Patrizia’s knees slid out from under her. She stumbled and regained her balance. “Fatima?” She breathed. “What was she doing here? Her family doesn’t come to the sagra.”
“I know. I was just talking to her mother about it yesterday. The smell of pork turns their stomach.”
“But . . .”
“The smoke must have filled the room before she knew what was happening.”
“Oh, Madonna, is she okay? Will she be okay?”
“I don’t know. She’s breathing, but she’s not gaining consciousness, even after I poured water on her forehead and hands. Somebody is coming?”
“Yes. Giovanni. He’s run to get his Ape, it’s parked in the piazza.”
“Good. I’ll meet him, get our car, and drive her to the hospital.”
“I want to come with you.”
“There won’t be room in the Ape, I’ll call you when I get to the hospital.”
“Giuseppe, what if she . . .”
“Don’t say it. Just pray.”
“I can’t tell the others. You heard them. What if they say she started it, that it’s her fault?”
“Nobody who knows Fatima would believe . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“We know that, but those people.” Patrizia gestured uselessly to the taut group of watchers straining to hear their whispers.
“I have to go. If they accuse her, we have to trust that it will blow over.”
The rattle of the Ape cut through the sound of people milling through the town, aimless now without the sagra or the fire to pull them together.
Patrizia nodded, “Go! He’s coming.” Giuseppe pressed his cheek against his wife’s.
“I’ll call you.”
Blinking hard, Patrizia nodded again. “Sii con Dio.”
Giuseppe effortlessly hoisted Fatima a little higher. He strode to the steps, carefully picking his way down while steadying his shoulder against the stone wall. Patrizia watched him walk away and focused on bringing air into her body. She slowly turned back to the castle lawn, filled now with low voices.
Fighting the tears that threatened to overcome her, Patrizia wondered if God could see fit to kill an innocent.
Isotta handed Luciano a cup of warm camomilla. He looked up at her candlelit face gratefully, his tense fingers stretching around the warm cup.
“Grazie.”
“Of course. Luciano, that sounds horrifying.”
“It was. Thank the Madonna it was caught relatively early. When it started, it looked like it would take the groves down. L’Ora Dorata was damaged, so of course Luigi is carrying on that this will ruin him. But he’s forgetting that insurance will pay for it. Unless he’s just looking for a reason to shut down the restaurant. I know it wasn’t making him the profit he’d imagined when he moved here, and now with the prospect of repairs, perhaps he’s just out of energy.” Luciano sighed, “He may feel differently tomorrow. Maybe we all will.”
Isotta sank into the chair beside Luciano and sipped her tea. “And nobody was hurt?”
“No. I stayed out of the way, but I was at the bottom of the steps when they called down that the fire was contained, and then over, and nobody was hurt beyond minor burns. Well, a child slipped on the steps in everyone’s hurry to leave, but a skinned knee? That feels like a blessing compared to what could have happened.”
Poor Luciano. When he finds out . . .
The two of them watched the stars glimmering tentatively from behind the veil of smoke.
Luciano murmured, “It’s going to require a lot of cleanup. I’ll head over there in the morning.”
Isotta nodded, her eyes fixed on a winking star. “I’d like to help. Santa Lucia has come to feel like home. But I don’t want to run into . . .”
“No. Of course not. And Isotta, I must tell you. I ran into Massimo.”
Isotta’s breath caught. “Does he know I’m here? I heard knocking but I didn’t know . . .”
“He suspects, yes. We should have counted on the Santa Lucia gossip chain.”
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I guess it was only a matter of time. I’ll need to leave in the morning.”
“If you can stay for breakfast, I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”
Isotta turned her head to Luciano. “Friends?”
“Yes, there are two little girls who come over once or twice a week. I tutor Elisa, mostly with math. She’s taken to sharing her drawings with me, I think you’d really enjoy them, she has a unique vision. I wonder if that friend of yours you mentioned who teaches at the art school in Florence might be interested in seeing Elisa’s work. And Fatima. Well, Fatima is like a dose of asparina, she has a knack for relieving tension. You’ll like them. Maybe have your send off from Santa Lucia be the kind where you know you’re always welcome back.”
Tears pricked Isotta’s eyes. “Oh, Luciano, it’s going to take me some time to figure out how all this happened. How I was so blind for so long. And Margherita. I just don’t know.”
A banging on the door swallowed Isotta’s next words.
“Isotta! I know you’re in there! Isotta! Come out!”
Isotta breathed, “Massimo.”
Luciano stood, “I’ll take care of it.”
“No. I don’t want you becoming a target. This is my fight. I guess I was stupid to think I could leave without this happening. I’ll go.”
Isotta stood, and Luciano put a hand on her arm, “Isotta! I believe there’s something wrong with him. I didn’t tell you everything about what happened earlier tonight. He’s not rational.”
“He won’t hurt me.”
To Luciano’s uncertain expression, Isotta added, “Okay, well, yes, he’s emotionally wounded me, but—“
Luciano said in a rush, “He hit me.”
“What?”
“He punched me down, kicked me. I’m telling you, I don’t think he’s in his right mind.”
“Are you hurt?”
“My
