Stella Mia

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “I’ve hurt so many people who didn’t deserve to be hurt—Carlo, your father, you.” Sarina’s eyes fill with tears, but she manages to keep them at bay.

  “I have one last question. Why didn’t you ever tell Daddy that you had become famous?”

  “I was ashamed, for I knew there would be no excuse for me not to return to you, now that I had the means and my family was fine. But I see how foolish that was of me. Like you said, Julia, even if I hadn’t had the money, your father would have gladly paid for my ticket to return home.”

  I don’t say anything, and neither does Sarina. We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in our thoughts.

  “So, Julia, what are your plans now? You’re welcome to stay here if you like. I don’t know how long you were planning on being in Sicily.”

  Glancing down at my watch, I’m surprised to see how much time has passed since I arrived. “Thank you. I think I will stay just for the night since it’s getting late, and I’ve had a long day. I have a hotel booked in Messina, so I’ll head back there tomorrow. May I use the phone to let the hotel know I won’t be arriving tonight?”

  “Of course. There’s one in the bedroom where you’ll be sleeping. That’s fine if you just want to stay for the night. No pressure.”

  “Thank you. As for how long I’ll be in Sicily, I don’t know. I purchased a one-way ticket. I didn’t want to be tied to a concrete date just in case . . .” I let my voice trail off as I realize what I’m about to say.

  “Just in case you wanted to return home as soon as possible.” Sarina smiles, but I can tell it’s forced.

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea how things would turn out.”

  Sarina holds up her hand. “It’s all right, Julia. I understand. Well, I’ll go get Adriana to set up your room. Excuse me.” Sarina gets up and crosses her arms across her chest as she walks slowly away.

  “I might be mad at you, but I don’t hate you.”

  Sarina stops, but doesn’t turn around immediately. When she does, there’s a spark in her eyes. She merely nods her head before turning back around and walking away.

  Rubbing my temples, I feel a headache coming on. I can’t help wondering if this is a mistake. Maybe I should go back to my hotel? But I’m too exhausted—both from my long trip and the emotional drain of meeting Sarina and hearing everything she had to say.

  Is this all really happening? I still can’t believe I’m here in Sicily and in my mother’s house. And my mother is a Sicilian star. How bizarre is that?

  “Julia, your room is ready. Please follow me.” Adriana beckons me toward her with a wave.

  My head is absolutely exploding now. No more pondering—at least for tonight. Hopefully, my dreams won’t be filled with the anxiety I’ve been experiencing since I got on the plane to come here. And with that last thought, I follow Adriana to my room, having no idea what will be in store for me tomorrow—or how I’ll feel.

  26

  A Daughter’s Heartache

  The sound of voices wakes me from a deep slumber. For a moment, I’m disoriented and not sure where I am. Sitting up in bed, I see the view from my bedroom window, and the sight of the beach reminds me I’m in Sicily—in my mother’s home.

  Getting out of bed, I hear the voices, louder now. They sound like they’re coming from the room next to mine. I then hear singing. It’s my mother’s voice. Curious, I step out of my room and see there’s only one room adjacent to mine. I walk quietly over to it. The door is slightly ajar. Peeking through the crack, I can make out Sarina sitting in a wooden chair that’s placed alongside a bed. I stretch my neck a bit more and see she is holding a man’s hands—Carlo’s. Sarina is still in her nightgown, and her hair hangs down her back in a long braid. She’s no longer singing. Carlo talks to her, but his voice is too low for me to hear. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but I can’t resist seeing them together. It’s almost as if I feel I have a right to listen to their conversation since I read about their love in Sarina’s diary. It’s as if I’m reading the final chapters of their story.

  “Remember when we dove into the waters off Panarea, Carlo? We had the cove to ourselves as we swam and floated on the water, staring at the sky, feeling the sun warming our skin. Remember?”

  “I remember, Gemma. You weren’t swimming. You hated the water.”

  My heart drops as I hear Carlo call her Gemma.

