Anna had been perfectly civil since her callous words in the kitchen, yet Isotta still felt tentative around her. Besides, Isotta hoped, irrelevantly, if this foreshadowing is any indication, that some bonding time might encourage Massimo to forget his unsettling request from the other night. She had told him she would think about it, afraid to spur his displeasure, but she’d spent an alarming amount of time trying not to think about it.
Isotta took heart in watching how Massimo relished this day together. He had turned up the charm with her family, and it seemed to have lingered. While Margherita slumbered strapped into her carseat, he reached for Isotta’s hand each time he finished shifting. His thumb ran over her knuckles, smoothing away the anxiety from the last few hours.
As it turned out, nobody had actually criticized her, even tacitly, but she had grown tense waiting for a remark about how worn she looked or how unstylish her dress was or how Margherita didn’t respect her as a mother. Well, there they had nothing to remark on. Margherita had her father’s capacity for charm and had made the rounds, pausing at each knee in turn, to lean in and babble seriously. Plus, her love for Isotta was readily apparent. In fact, the most satisfying moment from the interminably long lunch was when Isotta returned to the dining room after escaping to catch her breath in the bathroom, and Margherita, shouting in wonder and glee, ran to throw her thin arms around Isotta’s knees. Isotta had lifted Margherita up and tucked her into her chest, nuzzling those silky curls. Looking up, she’d seen the surprised faces of her family, and Massimo beaming.
It still caught her off guard, how easily Margherita accepted her as if Isotta were really her mother. But it surprised Isotta just as much how thoroughly the child had melded into her heart—as if they belonged to each other.
Isotta peered back to check on the child.
“She’s fine,” said Massimo, with a smile.
“I know. It’s been a long day, I want her to get a good nap.”
“She will. Listen to her breathe, that’s a deep sleep.”
Isotta placed her right hand over Massimo’s, and used her hands to bring his fingers to her lips to kiss them. He grinned, easily.
Isotta impulsively shared her thoughts, “I can’t believe how much I love her.”
Massimo stiffened. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you?”
Isotta, suddenly wary at Massimo’s change in tone, affected a laugh to sound more casual than she felt. “Well, a few months ago I didn’t know she existed and now I can’t picture my life without her.”
Massimo gritted his teeth before placing his hand back on the gearshift.
Isotta looked out the window and watched the familiar scenery flash by, wondering what she had said to make Massimo withdraw. Wondering how to fix it.
He seemed to recover his spirits as they pulled into the parking lot. Margherita stretched and murmured, “Eccoci!” here we are. She held out her arms for Massimo to unstrap her and once he pulled her out of the car, she lunged at Isotta. Isotta moved swiftly, until the three of them were huddled together, locked in place by the force of Margherita’s love. “Mmm,” breathed Margherita before shouting at the sight of the ocean and squirming to get down.
Massimo leaned down to let his daughter toddle to the low wall. Though they had no schedule, he drew his arm up to check the time before reaching for Isotta and pulling her to his chest. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his hand up and down her back. He kissed her ear and then lifted her chin with his forefinger to force her to look at him. Her eyes searched his, looking for a key to understand if he’d forgiven her for her inadvertent transgression. Maybe it was reminding him of the loss of Margherita’s mother? He smiled and kissed her nose, before taking her hand and moving to help Margherita, who was struggling to throw her little leg over the wall.
Massimo guided his daughter back down and walked her to the opening in the wall that lead to the rustling sea. Yelping, the child chased a lizard into the sea grasses that bordered the wall.
Isotta wanted to ask how long it had been since Margherita had been to the sea, but then realized the last time could well have been the day her mother died, and she loathed to raise the memory. Anyway, she wasn’t clear enough on the story to be sure if Margherita was even there that day.
She leaned into Massimo as they followed the child’s tiny footprints. He put his arm around her, and let his hand fall to her hip. Isotta felt her heart sink into a place of warmth, the way her body always reacted to her husband’s touch. She sighed and put her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to forget the strangeness in the car, and instead focused on the pleasure of his hand sliding up and down her side, his fingers floating to the places he knew made her tremble.
A shriek from Margherita as her feet touched the cold water startled her into alertness.
She rushed to Margherita, urging her to step back from the water, but Massimo pulled her back. “So her shoes get wet. Come here.”
Isotta cast one more worried glance at Margherita. Was she fine? The ocean looked calm, and damp shoes could be remedied, as long as Anna never saw them. Her mother-in-law rankled at the oddest things. Like last week, when Isotta wondered aloud if essential oils might soothe Margherita’s bug bites. Isotta had spent an hour cleaning up the dry beans Anna had dropped as a spasm seemed to grip her. Isotta hadn’t bothered telling Massimo about the incident. She had learned that he did not like to talk about his mother, unless it was to praise her exemplary
