By the time Lily pulled into the housing development where Violet lived, the street was lined on both sides with the cars of family and Iris’ friends. Lily parked three blocks away and tried to tiptoe through the wet snow that had begun to accumulate on the sidewalk. As soon as she stepped inside the house, she kicked off her shoes and sat on the floor by the fireplace to warm her numb toes.
“I think the last time we were all together like this was when dad died.” Iris sat down next to Lily, and offered her a plate of food.
“Death has a way of making people appreciate each other. That’s the good thing about it.” Lily surveyed the assortment of salami, provolone cheese, olives, and boiled fava beans that Iris had selected.
“Is there any real food over there?” She placed the plate on the floor.
“Sorry,” said Iris, the smile falling from her face. “I didn’t know what you liked. Why don’t you try it? It’s good.”
“That’s OK - thanks anyway. I guess I’m just not hungry.” Lily’s stomach rumbled.
“Listen - we decided to have a family bowling night tonight. We need to be together and since Henry absolutely hated to go bowling, we thought it was the perfect activity.”
“I’m not much of a bowler,” said Lily. Recognizing that was a weak excuse for getting out of it, she added, “Anyway, I really can’t afford it this week.” It was so much easier to plead poor and stay home. Who could fault you for not having money?
“It’ll be my treat - you just come and have fun.”
“I don’t want you to pay my way, Iris. It’s embarrassing.”
“But it’s me... there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Iris picked up the plate of food and handed it to Lily again. “I know you at least like salami.”
“Of course it’s not embarrassing - for you,” said Lily. “Ever since we were little you’ve been paying my way. Remember Grandpa Capotosti’s spittoon? He would only allow you to earn the twenty-five cents to empty it, and so you were the only one who ever had any Christmas money. Even then, I was embarrassed to have you put ‘From Iris and Lily’ on all the gifts. I knew they weren’t from me.”
Lily brought a slice of provolone cheese to her nose, sniffed it, scrunched up her nose, and then returned it to the plate. “I was a tagalong then, and I’m a tagalong now.” She set the plate back onto the floor. “Let’s be honest, I don’t fit in here with you and the other sisters. It’s better if we stop pretending that I do.”
“All I wanted to do was pitch in five bucks for you to come bowling so we could all be together! And now you’re blaming me for trying to help you fit in? For signing your name on the gifts I bought with the money I earned? For bringing you to play with my friends because you never made any of your own? For convincing Mom to let you stay home sick when I did? For convincing Auntie Rosa to let you come for a weekend sleepover?”
“Well, I am so sorry I was such a drain on you.”
“Please don’t be like that, Lily.” A droplet emerged and perched itself at the tip of Iris’ long slender nose. She daintily dabbed at it with the tissue she had wadded up in her hand.
“Be like what?”
“First of all, you’re remembering it the way you want to. I only got a nickel for emptying out the spittoon, and you wouldn’t have done it for a dollar.”
“How do you know that? How would anyone know unless they bothered to ask me? Besides, a nickel or a dollar - it doesn’t matter. The money was never the point, was it?”
“No, the money isn’t the point. The point is, you are feeling sorry for yourself, like you always did.”
“Someone’s got to do it. I’m the only one who seems to notice - who pays any attention to what’s going on with me. Just as it’s always been. I don’t know why I’m so surprised.” Lily sidled up closer to the fire and crossed her arms over her chest.
“How could anyone know what’s going on with you if you don’t tell us? I tried so hard to stay in touch, I used to write to you all the time when I moved, but then you stopped answering, and I didn’t know what to write anymore.” Iris reached back and pulled an afghan off the couch, and draped it over Lily’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me about what was going on with Joe? Why did you shut me out like that? I have a hard enough time keeping up with everyone else’s problems from halfway across the world, do you expect me to be a mind-reader too?”
“Don’t worry, Iris, I don’t expect you to keep track of my problems. And when am I supposed to have the chance to talk to you about anything? The only time I see you, there is a crowd of people around, or you, Violet, and Jasmine are going off on one of your spa weekends or vacation trips that I can’t go on.”
“So now I’m supposed to feel bad if I take a vacation? Well, you’ll be happy to know that I already do feel bad. Even though I work ten-hour days six days a week, I still feel guilty if I come here, and do something you can’t do. I even take off my jewelry when I know we are going to see each other because I feel bad about having things you don’t have. I suppose you think I always got whatever I wanted, without working for anything?”
“Believe me, I don’t want you to be burdened by going through all that trouble of taking off your diamonds. And no one is asking you or expecting you to feel guilty.” Lily shrugged, and the afghan dropped to the floor. “All I’m saying is, it is clear what your priorities are when you are here. That’s all. And that’s your choice. Nothing I can do about it anyway. Let’s just forget it; it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does matter. My priorities when I am here are to see you all. I spend every holiday missing my real family, and I’ll never have a family of my own like you do. Just try sticking your head out of your own little world long enough to realize how hard it is for me. I go crazy trying to make the rounds to see everyone! Auntie Rosa expects me to visit every single day, and every single day she asks me when I’m moving back home. When I try to see Mom, instead of asking about my life or telling me about hers, she drags me to some luncheon or conference where I have to listen to a stranger rant on about some women’s rights issues. I have this whole family to see, and I end up spending time with the ones who make more of an effort to see me. What effort do you ever make? Have you ever once invited me over for dinner in the past ten years?”
