David said, letting out a sigh. He looked down the table at Greg. “I never should have brought it up. I’m sorry, man.”
Connie glanced at Greg. His eyes were on the walnut sitting idly in his hands, his jaw clenched tight enough to make the tendons in his neck bulge. “Yeah. Me, too.” He turned to Connie, his eyes cold. “I’m going to head out. I’m kind of behind on my homework. Thanks for dinner.”
Before she could respond, he twisted to his right toward Mamma, moving his leg out from beneath Connie’s hand. “Mrs. Balestra, thank you for a wonderful dinner. I’m afraid I have to go.” Mamma’s hesitant smile showed her confusion as she thanked him for coming. Guests usually stayed through dessert and coffee, lingering to chat.
“Greg—” Connie stood up, frowning at him as he rose to his feet and pushed in his chair.
Across the way, David stood up as well. “Hey, man—”
Greg left no doubt about his intentions as he said to Connie between clenched teeth, “I really need to go.”
“I’ll walk you out.” She stared into his eyes, hoping he would realize that she didn’t want him to leave, but Greg just looked away. He stopped to shake Papa’s hand and thank him for his hospitality and to say good-bye to Nonna, then headed through the kitchen to the backdoor. Connie hurried to keep up with him.
“Greg—”
He opened the door and stepped outside onto the small landing at the top of the stairs, and Connie stepped out behind him. Coldness engulfed her. Darkness had descended, and tonight the full moon was hidden behind heavy clouds, leaving the unlit areas beyond the stairs a black no-man’s land. She reached out to grab his arm before he could start down the stairs.
“Greg, please—”
He swung around, the rage in his eyes barely under control. “You set me up in there.”
Connie’s heart fluttered nervously. “What are you talking about?”
“You never told me your sister’
s boyfriend was a black activist.”
“A black activist? Or black?”
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you go laying some bigot thing on me, too! I barely meet the guy, and he starts accusing me of something I have nothing to do with! And why? Because I’m white? Because I wasn’t born in a ghetto? Who’s racist now?” He yanked his arm free from Connie’s grip and started down the narrow stairway.
Connie followed one step behind him. “Greg! Stop! I don’t think he meant anything by it! I mean, once we talked about the KKK in Vermont, but it was about them trying to get rid of immigrants. Catholics. And I know he worked some down south, but—”
Greg reached the bottom of the stairs and made a sharp turn toward the street.
“Are you listening to me?” Connie called as she ran after him. “He was going to be a priest!”
Greg spun around. “So what? You haven’t heard of activist priests? The Berrigan brothers? That Groppi guy in Milwaukee? I don’t care if he’s a priest or a drug dealer, he had no reason to take his shit out on me!”
Connie ran up and rested her hand on his arm. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. None of us knew.” She stared into his eyes, silently pleading for him to calm down and come back.
Greg took a step backward out of her reach, then turned away from her and covered the last few feet to his car.
Connie let him go. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she called after him.
He stepped out into the street and rounded the rear end of his Mustang, then paused on the far side of the car to look over the roof at her. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I need some time to think.”
Panic gripped her. He couldn’t mean that. Her voice sounded slightly hysterical but she no longer cared. “Nothing he said has anything to do with me or my family.”
“It was all said in front of your family.” Greg leaned down to unlock the driver’s side door, then looked at her once more over the roof. “You need to think, too, Connie. We’re different in a lot of ways.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know.” He bent to get into his car.
“Does it bother you that my sister’s boyfriend is black?” she called. She feared his reaction to her boldness, yet she needed to know.
Greg stood tall once more, his face pained, his voice weary.“Believe it or not, I don’t care. It would have been nice to know that ahead of time, but you didn’t find it necessary to show me that courtesy.”
“Why would it matter if you don’t care?” Connie’s voice was on the verge of breaking, and she struggled to keep her composure.
His lip curled as he answered, “I don’t care what your sister does, okay, or who she does it with. But things like that don’t go on around here. It’s a surprise to us privileged, racist, white college guys—even those of us who don’t join frats. It takes some getting used to. Like it or not, that’s how it is. That’s how I am. Good night, Connie.”
Greg got into the Mustang, and Connie stood her ground, watching him drive away while tears streamed down her face. It was only after he had turned the corner and driven out of sight that she realized how cold she was, standing alone in the frigid, empty darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, October 14
Connie drove herself to class on Monday. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and her head throbbed. But mid-terms were coming up, and she couldn’t afford to stay home over the incident with Greg.
Marilyn had saved a seat for her in the front row of history class. “So, big weekend for you?” she asked as Connie settled in.
Connie bent over to put her books on the floor beside the wooden chair. “Not really.”
“Columbus Day weekend? Isn’t that a biggie for Italians?”
“Not this one.” Connie sat up and set her textbook on the wide arm of the chair that served as a desk.
“Wow, we’re grumpy today,” Marilyn said. “Oh, wait, this was the Bunny pot party weekend, wasn’t it?” She peered into Connie’s face. “Oh, no, did that turn out bad? Was good old Greg a creep?”
