The Complete Series

by Angela Scipioni

  Gregorio’s measured compliments and keen observations of her behavior made it evident that the mind which had so swiftly formed opinions of her character, and guided the hand that set them in writing, was that of a mature, perceptive man, and not of a befuddled fledgling. He outlined in a logical, comprehensive manner the reasons for his desire to become more deeply acquainted with her, though they had just met, and hoped she would pardon his urgency. In addition to the kindness and generosity Gregorio had demonstrated in person, he was now projecting the image of a man who had a clear idea of what he wanted, and, as such, backed his words with actions. He informed Iris that his friend at the travel agency had put on hold an airline reservation in his name, and if she consented, he would like to visit her and meet her father and family in December. He suggested the Christmas holidays as a suitable time, considering his mother would accompany Cinzia, her husband Franco, and their three little boys and to their usual hotel at a ski resort in Limone, in the Piedmont region, which they enjoyed because of its convenient location just a couple of hours from Genoa, and its wholesome, family-oriented atmosphere.

  Gregorio concluded his letter in a crescendo of admiration for her person, followed by a touch of Italian romanticism, culminating in the unexpected declaration that the moment he had laid eyes upon her, he realized he was looking at the first woman he had ever visualized as the future mother of his children. Gregorio’s words made her blush, even though she was all alone in her room; they flattered her, intrigued her, perplexed her. After reading the letter a second time, Iris folded it neatly and placed it back in its envelope, then set it on the nightstand, next to her freshly blessed rosary.

  She picked up Peter’s last tear-stained letter, which still sat on the bed. She folded it into a paper airplane, and flung it from her hand with a snap of the wrist. It glided across the room, then crashed quietly against the faded butterflies of the peeling wallpaper, and fell to the floor.

  She would write Gregorio in the morning, and tell him she would be happy to see him at Christmas. What was the worst that could happen?

  34. Lily

  “Well, you’ve probably seen Saturday Night Fever a hundred times by now...” said Lily.

  “You haven’t seen it yet?!” Joe cried. “Then that’s the one we have to go see. It’s the best movie ever made.”

  Lily was excited about her first date with Joe, but a little afraid of dating someone who was so sophisticated and worldly. He smoked and drank and danced and she doubted if any of the other girls he’d dated were virgins. What would she say if he asked, what would she do if he tried?

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Lily said to her reflection in the mirror as she swept her eyelashes with black mascara.

  “Lily!” her mother called from kitchen. “I think your date is here.”

  Lily ran downstairs pulling her sweater coat on. “See you later, Mom!”

  “Honking the horn in the driveway is not a proper way to pick up a girl for date, Lily,” said her mother.

  Looking around the apartment Lily was relieved that Joe hadn’t come inside. It was bad enough that he would see that the lawn chairs had all but disappeared into the overgrown brush, having slipped down the ever-growing list of causes to uphold. The more difficult Lily’s parents’ divorce had grown, the more absorbed her mother had become in her various civic and political groups. If she wasn’t at work, she was at a meeting or a rally, or scanning newspapers and magazines, looking for nuggets of information that could be filed into one of the swelling, towering piles she’d built around the house. Lily knew that in some way, each clipping had relevance for her mother, but to an outsider, the place would just look like the nest of a crazy person.

  “It’s OK, Mom,” said Lily, placing a peck on her cheek. “We’re just late for the movies. He’ll come in next time, OK?”

  Lily could see why Joe loved the movie. The disco dancing was phenomenal and she had to admit that some of the sex scenes were pretty steamy. No wonder James hadn’t want to see it with her; he might have been inspired to take her behind the auto shop and just let himself go. She hoped Joe didn’t notice that the palm of her hand was clammy.

  After the movie, they went to the local diner where they had burgers and fries and lingered over a cup of coffee for two hours. Lily shared her disappointment at not having been admitted to Purchase, and she told Joe all about Dolores. She filled him in on her parents’ divorce, and the dramas that had since become a part of her daily life, including the awful scene between Iris and their mother, the memory of which Lily couldn’t seem to shake.

  “Wow - she’s in It-ly?” asked Joe.

  “Yeah,” said Lily, pushing down the lump that formed in her throat. “We have family there. She went with my aunt.”

