Everything Else in the Universe

by Tracy Holczer

  Lucy had changed into her tie-dyed dress when she got home from Milo’s, and when she, Mom and Dad showed up on Uncle G’s patio, Gia burst into tears and hugged Lucy. Gia had burst into tears two more times since then, once when Josh called to tell her they were running late, and once when Papo Angelo pulled up his own folding chair and sat beside her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. For the first time that Lucy could remember, Nonnina’s urn wasn’t right beside him. It sat on an end table next to the sofa in the house.

  “Gia will be glad to see you,” Lucy said.

  Josh handed her the lemon cake. “I’ll be glad to see her, too. But mostly for when this is all over, one way or the other.”

  Josh’s brothers were eleven and eight and just as gloomy-faced as his parents, who were both tall and had similar features, straight noses and wide-set eyes, which had showed up in each of their children. There was no mistaking they were related. So if Josh had to go away, there would be a reminder of him each time they looked in a mirror or at each other.

  Dinner was tasteless, even though Uncle G cooked up seasoned rib eye steaks and Aunt Rosie made her famous macaroni salad. No one ate or talked much.

  Lucy worried about Dad. He took Josh aside for a little while, talked to him quietly. She would have given anything to hear the words of comfort Dad was probably giving him. Or the facts, maybe. The cold, hard facts about what might be ahead. She watched them carefully, studied Dad’s every move. He didn’t look right to her. He was sad, just like the rest of them, and heavyhearted. But his coloring was off. Pale, even though he’d been spending time outside. And clammy, like he might be getting sick. Which sent a whole new batch of worries through Lucy’s already overloaded mind.

  Soon enough, it was time to move inside and turn on the television.

  Mom and Dad sat on the love seat while Lucy sat on the floor between their legs. The room was silent.

  The television screen turned blue, and the words Special Report flashed.

  “And now, the draft lottery!” said a cheery voice that was totally inappropriate for the occasion.

  Lucy looked over at Gia, who sat tall with her chin raised, like she was ready to shout obscenities at the television announcer. She’d stopped crying and held Josh’s hand in both of her own. The man on screen looked like a kid, no older than Josh. His job was to pull the small, lightweight balls out of the clear Plexiglas container that looked like an oversized fishbowl.

  Uncle G had explained the way the televised draft worked to Lucy before it started. There would be two large containers on screen with little balls inside, light like Ping-Pong balls. In one container, birth dates were written on brown balls, and in the other, numbers from 001 to 366 were written on yellow balls. As a birthday was drawn out, a corresponding number was given until each day of the year was assigned, 001 through 366 because it was leap year. Then, next year, when it was time to bring in more troops, they’d start with those birth dates that corresponded with 001 on up until they had enough men.

  Sort of like bingo. The prize being a trip to Vietnam.

  The best they could hope for was that Josh’s birthday wouldn’t get called for a long, long time. Lucy had both her fingers crossed, and her legs, hoping he’d get number 366. They were decreasing the number of troops and had only taken all those boys with birthdates from 001 up to 125 last year. So as long as Josh’s number was higher than that, he’d be safe.

  Eventually, the boy on the television pulled Josh’s birthday out of the container. April 16.

  Lucy wished as hard as she could wish that the next ball would have a number higher than 125 because all those boys would be safe.

  Josh’s number was 023.

  The room went still as Gia squeezed his hand.

  He’d be going to Vietnam. Now it was just a matter of when.

  * * *

  —

  Lucy watched as the Giovaniolis drove off in their wood-paneled station wagon to take Josh home, sad for all the unknown things to come. When would Josh’s letter of induction come? Sometimes they came right away, sometimes not for months. Would Josh volunteer instead? Some boys joined the National Guard or other forms of service that would save them from the front lines.

  But Lucy didn’t think Josh would do that. He was like her father, thinking about the other boys he’d have to look in the eye or the ones who would have to go in his place. She used to think this was admirable, heroic even. But now she wasn’t sure.

