“No. There is an age difference, and anyway, my sisters are gorgeous.”
To Luciano’s furrowed eyebrows, Isotta went on, “It’s hard to be the shy, plain one in a family of socially gifted, beautiful girls.”
“You don’t seem plain to me. Or shy.”
Isotta pulled his arm closer as she picked her way around a loose scattering of stones. “Well, it’s easy to talk to you.”
Luciano snorted.
“No, it’s true! And anyway, I’m probably less shy nowadays because of Margherita.”
“Margherita?”
“Yes. She is so outrageous and engaged with everyone and everything, she keeps me from hiding.”
Luciano whispered, “She sounds wonderful.”
Isotta grinned, “Oh, she is. I can’t believe how much I love her.”
Noticing how pale Luciano was, Isotta gestured to a bench up ahead. Luciano nodded, grateful. He said, “I don’t mean to keep you from your exercise. You don’t need to keep pace with an old man. You are welcome to go ahead.”
Patting his hand, Isotta said, “I’m just fine. My mother-in-law took Margherita to visit relatives for a few days. It’s nice to be able to sit for no reason.”
The two of them surveyed the rooftops below, people passing on the street and clustered in the piazza. At the castle, workmen were building a pit for the cinghiale roast.
Isotta tipped her face toward the sun and breathed deeply.
Luciano bit his lip, coughed, then was quiet.
Isotta turned to him, “You know what, I’ve been going on and on, but I don’t know anything about you. Do you have children?”
Luciano pulled in a deep breath to quiet his racing heart. Was now the time? He looked directly into Isotta’s ethereal eyes. “I had one daughter.”
“Had?”
Luciano pushed his glasses back onto his nose before looking away. No, he just couldn’t do it.
“It’s a story for another time.”
As they picked their way along the path, Isotta trailing her fingers through the shimmering olive leaves, Luciano wondered if he could ever tell her. She seemed happy with her life. Was it really his job to ruin that for her? To lay devastation on her doorstep?
Chiara stepped outside into the strengthening morning light. Thank the Madonna the weather was clear and looked to stay that way. A faint breeze brought the scent of bay leaves from a nearby garden, and the swallows were scribing invisible sonnets to the endless blue sky. She smiled. At least it was a perfect day for the sagra.
Hefting her boxes higher onto her arms, she ran through her mental list of tasks to prepare the bar for the influx of people who would start trickling in soon, though the festival wouldn’t really begin until evening.
As she placed her foot on the first step, she heard a clattering behind her.
“Chiara!”
She was afraid of this. She’d been able to successfully avoid Fabrizio since the day in the bar when she finally revealed her marital status. It had been difficult. Luckily the swelling of Santa Lucia’s population in anticipation of the festival meant that Edo didn’t wonder why she required his presence beside her so often at the bar.
She paused. Fabrizio caught up and said, “I’m so glad I caught you.”
“Yes, well, I have to get this box to the castle and then get back to the bar.”
Before Fabrizio could respond, Marcello, gussied up in his dress-day police uniform, jogged down the steps with uncharacteristic lightness. He paused to narrow his eyes at Fabrizio before greeting Chiara, “Beautiful day for the sagra!”
“It is. Is Laura well enough?”
“Not quite yet. But I’ll fetch her a plate. The medicine must be doing something odd to her digestion, she has an insatiable craving for boar ear. Giuseppe just promised to save one for her. “
Chiara chuckled, “How funny, I seem to remember she was always pestering Giuseppe to save the ear from the porchetta when she was pregnant with you. I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
Marcello nodded and rocked up on the balls of his feet a few times while jingling the keys in his pocket. He looked from Chiara to Fabrizio who gazed levelly at the brass buttons on the police officer’s uniform. After a beat, Marcello leaned forward and asked in a lowered voice, “Anything I can help you with here, Chiara?”
“No, I’m fine. Just send my regards to Laura and tell her I’ll be by to visit tomorrow.”
“Okay, then.” After another searching pause, Marcello hurried down the stairs and turned right down Via Romana to the police station in the piazza.
Chiara followed him with her eyes before turning to Fabrizio, “Okay, so I hope you enjoy the sagra—”
“What? No! Chiara, we have to talk about—”
“We don’t have to talk about anything, actually. I’ve already said too much.”
“Here, let me carry some of the boxes. Where are we taking them?”
“To the castle gate.”
“Oh, they’re light. What is it?” Fabrizio asked as he fell in step beside Chiara.
“Torta al testo. I ordered extra from my supplier to serve with the cinghiale. It’s my contribution to the sagra. Sauro at the forno can’t manage the flatbread, what with all the other bread he has to make.”
“That’s nice of you.”
Chiara shrugged. “You can just put them here.”
Fabrizio placed his boxes on top of hers and the two of them straightened to watch the activity in the garden. Men fussed with the fire pit, calling to Giuseppe who was supervising the placement of the cinghiale on the spit. Clutches of people bustled about setting up tables with an air of importance. Chiara smiled.
She felt Fabrizio slip his hand into hers and she shook it off, turning