  “How come you didn’t go? I would absolutely go to It-ly if I had the chance.”

  “So would I,” said Lily. “But it seems like I have trouble getting out of Rochester.”

  “Lucky me,” said Joe with a wink.

  “But I did make it from Chili to Gates when I moved in with my mother, so that’s something.” Lily hoped her smile didn’t look too forced.

  “How did that go over with your old man?” Joe asked.

  “Not great,” said Lily. “But I couldn’t help it, you know? I stayed as long as I could. My father - he is always so angry, always yelling about my mother, calling her names, complaining about the house and the meals and everything. Once Iris went away to college, it just got too hard. Plus, you know, my mother was all alone.” Lily’s eyes began to tear up. “It’s just the two of us now,” said Lily. “We’re not so good at keeping up with the yard work, or fixing the car, but we manage.” Anxious to change the subject, she added, “What about you? Tell me about your family.”

  Joe spoke of the tightly knit clan of five Diotallevi brothers - and of two parents who’d been together since they were teenagers. Joe still lived at home, but had a good job on the shipping dock at La Casa Bella, his Uncle Frankie’s furniture business where all the Diotallevi brothers had gotten their first real job. Each week, after giving his mother money toward his board, Joe would spend the rest of his paycheck on clothes, clubs, and eight-track tapes. And Burger King, of course.

  “We don’t have a lot of money either,” said Joe. “But we have family, and when you have family, you have everything.”

  Lily winced.

  When Joe brought Lily home, he leaned across the front seat, casually kissed her goodnight, and let her out in the driveway. She was relieved that she did not have to fend off his advances, yet disappointed not to have had the opportunity to do so.

  “Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Lily. “Thanks for the movie and everything.”

  “A girl like you?” said Joe. “Deserves a lot more than that.”

  Lily wanted to ask him what he meant. What is a girl like me? What do I deserve? She stood at the back door as his Barracuda peeled out down the street.

  The next morning, Lily was awakened by the roar of an engine. She looked out her bedroom window to find Joe laboriously forcing a lawn mower back and forth through the thick lawn in the early morning sunshine.

  “What’s going on?” Lily asked her mother, as she ran down the stairs, cinching the belt of her robe.

  Lily’s mother had the Sunday paper spread open over the entire surface of the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. “Your young man knocked on the door at eight o’clock, introduced himself, and offered to cut the lawn.”

  “You’re kidding!” Lily pushed the sheers aside and looked out the living room picture window. Joe saw her, smiled, and blew her a kiss.

  “Does he shovel snow?” Lily’s mother asked, turning the page. “If so, please don’t let him go.”

  “No problem, Mom,” said Lily. “Glad to help.” How very liberated of you, she wanted to add.

  “Hey, Lily - it’s me!” said the voice at t
he other end of the phone.

  “Iris! When did you get back?”

  “Day before yesterday,” Iris replied. “But I was so tired from the jet lag, and then I had to start my new job, and of course there’s so much to be done around here all the time... I’m just exhausted!”

  “Yeah, I bet,” said Lily, wondering what jet lag was.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Nothing - I was supposed to work but I guess they scheduled too many people so they called me and told me not to come in.

  “Perfect!” said Iris. “Let’s meet for coffee. I want to tell you all about my trip!”

  “Yes - I can’t wait to hear about it.”

  Lily’s throat tightened at the prospect of sitting and listening to Iris’ stories of Italy, but Lily had missed her, and they hadn’t had a chance to really talk since before she’d left. Since that awful night when she had stopped by the house. There was so much Lily had wanted to say to her then. She’d wanted to tell her how desperately she had tried to endure her role at Chestnut Crest, and about the nights she’d lain in bed, praying, crying, searching for a way to hang on. She’d wanted to tell her how disturbing it was, listening to their father tearfully and brutally cursing and insulting their mother with his every breath - in front of Lily, in front of the boys, in front of anyone who would listen. If only Iris knew how Lily had fantasized about running away, how she’d dreamed of just stuffing a few things into a duffle bag, standing on the shoulder of the highway and sticking her thumb out for anyone who would take her anywhere. It seemed that there had to be a way out, but no matter where Lily turned, there was suffocating sadness and anger. Moving in with their mother was like opening a window, just a crack, and all Lily knew was that she had to have some air.