  “No, Carlo. Gemma was not there. It was me, Sarina. I loved to swim.”

  “Ah! Sarina. My Sarina.”

  “Si! Your Sarina.”

  My mother sounds relieved that he has remembered her. I feel guilty now for listening in on their private conversation and am about to walk away when I hear Carlo say, “I called you stella mia when we were in Panarea.”

  Stopping in my tracks, I remember how Daddy said Sarina called me her stella mia. I then remember the scene from her diary when they were in Panarea, and Carlo called her that for the first time.

  “Yes, Carlo. That’s what you called me that day. I said, ‘It’s so beautiful here.’ And you said, ‘Not as beautiful as you, stella mia.’ ”

  “That’s right. What a gorgeous day that was.”

  “Remember, Carlo, I told you about my daughter?”

  I wait to hear Carlo’s response, but nothing comes. He must not remember Sarina’s telling him about me.

  “That’s all right. She’s here! I will introduce you later.”

  “We had a daughter? I thought you couldn’t have children.”

  I close my eyes, feeling for Sarina. Again, Carlo has confused her with Gemma.

  “That was Gemma, Carlo. I lived in America and had a husband and a daughter.”

  “No. That’s not right. You were mine. You were always mine.” Carlo sounds hurt and angry.

  I can’t bear to listen anymore. I return to my room.

  It must be torture for Sarina seeing Carlo deteriorate. Seeing him forgetting her and confusing her with his late wife. If that happened to Kyle, I think I would go mad.

  There’s a soft knock on my door. I answer it and see Carlotta is holding a tray containing a cup of espresso and a plate with a slice of frittata as well as a couple of cactus pears.

  “Ciao, Julia. Did you sleep well? I brought you something to eat.”

  “Grazie, Carlotta. You didn’t need to do that. I could’ve eaten in the kitchen.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Besides, you can’t leave Sicily until you have my Frittata con Patate e Cipolle. And please, call me Zia. I am, after all, your aunt.”

  “All right.” For some reason, I don’t feel strange calling Carlotta Zia even though I only met her yesterday.

  Zia Carlotta steps into my room and places my tray on the dresser.

  “Do you mind if I keep you company while you eat?” she asks me.

  “No. You ate already?” I take the tray over to the bed and get in, propping up my pillows so that I’m seated and can eat my breakfast. Zia Carlotta remains standing, leaning against the dresser.

  “Si. I wake up very early.”

  I take a bite from the Frittata con Patate e Cipolle, or Omelet with Potatoes and Onions. My father also makes these at home, but I must say Carlotta’s wins hands-down.

  “This is so good!”

  Carlotta smiles, obviously pleased by my enthusiasm for her cooking. “Do you have cactus pears in America?”

  I nod my head. “We do, but they’re hard to find even when they’re in season.” I take a bite from one of the cactus pears, which Carlotta has already peeled and cut for me. “Wow! The cactus pears I’ve had in New York don’t taste this sweet.”

  “That is the fruit of Sicily. You must’ve noticed all the cactus pear plants on the way here?”

  “I did.”

  I take a sip of espresso. Again, I feel Zia Carlotta’s eyes on me. Glancing up, I see she looks nervous.

  “Have you decided if you will stay here?”

  “I was planning on going to my hotel in Messina today.”

>   “I meant if you would stay in Sicily for a while longer? Sarina told me last night you bought only a one-way ticket.”

  “I did. I thought about staying a week, but I don’t know now.”

  Carlotta comes over to my bed and sits on the edge.

  “Julia, forgive me if I’m being forward, but please stay. You are a teacher, no?”

  I nod my head, knowing where this is going.

  “It is only July. I understand the schools in America don’t resume for the new year until September. Why not stay until the end of August? Sarina would be so happy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking maybe just a week. You have to realize, Zia, this is a lot for me to handle. I’m still processing it all, and I don’t even know yet how I feel toward my mother.”

  Zia Carlotta takes my hand in hers.

