One Italian Summer: The perfect romantic fiction read for summer 2020

by Lori Nelson Spielman

  I reach over and put a hand on hers. “And you thought she’d proven herself right.”

  She looks up at me, her lashes spiked with tears. “It totally freaked me out, Emmie. I was terrified for you. All my life I’d heard stories of the Fontana second daughters, like Great-Great-Aunt Blanca, still in her thirties, who died just after she met some widowed farmer. So, I did everything in my power to keep you from finding love. Because I knew—I thought—that if you did, it might just kill you.”

  My sister was trying to protect me. I turn to the window. Snow softly falls from a white sky. “So that’s why you came to Italy, trying to drag me home.”

  “I was furious when you wouldn’t get on that plane. I mean, three second-born Fontanas traveling together? I was sure something awful would happen.”

  “But it didn’t.”

  “I know. There is no curse. I know this now, just like I knew it when we were kids.” She lets out a half laugh, half cry. “I’m a grown woman. I can’t believe I fell for it.”

  “I fell for it, too.” I lean back in my chair, trying to digest the words, trying to understand my sister’s actions. “I get it now. Sort of. But why did you treat me so badly? Did you do it to please Nonna?”

  “I’m not trying to make excuses, Emmie, I swear. But being the, quote, anointed firstborn daughter wasn’t easy, either.”

  “Oh, spare me.”

  “It’s true!” She looks off into the distance. “You had the one thing I wanted: freedom.”

  I look up with a start. She lifts a hand. “Don’t act so surprised. You knew I had doubts about Donnie before we married. Remember when I wanted to move to Colorado with Carleana Garagiola? It was you who nixed the idea.”

  I rear back. “I did not! Rosa put the kibosh on it.”

  “Yes. And you took her side.”

  The memory returns to me in bits and pieces. Daria squeezing my hand as she dragged me into the back kitchen. My heart heavy, like someone had filled it with wet sand. Rosa standing at the stainless steel sink, loading dishes into the bubbly water. Dar stumbling over her words, trying to spit out that her engagement was off, that she wasn’t cut out to be somebody’s wife. The relief pouring over me when Rosa shouted down the idea. If you do not marry this man, your poor father will have no grandchildren. My sister’s face as she turned to me, hopeful, imploring me to take her side. Me, unable to speak.

  I hang my head. “I’m so sorry, Dar.”

  She shrugs. “I should have known it was too much to ask. You were petrified of crossing Nonna.”

  My heart pitches and I take a deep breath. “The truth is, I was petrified of losing you.” I rub my temples. “You were all I had. And I put my happiness above yours. I’m so sorry.” I place a tentative hand on her arm. “Will you please forgive me?”

  She looks into my eyes and gives a wobbly smile. “It’s all good. Donnie’s a great dad. I adore the girls. You know that, right?”

  “Of course. You’ve got a great family.”

  She takes a deep breath and nods. “Which is why I feel like a selfish bitch when sometimes I look at my life and think, ‘Is this it?’ I mean, why couldn’t I have been the second-born daughter? You have so many possibilities, Em, but until Poppy came along, you’d squandered them. You took up residence in this boring little Emville like it was your retirement home. All that was missing was a rocking chair and a crocheted tissue box.”

  My quick burst of laughter fades to silence. “But you did nothing to encourage me. You did just the opposite.”

  “I know. I wanted it both ways. I was afraid to let you leave, but angry when you didn’t. And then I got pregnant, and married Donnie. It became clear pretty quickly, it was useful to have you here.” She gives a little laugh and looks down at her hands. “In fact, I don’t have a clue what I’d have done without you all these years. I figured, if you felt needed, you wouldn’t leave. And if you didn’t leave, you’d be safe. But, Emmie, the fact is, you deserve so much more.”

  “I know,” I say, and swallow the knot in my throat. “Poppy taught me this.”

  She sniffles. “I was proud of you today, the way you stood up to Nonna. Screw the store! You’re going places, Em, mark my words.”

  My chin quivers. “But, Dar, you could have more, too.”

