Whatever awaited her at home would probably be easier to bear with a sweetened stomach.
Edoardo rounded the doorway back into Bar Birbo. “Ciao, Chiara!”
Chiara kept her gaze on the tin shaker she was filling with cacao powder while answering, “Ciao, Edo! Did you get gelato?”
For a moment he was tempted to confide in his aunt, to tell her how he’d seen the boys from his school days. The ones that would make fun of everything from the color of his shoes to his awkwardness during wrestling. He’d lost his appetite. He supposed he could have gotten a gelato on his way back to the bar, but he’d gotten distracted by the sight of two girls sitting on the comune steps beside the gelateria. One was the girl who he always spotted running to and from school. He almost didn’t recognize her, Elisa he thought her name was. She’d pushed her hair off her face, behind her ears, as she leaned forward to listen to the other girl. He’d even seen a brief flash of a smile. It occurred to him that he’d never before seen that girl smile. Which was a shame, her smile was lovely, softening the hard angles of her face and bringing a golden cast to her pallid features. The other, foreign, girl was new to Santa Lucia, but he’d seen her sauntering back and forth to school, eyes often gazing upward to catch sight of the underside of the roof overhangs and the trim around the windows. Her curiosity at her surroundings always prompted him to peer into the same shadows to see what she saw.
He’d been so charmed, he’d paused to watch the girls. Ava, who had been passing with a box of lavender seedlings, had stopped beside him. The two of them had stood there, silent, just watching. As he’d said goodbye to Ava, he’d noticed she looked wistful. He wondered if her youth had been any easier than his. It should be noted that Ava’s youth was ripe with its share of tragedy. But that’s a story for another day.
Deciding not to burden his aunt, who was already laden with the confidences of Santa Lucia’s coffee drinkers, he smacked his stomach and declared, “Nah. I decided that a few moments of sweet bliss aren’t worth losing my girlish figure.” Here he put one hand behind his head and the other on his waist like a pinup model next to a Ferrari.
Chiara laughed easily. “No chance of that, Edo, what with all the weights you lift and those long bike rides.”
“Well, one never knows,” Edoardo waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Just one gelato could be the thing that sends my trim body running for the hills.”
Chiara looked down at the substantial flesh straining a bit against her shirt and sighed. “Maybe that’s what happened to me. One too many gelati.”
Edoardo cried in mock horror and then ran to throw his arms around his aunt. “You are beautiful. Always have been, always will be. No amount of gelato will change that.”
Chiara squeezed her nephew, then pulled away to pat his cheek affectionately. “You are a sweet boy, Edo. Now get to work.”
Edoardo dropped the three euros back in the register before removing a fresh apron and tying it briskly around his hips. He asked, nonchalantly, “Did you get a hold of my father?”
“Yes. It’s all set. You should go home early today though and talk to them. Plus, you’ll need to pack.”
“Really? He wasn’t angry?”
“He wasn’t pleased, but he doesn’t like the tension any more than you do. He made sure to order me to tell you that he loves you.”
Edo grinned. “I can’t believe it. When can I move in?”
“Tonight? Tomorrow? It won’t take me long to clear out the spare room. It’s just full of boxes of water right now.”
“I can move those, let me do it.”
Chiara nodded.
Edo sighed and shook his head, surprised at how expansive he felt without the weight he hadn’t realized he had been lugging. “Any action while I was gone?”
“Let’s see. Vincenzo came in and complained that Roberta in the apartment above him is watering her plants just when he looks out the window. He’s sure it’s deliberate.”
“Ha! Does he think Roberta waits all day for him to put his head out of the window? Though come to think of it, I wouldn’t put it past her. That woman has the patience and tenacity of a ragno.”
Chiara poked Edoardo on the shoulder, “Don’t let Roberta hear you compare her to a spider! But, yes, agreed. Then again, she’s a tea drinker, and they are a shifty lot.” Chiara mugged. “What else? Oh! Laura came in ostensibly for a marocchino, but really because she’s just so full of excitement that Marcello—you know her son? He’s not that much older than you, and a police officer—he passed his exams and is beginning work in Santa Lucia. She wanted to talk more about how they are overworking him already, but Dante, the mayor, not the bricklayer, dropped in for a glass of wine.”
“It’s early for him, isn’t it? He usually drinks wine in the evening.”
“Yes, but he needed some relaxation. He just got word from VUS that they are going to be repairing the water lines that run under the piazza through November, maybe even December.”
“Okay. And? That’s good right? People have been grumbling about the lack of water pressure for years.”
“Yes, but Edo—the festival. Where will the men roast the cinghiale? Or set up the tables?”
“Madonna mia! I’d forgotten! Cavolo, Chiara, won’t that be bad for the bar, too?”
“Certainly, unless the council figures out a place to hold the sagra. That income gets us through the winter.”
Edo bit his lip and thought as he emptied the little round dishwasher. “I suppose our terrazza is too small.”
“Far too small. But maybe we can do the roast out there, and set the tables throughout the streets.”
“That might work.” Edoardo’s vision was caught by a man in mismatched pants and