“Oh, be honest - you don’t want to have dinner at my house.”
“How do you know if you don’t ask?”
“Believe me – if you knew what it was like at my house these days, you wouldn’t want to come in for a drink of water, let alone for an entire meal. I don’t even want to have dinner there half the time. Anyway, who ever has a chance to invite you to do anything? From the minute you get off that plane, there’s a mad dash for your time and affections. I’m not going to compete for your love.” Lily turned from the fire and looked at Iris. “Don’t you get it, Iris? I don’t want to be clumped into your ‘rounds.’ When did I slip down the list to those that you’ll make time to see if you can fit it in? As far as Mom is concerned, she does that with everyone. That’s what it’s like to be a daughter in this family. And just once, I’d like to hear you tell Auntie Rosa ‘no.’” Lily stood. “But then again, I guess if you were capable of doing that, you wouldn’t have had to run away in the first place.”
Iris shot up from the floor. “I didn’t run away!”
“Of course you did!” shouted Lily. “And everyone knows it!”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me! I’m on the other side of the world and find out my brother is dead, I rush over here to make it for the funeral, and you won’t even let me grieve in peace. You'd think you'd want us both to have the chance to do that, but maybe you're not grieving at all; maybe you’re glad he’s dead!”
Lily opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her body trembled from the cold that still chilled her and from the rage she felt at Iris for breaking the silence they’d kept about what had happened between her and Henry. Lily couldn’t bring herself to even look at Iris. She was a
fraid she might see a reflection of the pain she still carried in her sister’s eyes. Then she might be forced to look at it, when all she really wanted to do was forget.
Finally, she said, “I am not glad he’s dead. I thought I would be. I used to wish for it, pray for it. I used to think that if Henry died, he would finally get punished and I would be free from the memory of what he did to me. But as it turns out, whether he’s alive or not does not change the past; there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And whether you’re here or whether you’re in your own fairyland in Italy it does not change that you just don’t get it. You never did. And you probably never will. So go on - go do your grieving. Far be it from me to get in your way.”
“You think I live in a fairyland? You think I’m so lucky - you always have - but that’s not how it is! All I do is try! I try so hard, but it doesn’t do any good. You’ll never understand!”
“You’re right. I’ll never understand, that’s for sure. So just do me a favor and go back to your perfect little world with your rich husband and your resort hotel on the sea. Just go.”
“And you just stay put, wallowing in your pool of self-pity! But be careful, if you stay in there much longer, it’s going to stink so bad no one will want to get near you!”
Iris stormed from the room in tears. Lily listened as Jasmine and Violet tenderly consoled her, assuming she was crying over Henry. Lily took her tears into the bathroom where she stayed until she heard the clinking of silverware against stoneware and the rumble of conversation from the kitchen. She then slipped out the back door and drove home. She trudged up to bed and disappeared under her covers, imagining her sisters on their seventh frame, chatting derisively about her absence before turning to order another round of beers.
From: Iris Capotosti
To: Lily Capotosti
Sent: Sun, December 12, 2010 at 9:12 AM
Subject: There are chapters, and there are chapters
Dear Lily,
I’ve been looking at this computer screen for about half an hour, but I keep running away to Facebook to postpone writing. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I don’t know where to begin.
I knew we were getting uncomfortably close to that horrible time of Henry’s death and our quarrel, but I wasn’t sure whether you would skip over it, deal with it, or expect me to. Sugar coatings were never your forte, and true to form, there’s not a trace here. Just the bare bones served up on a platter of bitterness.
When I read those pages yesterday, all the shock and pain and sadness of that time came rushing at me. I sat here alone, staring out my window, in an awful state. I was glad no one was around to look back at me, except the olive trees. I spent the night alone in mourning. For Henry, for you, for me, for us, for our disappointments. For the fact that I couldn’t protect you, even though I was your big sister.
Henry didn’t exactly pick a good time to get himself killed, did he? You were desperately trying to figure out what to do with your life, and so was I. I guess I never fully realized to what extent you were actually struggling to survive on a practical, physical level until you blurted out that you didn’t have the five bucks to go bowling. I always wished you had shared more with me. I would have helped you, if you had only asked. I thought it was just your Capotosti pride, but I know now that I was the last person you would have confided in. Boy, does that sting.
My fairytale life strayed from the plot back then, too, but I didn’t tell anyone what was going on with me, either. Not even Gregorio, and it was his life, too. I was too embarrassed, too terrified, too uncertain.