  She gives a wan smile. “Nah. I’m okay with the store. I get to set my own hours, come and go as I please. Who else is going to let me do that?”

  I smile. She’s right. Nonna spoils Daria, her fellow firstborn daughter.

  She scoots her chair back and rises. “I better get back to work.” She nods at the suitcase beside the door. “And you need to get to the train station.”

  My nose stings and I know, without a doubt, I would stay here forever if my sister asked. But luckily, she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls me into a hug. It’s not the tepid hug I’ve grown used to. It’s a Daria full-body squeeze. Tears blur my vision. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it feels, a sister’s love.

  “I love you, Dar.”

  I feel her crying softly. “I love you more.” She turns to leave. “Call me when you get to Ravello.”

  “Wait, Dar. I have something for you.”

  She lifts the gloves from the kitchen counter. “I opened them earlier. They’re gorgeous, Emmie.”

  I reach into my pocket. “I meant this.”

  She stares down at the medal in my palm. Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, her prize possession. She closes my palm around it.

  “Mom would want you to have it. And so do I.”

  She kisses my cheek and closes the door behind her.

  Chapter 53

  Emilia

  Ravello

  The evening sun spills over the Gulf of Salerno, mopping the rooftop in pinks and golds. It’s hard to believe that just two days ago, I was at work in Bensonhurst, and now I’m here with Lucy and my grandparents, feasting alfresco on a rich seafood stew heaped with clams, sea bass, and herb pesto. A half dozen candles flicker in the breeze. My nonna Poppy is wearing a flowing, lemon-yellow caftan, with what looks to be a double strand of brightly painted Easter eggs around her neck. Her wig is freshly styled and she swears she’s feeling grand.

  As I watch Lucy steal a clam from Rico’s plate, I wonder, could she and I have continued faking it, pretending we were people we weren’t, in order to be accepted? Before Poppy introduced us to Italy, I wasn’t even aware of my discontent. I might have spent the rest of my life in Bensonhurst, seemingly happy. But now I realize, living in Emville is like wearing a see-through blouse with three-inch heels. I could certainly do it if I had to. But all the while a part of me would feel conspicuous and uncomfortable and a million miles from my true self. I suspect my cousin would agree.

  Rico opens another bottle of Taurasi Riserva, and we three listen as Lucy tells us how she broke the news to her parents.

  “Carol freaked, as expected. But my dad took it like a champ. Who knew?”

  Rico smiles. “One of life’s loveliest moments is witnessing another person’s grace.”

  His statement is laced with German, and Lucy scowls. Poppy pats her hand. “He said that it’s a wonderful surprise, discovering that your father’s not the judgmental prick you thought he was.”

  We burst out laughing.

  “Right?” Lucy says, high-fiving Rico. “And he’s convinced ol’ Carol will come around, once she picks herself up from the floor.”

  “Perhaps all along,” I say, my gaze pinned on Poppy, “they were waiting for you to tell them the truth they already knew.”

  My heart ricochets against my chest. Since we arrived last night, I’ve been dropping hints, hoping Poppy will tell me the truth, reveal that she’s my grandmother, and Rico my grandfather. Our time together is measured now, and we’ve wasted so much already.

  Poppy smiles and gazes out at the mango sunset, ignoring my not-so-subtle comment once again. “For fifty-nine years, I prayed for this,” she says. “Another Ravello sunset.” He
r face glows in the waning sunlight. “I’d like one more Tuscan sunset, too.” She locks eyes with Rico. “Please, take some of my ashes to Trespiano, when the time comes?”

  He rubs her arm. “Whatever you wish, mio unico amore.”

  Despite her glow of love, her newfound energy, she’s still dying. I’d almost convinced myself otherwise. They deserve more time. We deserve more time. Does she not want me to know the truth? Does she not wish to call me her granddaughter?

  Rico raises his glass, lightening the mood. “To sunsets … and, more importantly, sunrises.”

  “Salute,” Lucy says.

  My hands quake when we clink our glasses, and I try to tamp down my frustration.