Connie flopped open her textbook and stared at the first thing she saw. “I don’t want to talk about Greg.”
“Oh, geez.”
When she didn’t respond, Marilyn said, “Have you stopped riding with him?”
“For now.”
“For now? So, does that mean he was only a partial creep?”
Was she really going to belabor this? Connie sighed. “He wasn’t a creep at all. He got into an argument with Gianna’s boyfriend at dinner yesterday, and he went away mad.”
“Mad at you?”
“I guess. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, but—wait a minute.” Marilyn leaned closer. “Did you say dinner? At your house?”
Connie drew a deep breath. She knew what was coming. “Yes.”
“You invited him to your house?” Marilyn sounded incredulous. “Already?”
“My mother insisted on it.”
A look of self-satisfaction crossed Marilyn’s face as she sat back in her chair. “So this was, like, a real date—this thing on Saturday. You and Greg.”
Okay, give her credit for predicting we would date, and then maybe she’ll drop it. “Yeah, I guess.”
“I knew it! So, how was it?”
Connie shrugged. “A little weird. I smoked too much and got a little paranoid, I guess. I don’t know. But he was a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s too bad.”
Connie glanced at Marilyn’s sympathetic pout and burst out laughing. “Yeah, it kind of was.”
***
The whole day passed without any sign of Greg. His Mustang was not parked in the commuter lot they usually used. Connie hung out in the vicinity of his Russian class at the change of periods, but he never showed. She doubted that the interchange with David had been severe enough to keep him from coming to school. He was definitely avoiding her.
The remainder of the week was not much different. On Thursday afternoon, she saw him across the university green walking with friends, but she told herself she no longer cared. That evening she sat in her car and let her sobs relieve the tension that had been building for days. Then, she resolved to put him out of her mind and drove home alone as she had been doing all week.
She was studying in her room on Thursday evening when Angie told her she had a phone call.
“Hey, Con.” The smooth masculine voice brought a smile to her face.
She leaned her shoulder against the kitchen wall beside the phone. “Hey, Paul.”
“Any chance we can go out for that pizza this Saturday?” The lilt of his voice brought to mind his slow, suggestive smile, the one that made her insides contract.
“Sure. What time?”
“Well, I’ve got to work, but I should be done by four, four-thirty. There’s a new place in Barre—Dante’s Inferno. I thought maybe we could go there. Five o’clock okay? Then if we’re lucky, we could still hit the movies.”
Connie closed her eyes and pictured his wonderful face. “Sure. That sounds great.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at five.”
Angie was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning over her homework, but her attention was on Connie as the latter hung up the receiver. “Going out with Paul?”
“Yup.” At least Angie could no longer ridicule her for two-timing Greg.
“Wow. The Paul Cefalu! You’ll be alone with him in the car, sitting so close.” Angie started making exaggerated kissing noises.
“Stop it. That’s awful.” Connie feigned disgust. “And don’t expect any details.” She left the kitchen and headed down the hall toward her bedroom. Excess adrenaline had her nerve endings tingling. As soon as she was out of Angie’s sight, she danced a little jig to burn it off.
***
Friday dragged. Marilyn had taken a three-day weekend to visit her grandmother in upstate New York and wasn’t there to hear Connie’s exciting news. Non
e of Connie’s other college friends were girls with whom she was willing to share the details of her personal life.
One, a former classmate from Stoneham, had actually dated Paul in high school. Remembering that fact brought Connie back down to earth. She wasn’t anywhere near the first girl to go out with Paul Cefalu, and chances were, she wouldn’t be the last. Furthermore, she had no idea how he would be on a date. While he had emulated The Fonz in high school, he was now three years older and, hopefully, more grown up. The bigger question was, why was he finally asking her out? And would she live to regret it?
She was sitting on a stone bench in the afternoon sun, second-guessing his intentions, when someone sat down beside her. She turned and found herself shoulder to shoulder with Greg.
His gray eyes were sorrowful. “I, um, don’t exactly know what to say.” He waited, watching her as if he hoped she would help him out, perhaps tell him he didn’t need to say anything. When she didn’t answer, he said, “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“You probably think I’m acting like an ass,” he said.
Connie saw no reason to mince words. “I’m not really thinking about you much, to be honest.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ve been thinking about you.” He looked away toward the library across the street. “I… overreacted, I guess. In taking it out on you, I mean. You weren’t responsible.”
“I think I tried to tell you that.”
“Yeah, I know.” Greg sighed. “I’m wondering if we can go do something tomorrow night. Just forget this all happened and pick up where we were. Whatever you want. Dinner. A movie. Maybe go dancing somewhere.”
Connie bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I can’t. I’m busy.”
Greg gave her an exasperated look. “Connie, come on. I’m sorry, okay? What do I have to do? Get down on my knees and beg?”
“I’m not kidding, Greg. I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
Connie frowned at him. “None of your business.”
“Come on. I was stupid, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be like this.”
Was he serious? “You spent a whole week avoiding me. You didn’t even park in the same lot.”
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