  Dad went home, tired, while Lucy and Mom helped Aunt Rosie with the dishes. When that was done, Lucy went to Gia’s room. The door was closed, and she could hear the soft melody of James Taylor. I’ve seen fire, and I’ve seen rain. . . .

  Lucy knocked and let herself inside. Gia lay flat on her back on her orange shag rug right beside the record player. She was surrounded by stuffed animals. All Josh’s carnival winnings since they’d started dating when Gia was thirteen. Just a year older than Lucy.

  “I can’t believe this is my life,” Gia said. The song ended, and she sat up, put the needle back to the beginning and “Fire and Rain” played again. She flopped back onto the rug and looked up at the popcorn ceiling, forlorn.

  Lucy knew there wasn’t much she could do to help Gia. Gia would have her feelings—anger, grief, frustration—just like Lucy had. And she’d have to find her way through it, just like Lucy had. And no one, including Lucy, could look into her brain and give her what she needed. She’d have to ask.

  The way Lucy could have asked. And didn’t.

  Lucy had been mad at Gia for a long time and realized that, in part, it was because Gia hadn’t read her mind like a Fattucchiera and given her what she needed. Just like the Dandelion Girls at school.

  How Gia chose to protest the war just didn’t matter anymore.

  Lucy lay down beside her on the rug and used a giraffe as a pillow. She took Gia’s hand. She’d missed her cousin.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lucy said. Both for what was to come and what had already passed.

  Gia cried then. Cried and cried like it was the end of the world.

  Which, Lucy supposed, for Gia, it was.

  24

  one shining moment

  When Papo picked Lucy and Milo up for their trip to San Francisco, Dad was still in bed. Since the draft lottery two days before, he’d started to run a fever. Mom tried to get him to go to the hospital, since he didn’t seem to be getting better, but he kept insisting he was the doctor and knew what to do for himself. He had antibiotics and ten years’ worth of medical training, so there wasn’t any sense going into the hospital and having them tell him what he already knew.

  Lucy didn’t want to leave his side. He’d especially need her since Mom had to go to work.

  “You are going to San Francisco today with Papo, and that’s the end of it,” Dad said. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t need you hovering.”

  Lucy reached in her pocket and took out the small specimen of rose quartz Dad had sent from Vietnam. “It’s a seven on Mohs’ scale. It’s supposed to help with circulation.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my circulation,” Dad said, trying to hand it back.

  “I’ll feel better if you take it.”

  Dad closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding the stone to his chest. “I’m sorry for snapping. I’ll keep it right here all day. I promise. Now go. You have important work to do.”

  Lucy walked to the bedroom door, and before she let herself out, she turned back to Dad. “Will you tell me your love story? It will make me feel better.”

  Lucy wanted to hear about their chance encounter just then. She needed the reminder. That against all odds, people found their way to each other. And that knowing something deep in her Rossi bones was something she could trust.

  “Papo is waiting. We can tell stories when you get home,” Dad said.

  Lucy qui
etly closed her parents’ bedroom door and then put her hands in her pockets.

  Onetwothreefourfive-sixseveneight . . .

  * * *

  —

  Meat day was usually a glorious celebration of meat, when Papo Angelo would load up the overnight van with coolers of dry ice and drive into San Francisco so he wouldn’t have to pay someone for delivery. He’d make a day of it twice a month, visiting relatives, eating lunch at Original Joe’s and haggling the prices of his meat purchases.

  Half of Lucy’s extended family lived in San Francisco. Her Big Papo Rossi, who had settled in the rolling hills of the Santa Clara Valley in order to grow his fruit, had a brother named Vito, who’d settled in San Francisco and opened up a fish store. And it was one of Vito’s employees, Ralph Emeretti, who had married Great-Aunt Lilliana. Great-Aunt Lilliana still owned their little house in North Beach.