  “I’ll say good night now,” Poppy says, rising.

  Wait! I want to scream. Why have you kept the truth from me, from my mother, all these years? She’s nearly to the steps when I can stand it no longer.

  “Can we talk?”

  She pivots, and for a brief second, her eyes flash with fear. “Of course,” she says breezily. “Another day.” She waves her fingers at us. “Ta-ta for now.”

  I jump to my feet, my heart thundering. “I know what happened.”

  Time stills. Ever so slowly she turns to me. She blinks once. Twice. I take a deep breath, and when I speak again, my voice is soft. “But I’d love to know why. And how. Tell me. Please.”

  She puts a hand to her chest. From his place at the table, Rico whispers. “It is time, mio amore.”

  Her troubled gaze travels from him to me. Finally, she pivots and disappears down the staircase.

  Tears sting my eyes and I drop my head. I had such high hopes that she might want me. Rico’s warm hand rubs circles on my back. “Our Poppy has strong principles,” he tells me. “Too strong, I fear.”

  Footsteps sound on the stairs. I lift my head. Poppy appears, a large manila envelope in her hand.

  “I had planned to keep this secret for as long as Rosa was alive. It seemed the right thing to do.” She looks at Rico. “For weeks, mein Ehemann has been trying to convince me otherwise. Perhaps he is right.”

  She pulls a document from the envelope and sets it on the table in front of me. “I wrote this from my suite in Venice, while you girls were exploring the city.”

  I swallow hard. “That’s why you insisted on a private room.”

  “Huh,” Lucy says. “And I thought you were hoping to get lucky.”

  She whacks Lucy’s arm playfully and slips into the chair beside mine. “Before our trip, I made a promise to you, Emilia. In hearing my story, you will finally learn of your mother’s.”

  I stare down at a stack of pages, stapled at the upper right corner, titled Poppy’s Final Chapter—1961.

  Chapter 54

  Poppy

  1961

  From Italy to America

  With Rico trapped behind the Berlin Wall, Rosa was my bedrock. Without her grit, I may have crumbled. She was the one who insisted I get up every day. She was the one who walked me through the markets, helped me care for Johanna.

  Even through my grief, Johanna was thriving, taking to my breast like a little champ. Mercifully, Rosa finally stopped badgering me about coming to America. She understood, even with the news of the wall, I could not leave Italy. Rico would come back for me, I was certain. And when that day came, I needed to be in Ravello.

  On a Monday morning, four weeks after I’d delivered Johanna, my sister finally admitted defeat. “I am disappointed in you, la mia sorella testarda,” she said as she folded laundry. “But I cannot force you to come to America. Tomorrow, we will pack. By the end of the week, you must return to Trespiano.”

  “Trespiano? No. Ravello is my home.”

  She spun around, a clean diaper in her hand. “No, Paolina. I can no longer help with Johanna. I am leaving for America in ten days. You will live with Mamma and Papà.”

  Fear shot through me. I was a single mother, with no money, no options. How was I to support Johanna on my own? But the thought of returning to the farm drained my soul.

  “Do you think Mamma will be angry?” I asked, hoping against hope my fears were unwarranted.

  “Sì. She is. But not as angry as Papà.”

  I gasped. “You told them?”

  “I am sorry, Paolina. It slipped.”

  I gazed down at the bundle suckling my breast. “They will grow to love her. She is their grandchild.”

  Rosa shook her head. “Love her? My sister, how can you expect love?” She peered into my eyes as if I were a small child in need of a lecture. “Mamma is a proud woman. You know this. Now, she is humiliated. First her daughter runs off with a German. A year later, she returns with his bastard child, for all the village to witness. This has broken her heart. You will always have my love, Paolina. But Mamma’s? I am afraid not.”

  A headache kicked at my temples. No matter what rosy future I’d promised my baby girl, at that moment I could only imagine a scorned life, the poor illegitimate daughter of the Fontana whore, living on the farm, resented by her grandparents, ridiculed by the village. For the first time, I became furious at Rico. How could he leave us? How could he choose his father and mother over his wife and child?