  Lily wanted to tell Iris how much she’d missed her when she was at college, and how much she’d wanted to visit her in her dorm, but there never seemed to be enough time, or enough money, or an available car. Mostly she wanted to tell her that she was sorry for the things their mother had said and how much Lily had regretted not giving Iris a hug when she left that night. Maybe they could talk about that, too. Maybe they would have a chance to patch things up. Yes, that would be wonderful. They could share secrets and laughter and the knowing glances that they had spent a lifetime encoding and decoding, learning to speak in a silent language only they shared. It would be like old times. The only thing that would make it perfect would be if they could lie in bed in their old room with the windows open, the distant wail of the freight train rumbling through the Coldwater Road crossing. But Lily knew she was no longer welcome at Chestnut Crest, and there wasn’t a room at Lily’s that held sweet memories for them. Where did they belong now?

  “Let’s meet at the diner, OK?” said Iris.

  “Sure,” said Lily. “What time?”

  “Well, I already talked to Frances, and she gets out of work at seven o’clock. I haven’t seen Rita in ages, and I promised her I would get in touch as soon as I got back, so I’m picking her up at seven-thirty. How’s quarter to eight?”

  “Oh,” said Lily.

  “Lily? Are you there? Is seven-forty-five OK?”

  “Yeah - uh, sure.” So much for that.

  “Great! Ciao!”

  Lily tried to shake the sense of uneasiness that draped itself over her as she hung up the phone. Was it because Iris had been home for two days before she even bothered to call? Or maybe it was because she had clumped Lily together with Frances and Rita - as though they were all equal, as though Iris had missed them just as much and was equally as excited to see them. Or maybe it was the way she said, “Ciao!” Or that she said it at all. Maybe it was all of it.

  Lily picked up the phone and punched in a series of numbers.

  “Hey Cory - it’s Lily - how’s it going over there?... Oh, it is?... Yeah, I was just calling to see if you needed me to come in tonight, you know, in case it got busy or whatever... because I can come in if you need me... OK... sure, no problem... See you tomorrow then.”

  When Lily arrived at the diner, she found Iris, Rita, and Frances huddled together in a horseshoe booth. Iris was firmly wedged into the center spot between them, flipping through the photos she had taken on her trip. Lily used her best plaster smile to fend off threatening tears.

  “Here’s my cousin Fabrizio!” said Iris, pointing to a young man on a scooter. Iris laughed at the photo. “Oh, what fun we had!”

  “What a hunk!” said Rita. “I want to go to Italy!”

  “Lily!” cried Iris, stretching her arms over Rita’s head.

  “Hey!” called Lily. She stretched across the table top, three coffee cups, and a maple syrup caddy to try and accept Iris’ hug, but was unable to quite reach.

  “Oh - here -” said Iris, taking her purse off the bench and placing it under the table. “Scooch in so you can see!” Iris quickly returned her attention to the photos in her hand.

  “Aw...” Iris let out a sigh. “Here’s me, throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain.” She turned to Rita and added, “That’s what you do to make sure you return to Roma!”

  Lily immediately noticed the changes in Iris. The adolescent slouch in her shoulders had straightened itself up into a stance of confidence. Her laugh was louder, more free. She was drinking her coffee black. Lily feigned interest as she craned her neck to see the photos over Frances’ shoulder, and she smiled and nodded whenever Iris looked at her to gauge her response. With each story of adventure Iris told, Lily’s heart sank, and her image of Iris grew softer around the edges. In Italy, Iris had eaten things that Lily had never even heard of. She’d swum in the Mediterranean Sea. Been to the Vatican. Eaten a real pizza. Seen Michelangelo’s David. Met a man.

  “What’s his name?” Rita asked, staring at the photo. “And how old is he, anyway?”

