Courting Trouble

What is this, Italian Chemistry? “Mrs. DiNunzio, water and oil will always separate—”

“Anna, you have malocchio very bad. You have trouble, inside, yes?” Her eyes were so kind, and her soft voice so concerned that Anne couldn’t help but feel the truth behind her words, despite the silly bowl of spreading Bertoli.

“Okay, I admit it, I have trouble,” she found herself answering, low so Mary couldn’t hear, if she was lingering in the dining room.

Mrs. DiNunzio was pointing at Anne’s lip, directly at her scar. “I see you have, come se dice?” Her forehead wrinkled with concentration.

“A cleft lip.”

“Madonna mia! A gift from God!”

“A gift?” Anne blurted out. “It’s a curse!”

“No, no.” Mrs. DiNunzio waved her finger between them, slowly. “God, a gift, he give you. You are so beautiful, Anna, that people, they will be jealous. They will hate you. God knows this. This is a gift from God, and you must thank him.”

I’ll get right on that, Anne thought. She couldn’t imagine a God who would give a cleft lip to any kid, much less one with bright-red hair. Why? To make sure nobody would miss it?

“Shhhh.” Mrs. DiNunzio squeezed her hand. “Close your eyes, Anna. I’m gonna help you. Let me help you. Nobody gonna hurt you no more.”

Anne couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes. It was absurd, wasn’t it? There was no such things as ghosts, or the evil eye.

“Close your eyes, Anna!” Mrs. DiNunzio ordered, and Anne found herself doing as she was told. She closed her eyes and in a minute focused on the warmth of Mrs. DiNunzio’s hand on hers. Breathed in the wonderful smells of the garlic and onions. Eased into the softness of the plastic pad on her chair. Listened to the percolating of the tomato sauce. In the next minute, Mrs. DiNunzio was mumbling softly in Italian, in a cadence regular and calming. Anne couldn’t understand the words and she didn’t try. In the next minute she felt a warm fingerpad, slick with oil, on her forehead.

“What are you doing?” Anne whispered.

“Shhh! I make sign of cross. Three times. Shhhh!” Mrs. DiNunzio resumed her chanting, presumably lifting the spell of the evil eye, and Anne would have laughed at the absurdity of it, except that she couldn’t help but listen to the motherly tones of Mrs. DiNunzio’s voice and loved the warmth of the oil spreading across her aching forehead. She felt somehow blessed to be in this kitchen, which was a remarkable conclusion for someone who didn’t believe in God, the evil eye, or even mothers.

“Open your eyes, Anna,” Mrs. DiNunzio whispered, with a final squeeze of her hand.

Anne did as she was told and looked at Mrs. DiNunzio, whose dark eyes drew her in like a loving embrace. She held Anne’s gaze like that for a minute, and squeezed her hand across the table without speaking.

“All better now, Anna,” Mrs. DiNunzio announced, after a moment. But it didn’t sound like a question and didn’t seek confirmation. In the next instant, Mrs. DiNunzio was reaching around her own neck for a long gold chain Anne hadn’t seen before, tugging it from behind her apron and lifting it over her head and pink hairnet. It was a gold necklace, and Mrs. DiNunzio handed it across the table to Anne. “Anna, you take. For you. Take.”

“No, Mrs. DiNunzio!” Anne didn’t get it. The woman was giving her jewelry now? It was a longish gold chain with a fourteen-carat gold charm swinging at the end. “I can’t possibly take it. I can’t take your necklace from you.”

“Take! Take! See!” Mrs. DiNunzio caught the charm and showed it between gnarled fingers, fingerpads still glistening with olive oil. The charm gleamed in the light and was shaped like a wiggly pepper. “Is for you! A cornu, a horn. You take! For protect you, from the malocchio!” She handed it to Anne, who pressed it back.

“No, I couldn’t, really.”

“Take! Is gift, from me. From me to you, Anna!” Mrs. DiNunzio’s tone grew almost agitated. She dropped the necklace on the table in front of Anne, where it landed with the tiniest jingling sound. “You need, Anna! You must have!”

“Mrs. DiNunzio, I can’t—”

“TAKE IT!” Mary shouted from somewhere in the dining room, and Mrs. DiNunzio smiled.

“I can’t, Mary!” Anne called out.

“TAKE IT OR SHE WON’T LET US BACK IN!”

“Please, take!” Mrs. DiNunzio reached across the table, picked up the necklace, and slipped it over Anne’s head with finality. “Perfetto, Anna. Now you stay safe.”

“Thank you so much,” Anne said, overwhelmed. She looked down at the gold chain, glinting in the kitchen light, and held the oily horn in her palm. She didn’t really understand how a charm could keep away the evil eye, but she felt so touched that Mrs. DiNunzio had given it to her that she couldn’t keep the wetness from her eyes.

“MY COFFEE’S GETTING COLD!” Mary shouted, and they all laughed.

“Okay, Maria!” Mrs. DiNunzio called back, smiling with obvious relief. “All better now. No worry now.”

Mary came in, clapping. “So you kept it! Good for you. Now you have Italian insurance. The Prudential has nothing on us, do they?”

Anne blinked the tears away, and when she found her voice, could say only one thing: “You’re lucky, Mary. You know that?”

“I certainly do.” Mary came over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, and behind her, her father shuffled into the kitchen, bearing his coffee cup.

“How’s your headache, Anna?” he asked, and Anne had to think a minute. Actually, she didn’t feel anything. Her head was amazingly clear.

“It’s gone!” she answered. It was the truth, and no one was surprised but her.

“Anne, wake up,” Mary was saying, her voice loud in Anne’s ear. “It’s morning. You have to wake up. Anne?”

Anne didn’t open her eyes. She was so sleepy. The pillow was so soft. Her tummy was awash with spaghetti, sweet sausage, and chianti. She wasn’t getting up.

“Anne, Anne!” Mary was shaking her gently, insistent. “Wake up, it’s important.”

Anne opened an eye and took in her surroundings. The bedroom was small, clean, and spare, the walls creamy white. High school Latin trophies and religious statues cluttered a white shelf. A square of sunlight struggled through a lace curtain. It must be morning. A night table sat six inches from her nose, and on it glowed the red numbers of a digital clock. 6:05. Anne moaned. “It’s so early.”

“Wake up! You have to see this!” Mary’s tone was urgent, and she held up a copy of the Daily News. “Look!”

“What?” Anne started to ask, but the question lodged in her throat when she saw the headline. Her eyes flew open. She took the newspaper and sat bolt upright. “This can’t be true!”

“It is. I called Bennie and it’s all over the web. She’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Maybe it’s just more lousy reporting? Gonzos at work?” Anne blinked at the front page in disbelief. Her headache roared back. Then, with a bolt of fear, she remembered. They’d fallen asleep around two o’clock, after calling Bennie for the tenth time, to see if Kevin had been taken into custody. “Didn’t Bennie call last night, about Kevin? Didn’t they arrest him?”

“No. The cops never got him. He never came back to the motel. He’s still out there. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you’re in danger now, Anne. We have to get you out of here.”

Anne couldn’t take her eyes from the newspaper. She flashed back to the tabloid from the first morning, when this had all started. But today’s headline was even worse. She read it over and over:

MURPHY’S MOM: “NOT MY DAUGHTER!”

Underneath the headline was a photo of Anne’s mother. And she was standing in front of the city morgue.

25

The commissioner’s private conference room at the Roundhouse was large and