  “When is he coming for us?” I said aloud.

  “Rico will not be returning.” Rosa reached for me, but I pulled away.

  “You don’t know this.”

  “There is a wall, Paolina! What further proof do you need? You will never see your Rico again. Stop your foolishness!”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “He loves me. He will return, you will see.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice oozing sarcasm. “Your Rico will leave his ailing father’s bedside. He will abandon his fragile mother and the sister who is counting on him for her very existence. Or maybe he will risk his life and escape the guards at the border, poised with their machine guns, all for you.”

  I looked away, suddenly aware of my naïveté.

  Rosa pulled me into her arms. “Shhh,” she whispered, stroking my back. “You, of all people, should not be surprised at this unhappy ending. You are the second daughter. You’ve known all along you would never marry.”

  “But I am married!”

  She ignored me and stepped back to straighten my collar. “Now, it is time you returned home. Mamma will raise baby Johanna, regardless of her disgust. You will help Papà in the fields. When Joh is old enough, she will work on the farm, too. That is, if they will allow it.”

  Fear gripped me. I would never accept such a life for my child. But what could I do? I had nothing to offer her. I swiped my cheeks, desperate to save my daughter. There must be a solution! My child’s entire future weighed on my shoulders. Johanna was counting on me.

  Slowly, one anemic spark at a time, a fire flickered to life. “No,” I said firmly. “Johanna will not live her life as a disgraced child.”

  Rosa folded a towel, silent.

  “My daughter will be proud … and free!”

  Rosa shifted her gaze toward me.

  “If …” I began, cautiously. “If I came with you to America, who says I must marry Ignacio?”

  A sad little smile appeared. “Stop. You do not want to go to America. I know this.”

  “I—I must do what is best for Johanna. That is what Rico would want.”

  Rosa slid the laundry basket beneath the bed and shook her head. “I am afraid it is too late. The government will never allow an illegitimate child into the United States.”

  I reared back. “You tell me this now? You have been begging me to come with you, to raise my child in America. And all along you knew it was impossible?”

  “I only found out last week, after doing some checking.”

  I closed my eyes, all of my options vanishing before me. What seemed like an act of treason just minutes before now appeared the obvious solution. I must get to America with Joh, and allow her to have the bright future that neither Italy nor Germany would allow.

  Rosa paced the floor and shook
her head. “If only you were a married woman, with a husband waiting for you in America. Then you and the baby would be welcome, no questions asked.”

  I spun in a circle, clutching my head. “Help me, Rosa. I need a plan. I am responsible for my child’s life, her happiness. Her only chance is in America.”

  “I would love to help you. You know this. Alberto and I would gladly take you in and help you raise Johanna. He has money and a fine apartment. But first, you must get to America.” She bit her thumbnail and paced the room. “Perhaps you could hide baby Joh, sneak her onto the ship.”

  “No. That is much too dangerous. God knows what the officials might do to her if we got caught.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “There must be a better way.”

  And then an idea struck me. It might actually work. I looked up.

  “What if …?” My voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  My head spun. I took a breath, my thoughts taking shape as I spoke. “What if … what if you pretended Joh was your child? Just until we arrived in America.”

  “Oh, no,” Rosa said. “I do not look like her mother—anyone’s mother. Not yet.”

  “But you do. We can disguise your pregnancy. See, it is easy to believe you’ve just given birth.” I pulled her shapeless dress a bit tighter at the waist, surprised that her belly wasn’t bigger. Alberto left for America seven months ago. She should be round by now.

  “Rosa, when are you due?”

  She batted my hands away and fluffed her dress. “The authorities will know that I am not Johanna’s mother,” she said, ignoring my question. “She is too attached to you.”

  “But I will be there, too.” I took her by the arms, my urgency rising. “Nobody will suspect a thing. I will continue to feed her and care for her. Only when we are in public will you pretend to be her mother.”

  She frowned. “The birth certificate. They will want to see it.”