  “Julia, your mother hurt you, very much. I do not deny that. She had the world on her shoulders from when she was a child, caring for me and my brothers, and trying to ward off our father’s temper. The way he beat her . . .” Zia Carlotta closes her eyes tightly as if she’s trying to shut out the painful memories. “It was horrible. There were times I thought he would surely kill her. We all did. That’s why we never blamed her when she ran away. And she married your father so young. She was forced to become an adult when she was still practically a child. But I know. There is no excuse for her not returning to you and staying away for so long. But please don’t let her mistakes keep you separated now. Not when you’ve come this far. Get to know her. I believe it was fate that led you to find her diary and brought you here. Just as I believe it was fate that reunited her and Carlo. Julia, you will regret it if you leave now. You will always wonder if the two of you could have gotten past this. Maybe you won’t. But shouldn’t you at least give it a chance and see what happens? Please, don’t be mad at me. I just care about you and my sister. Ti voglio bene.” Zia Carlotta strokes my cheek.

  I’m touched by her telling me she loves me. And I’m torn. Throughout the night, I dreamt of nothing else but my mother. I woke up several times and kept asking myself if I should return home. But I don’t want to feel pressured in the moment to make a decision.

  I take Zia Carlotta’s hand in mine. “I’m not mad. Thank you for caring so much. I just need some time to think. I’ll let you know what I’ve decided after I eat and take a shower.”

  “Va bene. I will let you get dressed. Let me know if you need anything.” Zia Carlotta kisses my cheek before leaving my room.

  Sarina’s singing reaches my ears again. The sound is soothing, but it also creates a deep sadness within me. It’s the same sadness I’ve felt since I was a child and thought of my mother. Zia Carlotta is right. If I leave now, I will always wonder what could have happened between Sarina and me if I had stayed. This is my opportunity to finally get to know the mother who has been a stranger to me for so long. I can’t lie to myself anymore. There is still the little girl inside of me who aches to have her mother’s love.

  27

  The Dream

  The past month and a half has been surreal as my mother and I have struggled to get to know each other. It is now the last week in August and my last week here in Sicily. I will be returning to work soon and cannot prolong my trip any longer, not to mention Kyle has been so patient about my being away so long.

  The morning after I first arrived, I decided I would stay for another week. Then I extended my stay for an additional week, until I finally just gave in to my mother’s and Carlotta’s pleas to remain until the end of August. Now that my time here is almost over, I feel torn and anxious. I haven’t let my mind wander to what it will be like once I go back home and won’t have my mother with me anymore—although I know it’s now different, for I can pick up the phone and talk to her and come visit her whenever I like. Still. I wish she could come back to New York with me.

  The first week we tiptoed around each other, afraid of saying the wrong thing—well, at least my mother was afraid of saying the wrong thing. I still hadn’t decided if I had forgiven her for staying out of my life for so long, yet I couldn’t deny the strong pull to want to get to know her more. And to want to know what it would feel like to have her in my life again even if just for a few weeks.

  I finally started to relax during my second week. Every day, Sarina would do something for me. One morning, I woke up to find my laundry had been washed and was folded neatly and placed on the chair next to the dresser in my bedroom. Another morning, she made for me granita di caffè, coffee granita. She even made her own panna, or whipped cream, to top it off. I didn’t think anything of it, even though I have loved coffee granitas since I was a teenager. Daddy used to take me to a bakery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, that sold granite. But then the next evening when Sarina presented me with another favorite of mine, Arancini di Riso, or Sicilian Rice Balls, I suspected something was up.

  “How did you know that I love granita di caffè and Arancini di Riso?” I asked her.

  She gave me a sly smile and said, “A mother knows these things about her daughter.”

  I almost cried when she said that, but I merely mumbled, “Grazie,” and quickly began eating before I lost all control. There could be only one explanation. She must have phoned Daddy and asked him what my favorite dishes were. I was moved that she would go to this trouble, but it also made me incredibly happy.