  “His name is Gregorio,” said Iris, blushing. “Gregorio Leale. It’s spelled L-E-A-L-E. At first I thought it was pronounced ‘Leele’ - thank God that Auntie Rosa told me it was pronounced ‘Lay-ah-lay’ before I made a complete fool of myself! It means ‘loyal’ - isn’t that cool? He’s thirty-one and he’s even more handsome in person - and he’s sophisticated and kind and gentle - so intelligent.” With a grin, Iris scanned the faces around the table and added, “And very romantic.” She offered the photo to Rita.

  “What does he do?” asked Frances. “For a job, I mean?”

  “He’s a doctor,” said Iris proudly. “An anesthesiologist.”

  "Oh, Gregorio," Rita said to the photograph as she kissed it.

  “Geez, Rita, you want a napkin for that drool?” said Frances, snatching the photo from her. “Hey Iris, this guy has blond hair and blue eyes and is at least as tall as you are - are you sure he's Italian?"

  "His father was Sicilian," Iris said.

  "Since when are Sicilians blond?" Rita said.

  "Since the eleventh century. The coloring comes from Norman ancestors that invaded the island. Not all of them are blond, of course. But some. This one.” Iris took the photo from Frances. “You want to see it, Lily?" Iris offered the photo to her.

  “That’s OK,” Lily replied. “I can see it from here.” The smile temporarily vacated Iris’ face - until she looked back at the man in the photo who was smoking a pipe and looking lovingly at Iris, who stood at his side laughing. There was something familiar to Lily about the way the man beamed at her sister, but it was strange to see how Iris beamed back; she was glowing. Lily bristled.

  Iris carefully wiped the surface of the photo with a napkin before sliding it back into the yellow and white paper envelope with the others. Lily was relieved that they were finally tucked away. Maybe now they could talk about something else. Someone else.

  “You know,” said Iris, “Gregorio’s grandfather was actually our grandmother’s cousin by marriage.”

  “Doesn’t that make him our cousin?” said Lily. “You can’t just go around falling in love with your cousins.”

  “Everyone is related to every
one else in those little towns,” explained Iris. “He’s not a first cousin, or even a second one. Besides, it’s OK to even have children with your cousin as long as they’re not your first.”

  “Have children?!” cried Frances. “Did you guys do it?”

  “No!” cried Iris. The flush in her cheeks hinted at the desire her giggle tried to conceal.

  “Here’s what I want to know,” said Rita in a whisper, “Is he blond all over?”

  Frances and Rita burst out laughing.

  “Stop it you guys,” said Iris. “It wasn’t like that. It was just, well, it was nice.” She closed her eyes and heaved a gentle sigh. “Very nice,” she added softly.

  “What about Peter?” said Lily. “You can’t just go off and get a better boyfriend when you have a perfectly good one already.”

  Iris opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “Oh, it doesn't matter,” said Lily, with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like you’re going to be seeing Gregorio again anyway.”

  “Actually, I am,” said Iris. “When I arrived home, I found a letter from him waiting for me. He’d written right after we met! He’s planning a trip to America for the holidays. He’s coming on December twelfth and staying until New Year’s!”

  “Oh, my gawd!” shouted Rita.

  “He must really like you to come all that way,” said Frances. “Very cool.”

  “OK - let me see those pictures again,” said Rita, extending her hand. “I didn’t know this was so serious!”

  Iris pulled the yellow and white envelope back out of her purse, as the three of them flipped through the photos again, this time passing them down the line to Lily one at a time, forcing her to come face-to-face with the images of Iris by the Trevi Fountain. Iris in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Iris on a scooter looking happier than Lily had ever seen her. In that moment, Lily realized that while Iris was touring the Italian countryside and meeting new and exciting people, Lily had been spending her days flipping hamburgers and her nights holding ice packs on her mother’s latest migraine, inevitably brought on by her father’s latest litigation. How was that fair? Lily could have gone, too. She could have worked more hours and saved up the money if she’d known ahead of time. If Iris had bothered to ask. And why didn’t she? How did Iris just so easily take off like that and not even invite Lily to come along? The answer was evident. Iris didn’t ask Lily to come along because she didn’t want her there, probably didn’t want to carry along the excess baggage. Lily slipped the blurry photos back into the envelope. One thing was suddenly sure: if Iris’ big deal Italian doctor boyfriend was going to be hanging around at Christmas, Lily was not going to be here to watch.