The woman looked at her child, and sagged. “No, not yet. I found your note as I got up to go shopping. I panicked. Oh, Elisa. I hurt you.” She reached out her hand to touch Elisa’s face.
“It’s okay, Mamma. We’ll go shopping now. We’ll go shopping together. It will be okay.”
But the woman stopped moving, she was staring at the angry welt on her daughter’s face. “Elisa?”
“Come on, Mamma, let’s go. Quickly, now.” Elisa pulled her mother forward, out of the park. She didn’t look back to see Fatima, arms wrapped around her skinny knees, watching, as Elisa and her mother stumbled out of the park.
Fatima rubbed the red from her lips, finally using her arm to wipe across her mouth. She stood up, brushed the seat of her pants free of dirt, and slowly walked home.
“Chiara! Did you hear?” Arturo blew into the bar, his cheeks flushed from the wind and his news.
Chiara wiped the bar free of a scattering of sugar from the teenage boys that just left. “About what?” She hoped it wasn’t fresh evidence against his gorgeous wife, who was, truth be told, probably having an affair. But Chiara hated to see Arturo spinning like a decapitated chicken rather than making a move to extricate himself from the situation.
“Massimo is getting married!”
“Ah, yes.”
“You knew?” Arturo’s face fell. He’d been sure he held the keys to this news. Anna, Massimo’s mother, had proudly told him just this morning.
“Anna came in this morning.”
“Oh, well. Can you believe it? Giulia died, what? A year ago?”
Chiara measured her response. It didn’t seem like Arturo knew the juiciest part of this gossip, and on the off-chance that it was all in her head, Chiara wasn’t daring to say anything. “Not exactly a year.” She ducked to check the number of bottles of water on the shelf.
“Well, I say it’s not normal.”
“What’s not normal?” asked Patrizia, unwinding the scarf from her head as she walked in the door.
Arturo whipped toward Patrizia, and before Chiara could rise, he said, “Massimo is getting married!”
“Yes, I heard.”
Arturo was crestfallen. “How did you find out?”
“I saw him with Margherita at the park when I was there with my grandson. He told me.”
“He did? He told you? Did he say anything about his fidanzata?”
“The usual. She’s wonderful, smart, beautiful.” At this Chiara stood, a confused expression furrowing her eyebrows. She swallowed, then crouched down below the counter again as Patrizia continued. “Oh! I think he said she’s from Florence. A city girl. I wonder how she’ll cope with the quiet here.”
“Florence! I didn’t know that part. I wonder how he met her?”
“Met who?” said Edoardo, entering the bar from the door behind the counter.
Chiara turned and faced her nephew with a carefully neutral expression on her face, “Arturo and Patrizia were talking about Massimo getting married.”
Edoardo felt a hook pulling him into the conversation, but one look at Chiara’s still face and he stalled. He took his time closing the door, then latched it softly before turning to the bar. “Ah, yes. Wonderful news.” He glanced over at Chiara and saw her nod in approval. Edo ran his teeth over his lower lip, and then passed his aunt with a pat on her shoulder before opening the drawer to pull out his apron.
“Wonderful?” shouted Arturo. “Isn’t anyone else shocked that he’d be getting married with his wife hardly cold in the ground?”
All heads turned. Chiara murmured, “Now, Arturo . . .”
Arturo looked chastened, “None of you think it’s strange? Un caffè, by the way, Chiara.”
“Sure, un attimo.” Chiara washed her hands, and when she turned to dry them, everyone was studying different corners of the bar, not speaking. “You want one, Edo?”
“Yes, thanks, Zia.”
The bar was quiet as Chiara prepared the coffee. All heads faced the door as Bea swept in, “Fa un freddo cane! It’s so cold out there!” She removed her coat and hung it by the door. “Did you hear? Massimo is getting married!”
Arturo’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think that’s a little soon?”
“Yes! Giulia, bless her heart, died just a year ago! And we all thought he was pining for her. Ha! He was making moves on another woman. Maybe loads of women, for all we know.”
Chiara set Arturo’s coffee in front of him and gestured toward it to Bea. Bea nodded, and then said, “Wait, no make it un cappuccino.” She reached for a sugar packet and started shaking it by the corner as she looked around, “It’s disturbing, no?”
Arturo nodded, “Yes! That’s just what I was saying!”
Chiara, Patrizia, and Edoardo tried not to look at each other—Chiara pulling shots for Edo and Bea, Edo retying his apron, Patrizia studying the drink menu she’d no doubt memorized since it had rarely changed in her lifetime.
Bea shook her head. “Poor Giulia must be rolling over in her grave.”
Arturo shot a look at Chiara, but she focused on filling the metal pitcher with milk. He pressed on firmly, “Esatto. What do you know about the woman he’s marrying?”
Bea sighed as she ripped open her sugar packet. “Only what the men were saying in the piazza. She works at the bank. I think she has a big family in Florence, though no one recognized her surname.”
Chiara handed the espresso to Edoardo and the cappuccino to Bea, who thanked her before asking, “Chiara, you must know something. Dai, come on, tell us!”
Chiara shook her head, “No, that’s more than I knew.”
“Ha! What a crock,” snickered Bea. “You forget, I dated your uncle before he married your aunt. I know this bar is the hotbed of gossip. The stories he told me! It’s one of the reasons I refused to marry him, you know. I would hate to hold everybody’s secrets. I don’t know how you do it, Chiara.”
Chiara smiled and began stacking cups in the dishwasher.
Arturo groaned, “Oh, no, here comes the German.”
Bea rolled her eyes. “I wonder what we’re doing wrong today. Last week she told me I should be feeding