  Now, here we are seated in the outdoor terrace behind her house. A sprawling grapevine encircles the entire terrace. Pots of jasmine, bougainvillea, red crimson lilies, and hibiscus are everywhere. There is even a large orange tree as well as a fig tree. My back faces my mother as she braids my hair. I almost feel silly having her braid my hair as if I were a young schoolgirl, but whenever she’s asked if she can do my hair, I haven’t refused. Sometimes I’ve imagined that I am still a little girl, and my mother is styling my hair before sending me off to school.

  Carlo hobbles out onto the terrace. Sarina begins to stand to help him, but he holds up his free hand, motioning to her that he can manage. Leaning heavily on his cane, he makes his way over to a folding chair and carefully eases himself into it.

  “How are you today, Julia?”

  My eyes meet my mother’s. We were waiting expectantly to see if he would mistake me for Sarina as he’s done a few times during my stay here. Sarina told me my being here has helped his memory, especially since I resemble the younger her. She said he’s remembered more of their time together in Taormina and the Aeolian Islands. But I can’t help feeling guilty when he does mistake me for my mother.

  “I’m well, Carlo. Thank you. How are you?”

  “Tired. But fine otherwise.” Carlo’s eyes focus on Sarina braiding my hair. His gaze remains fixed that way until Sarina is done styling my hair. He often goes into a bit of a trance.

  “Carlo, let’s go for a walk on the beach.” Sarina stands up. “Please join us, Julia.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll let you enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Please, Julia. I’d like to take a walk with both of you.”

  I’ve found it has become harder and harder for me to say no to her. Even in her old age, there is something enchanting about her and vulnerable. When she asks me to do something that I know would make her happy, I see the teenage girl who ran away from her abusive father and who had to fend for herself. And the more she tells me about herself and her days as a folk singer, the more I find myself drawn to her.

  “All right.”

  Sarina hooks one arm through mine and the other through Carlo’s arm. We walk very slowly for Carlo’s sake. None of us says a word. I listen to the sound of the ocean’s waves crashing against the shore. The voices of children chasing a dog reach my ears, but soon the only sounds are those of the ocean and the seagulls. I let myself steal a sideways glance at my mother and Carlo. Their gazes are fixed on the water. My mother’s face looks serene and content. A small smile dances on her lips. Carlo’s eyes appear again as if he is somewhere else, remembe
ring another time, another place—or perhaps struggling to remember an event. Still, there is something tranquil about his expression as well.

  Never would I have imagined this scenario, especially when I was reading Sarina’s diary. Never would I have thought I would be walking on a beach in Sicily with my mother and her first lover—the only man she ever truly loved. Suddenly, I realize why she insisted I walk with her. Yet my heart refuses to believe what I suspect, even though I desperately wish it to be true. Could it be that she wanted to walk with the two people she loves the most?

  As if reading my thoughts, my mother turns to me and looks into my eyes, smiling the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. And in that moment, I decide to let down the last wall.

  “Ti voglio bene, Mama,” I say.

  Sarina stops walking. She lets go of Carlo’s arm and takes my face in her hands. She is overcome with emotion as tears race down her face. She kisses my cheek and hugs me in a tight embrace. We stand like that for a long time. I don’t want to let go. I cry, silently at first, but then I sob louder. The pain I have felt since I was a little girl comes rushing out. I don’t try to push it back as I’ve always done.

  When we finally pull away from each other, I see Carlo is staring at us and smiling.

  Mama leans over to me and whispers, “I love you, too, my dear daughter.”

  We resume our walk, but this time the three of us have our arms wrapped around each other’s backs.

  After dinner, Mama has convinced me to play her piano. Zia Carlotta, Carlo, and a few of the maids listen. I’m surprised she even has a piano since she doesn’t play, but she told me she had always hoped to learn, but the opportunity never arose.

  “Julia, perhaps now that you know us and are more comfortable, you can sing? I have been dying to hear your voice,” Zia Carlotta says.

  Mama turns to me, her eyes glowing. “Si! Please, don’t be shy.”

  “All right. I suppose it’s only fair since I have heard you sing.” I smile as I say this to my mother.