Our fight really shoved me over the edge. I was in a horrible state when I returned to Italy, and I felt such pain every single time I relived the experience in my mind. Until somehow it scabbed over in my memory. The little blue pills did their part, and so did Max.
That was until yesterday. I never want to feel like that again.
Love,
Iris
P.S. Did I really make that nasty comment about you being glad Henry was dead? I can’t believe I would say something so cruel.
From: Lily Capotosti
To: Iris Capotosti
Sent: Sun, December 19, 2010 at 12:12 AM
Subject: Re: There are chapters, and there are chapters
Dear Iris:
I got your note last week. I just haven’t had the time to write back. Well, I guess I had the time, but then every time I tried, something would happen. I can’t even tell you what. I’ve just been really tired lately and for some reason I’ve been having the strangest dreams. It’s gotten so I’m afraid to fall asleep.
I know what I wrote about Henry’s funeral and the big fight we had wasn’t fun, but I’m just so sick of everyone trying to pretend that everything’s OK when it’s not. I feel like if we were going to gloss over the truth, our whole story would fit on one page. Or even within a paragraph. It might read, “I was born, some shit happened, and then I got over it.” But getting over it and healing aren’t the same thing. Still, I don’t feel like I’m healing either. I feel like I keep ripping open the same sores over and over again. I have to admit to a kind of morbid fascination with my own emotional pathology, you know? It’s like when you’re trying to get a knot out of a gold chain or something. You know that there is a real possibility that you could make it worse by messing with it, but at the same time you keep thinking, “If I could just pull that part through this loop, I am sure I could fix it.” I never do though. The knot just keeps getting bigger and more complicated. (If you tell me I mixed my metaphors, I swear I will get on a plane and fly over there just to slap you. )
Don’t take my reticence about my situation back then too personally, Iris. I can’t even tell you how confused I was. Before Pierce was born, I was volunteering at church to provide food to the needy and by the time Joe and I split, I was the needy. I still remember trying to figure out what time of day to take my trip to the food cupboard so as not to be seen.
Funny, but for someone who once dreamed of being an actress, I spent an awful lot of time and energy hiding. I still do. Back then, it was because I felt so ashamed, and now it’s more a matter of survival I guess. I got pretty good at putting on a front because people tend to not want to hire you if they think you’re a basket case. So I learned to coil it up and shove it down inside for the sake of the paycheck. This twisted little trip down Memory Lane has awakened the viper, so to speak. Maybe that’s why I keep having these spasms in my chest. My doctor says it’s esophagitis. I can’t imagine letting our story drop at this point - I certainly don’t want to remain suspended at this awful juncture, but I can’t honestly say I see it getting easier any time soon.
Don’t feel bad about what you said about me being glad Henry died. Maybe you weren’t being cruel; maybe you were the one being truthful.
Love,
Lily
From: Iris Capotosti
To: Lily Capotosti
Sent: Sun, December 19, 2010 at 8:05 AM
Subject: Re: Re: There are chapters, and there are chapters
Dear Lily,
I was relieved to hear from you. I was beginning to worry.
I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I’ve heard esophagitis can develop into a chronic problem if you don’t take care of it.
Bulldozing down Memory Lane definitely leaves tracks, and we’ve each been churning out a chapter a week for a while now. Why don’t we take a breather over the holidays? ‘Tis the season to be jolly, after all. Maybe it will do us both good. I’m getting into a funk about missing Christmas with the family this year, but by now I know being there in my dreams is sometimes better than the real thing.
Since it will just be the two of us, we were thinking of having a picnic on the beach in Camogli if it’s a nice day.
Love,
Iris
; From: Lily Capotosti
To: Iris Capotosti
Sent: Sun, December 19, 2010 at 1:12 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Re: There are chapters, and there are chapters
Iris:
Taking a break won’t make any of this go away.
I’d rather just keep going. Let’s get this over with.
Enjoy your picnic.
Love,
Lily
5. Iris
“Stromboli!” Max said, as soon as she answered her cell phone.
“What do you mean, Stromboli?” Iris asked, determined to keep the irritation sizzling in her nerves out of her voice. She swerved over to the side of the road, as an Alfa Romeo passed her on the curve, blaring its horn. Was that all he had to say, when she had been waiting for his call all day? It was half past seven on a Friday evening, and she had promised Gregorio she would be ready to leave the house for a dinner with hospital colleagues by eight. She had no time to waste on guessing games.
“That’s where we’re going,” Max said.
“We are?” Since they had first discussed the possibility of spending an entire week together, Max had come up with a dozen different proposals, sending Iris’s imagination soaring all over Italy to explore the majestic beauty of the Alps, the quaint charm of the countryside, the art and architecture of the cities.
“Yes, Capo, we are!” Max sounded genuinely enthusiastic. “The Sicilian tourist board has even agreed to cover expenses for my new American assistant. How about that?”
The Complete Series Page 115