  So Papo’s first stop was always to Great-Aunt Lilliana’s. Sometimes Great-Aunt Lilliana went with him on his journey to visit with relatives and haggle meat prices; sometimes she gave him espresso and biscotti, and sometimes she just sent him on his way. Always she gave him an earful of advice, a premonition if she was feeling generous. He’d often declared her the best big sister who ever was, but only when the other two sisters weren’t listening, or he might find a chicken foot where he least suspected it. Like his coffee mug.

  True story.

  Lucy had gone with Papo Angelo on a few occasions while Dad had been in Vietnam to keep him company, sitting in flowered parlors and eating biscotti too heavy on the anise and patting the heads of many dogs and small children. She’d then go with Papo Angelo to Original Joe’s and always ordered Joe’s Special, a delicious scramble of eggs, hamburger, spinach and secret spices, which would throw Papo Angelo into fits of pretend offense because he’d never been able to talk the owner into divulging the “special” part of Joe’s Special. Her most important job during these trips was to get Papo Angelo to stop haggling at just the right moment, just before the butchers would throw him out.

  Lucy and Milo climbed into the bucket seats of Papo Angelo’s white overnight van with the pop-up roof, and he shouted, “To the moon, Alice!” as he always did when the day was just beginning and there were mountains to climb or hills to conquer or just a nice chair in the shade to fall asleep in, depending.

  Milo brought the flight helmet. Ever hopeful, figured they’d want that, too.

  As they drove up 280 toward San Francisco, Lucy pointed out all the landmarks for Milo, of which there weren’t many. There was Highway 92, which went up and over the hills to Half Moon Bay, where she had looked for the starfish on that day that seemed so long ago now, where they had the best milk bread in the entire world. Even Papo Angelo said so. She also told Milo about Uncle G going smelt fishing on Martins Beach and how he’d flash fry those fish right after they’d been caught and when he brought them to the deli, they sold out in five minutes.

  “I miss Cleo’s blueberry pancakes,” Milo said.

  “Who’s Cleo?”

  “He owned the U.S. Café in Fayetteville, and sometimes he’d give me and the guys a free breakfast, anything for the servicemen or their kids. We did all the grunt work for him in order to pay for it, ’cause we didn’t want to take a handout. Carried in cases of things and unloaded them into the refrigerator. Poured syrup into those pourer things he had, with the little spout.”

  Milo watched the hillside go by, playing out his memories for Lucy.

  “People would come and protest the war, sometimes,” Milo said.

  Which started Papo Angelo on a string of Italian mumblings. “You don’t listen to the mindless idiots of the world,” Papo Angelo said with gusto.

  “You think Gia is an idiot?” Lucy said.

  “I think Gia didn’t know until now what she’s been yelling about. It’s different when you have something to lose.”

  “It’s hard to ignore them when they’re yelling in your face that your dad is a baby killer,” Milo said.

  “What did you do?” Lucy asked.

  Milo half smiled, “We lit firecrackers and threw them off the roof into the crowd.”

  “I bet that felt good.”

  “Sometimes we’d all get together and go down with our own signs, cheering for the soldiers, our moms and dads. One time there was this lady, a loud one with all sorts of horrible things on her signs, and as soon as she saw us, she just stopped in the middle of a chant. She walked straight over to us. I thought she was going to yell, but she didn’t. She just cried and threw her sign in the garbage. The protestors went home after that. They came right back a couple days later. But not her.”

  Lucy could see Papo Angelo watching Milo through the rearview mirror. He wiped at his eyes, because Papo Angelo was a feeler of feelings.

  The fog was especially thick as Papo Angelo drove through the city to North Beach. Great-Aunt Lilliana lived in a two-unit peacock-blue jewel-box-shaped house on Telegraph Hill that had a rooftop deck with views of the bay. It was a tiny little piece of heaven on earth, and Lucy loved it.

  Lucy felt the pricks of the summer fog against her face as they climbed the stairs and Great-Aunt Lilliana welcomed them with kisses and how-are-yous and, of course, a bounty of food. She shouted, “Mangiare e ingrassare,” to Milo, who smiled and dug in to the breakfast sausages, already used to being shouted at by Lucy’s relatives, it seemed.

  “I will meet you back here at four o’clock sharp,” Papo Angelo said, pulling on his wool cap after he ate and had his customary espresso. “Good luck.”

  Lucy and Milo cleared the table and carried the dishes into the kitchen, setting them into the porcelain sink.

  “So,” Great-Aunt Lilliana said, “you’ve found the family.”

  “We hope so,” Lucy said.

  “You have. I have seen it. Wait here,” Great-Aunt Lilliana said, and went into her spare bedroom, where she clunked things together, opened and closed drawers, and then Lucy heard an unmistakable clap and what sounded like a thousand wings all flapping at once. Then silence.

  Great-Aunt Lilliana came back into the room carrying a small basket filled with herbs. She laid out two small pieces of black velvet. On each square, she laid a sprig of something green. “Rue,” she said. “For protection on your journey. Now, pluck two hairs from your head.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. “Ugggghhhh.”

  “It’s okay,” Milo said. He plucked at his head with enthusiasm.

  Even Great-Aunt Lilliana pulled on her own wild gray hair she ordinarily kept in a neat bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Now we lay each hair on top of the rue.”

  Great-Aunt Lilliana stood up and went to the fireplace, scooping up a small container of ash, which she sprinkled over the rue and the hair. She then laid her hands, short-fingered, hard-working hands, over each small pile, mumbled and tied the ends of the velvet together with a length of thin black cord. She placed a pouch over first Lucy’s, then Milo’s head. Lucy felt herself resisting, denying. A thousand reasonable glass-shard thoughts tried to rip through her growing sense of hope. She didn’t let them.

  “Now. Close your eyes and envision your journey, what it is you want to find at the end of it.”

  Lucy finally let herself think about what she wanted. She wanted to find a whole family. A family who had survived.

  When they’d each taken a moment, Great-Aunt Lilliana clapped one fierce clap and threw her hands up into the air, and Lucy willed her reasonable thoughts to fly up with Great-Aunt Lilliana’s hands. For one shining moment, Lucy saw them hovering there, floating all around the ceiling, like bits of silver confetti.

  In place of her reasonable thoughts, she let her heart lead the way.

  25

  an unexpected dragonfly

  It wasn’t difficult to find 111 Clement Street. It was a tall building made of stucco that had been s
eparated into apartments. Unit A was directly up a small flight of outside stairs and had its own entrance.

  “You ready?” Milo said. He had the helmet under one arm.

  “No. But this is why we’re here,” Lucy said, and held on to her pouch of rue for courage. It didn’t matter that her legs were shaking. It didn’t matter that she suddenly realized she had a lot of feelings riding on the answer to the question of whether or not this man was okay, or if he had left his family and buried the memory of them in the dirt.

  And then it was happening. A woman with pixy-short dark hair and a crinkle in her nose when she smiled answered the door. She was thin, and Lucy suddenly wished she’d brought something for them besides the pictures. Biscotti, maybe.

  “Yes?” the woman said. Not unkindly. Then she spied the helmet and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  Lucy couldn’t find a single word.

  “We’re sorry to bother you,” Milo said, and swallowed. “But we might have something that belongs to you.”

  “Does John Ruth live here?” Lucy found her voice.

  The woman took a step back to call up the stairs. “Johnny!”

  A teenager, short and burly, with a flat nose and a military haircut, hopped down the stairs to stand beside the woman. He resembled the Johnny in Lucy’s picture, but couldn’t be. The picture had been taken in 1963, almost ten years before. “Yeah? Who are you two?”

  Milo and Lucy looked at each other. Milo said, “Is your dad here, maybe?”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about my dad?”

  The thin woman put her hand on Johnny’s shoulder and stepped forward, slightly blocking him. Protecting him. “What’s this about?”

  Lucy took the plastic baggie out of her sweatshirt pocket and handed the three pictures to the boy. “We found these.”

  Before Johnny could get a good look at the pictures, the woman snatched them out of his hands, her eyes wide.