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“Bianca is right. It is not a crime to be who God intended. Rebelling against what God made us, that seems more the crime,” Donvino stated proudly, loudly, and without pause.
“But people will hurt you, Donvino,” Giada choked out then sniffled, her sight on her hands.
The air in the room became sad. She was not lying. Some people might try to hurt him, or me, for being queer. I’d been roughed up many a time back in the prep school days just for being a little effeminate. But for every shove, swat, slap, or punch given to me living, my truth was worth all the slings and arrows.
“Yes, maybe so, but keeping myself in a lie is hurting me more.” Now, at last, he released my hand to slide from the chair to kneel beside his grandmother. He lifted her work-worn hands from her lap and kissed the dry knuckles. “Nonna, this is who I am. Arlo did not make me gay. He has just helped me see that I can be shameless gay.”
Bianca looked at me in confusion.
“It kind of gets lost in translation,” I replied in English. She nodded but was clearly still baffled.
“People will talk,” Giada replied so softly I had to lean over the table to catch her words. Yep, they would, for sure. And they would say terrible things. But I knew Giada was strong enough to withstand anything thrown at her. She just had to come to grips with the fact that her grandson was not going to be the man she had envisioned for all those years. Children grew up to be the people they were destined to be, not the ones that their caretakers wished them to be.
“And we will ignore them,” Alessio chimed in, his eyes dewy. “And if they say bad things about the homosexuals, I will punch them in the nose just like Donvino did that dimwit cousin of his. I will not even say his name. Assholes do not get names. They are just ‘asshole’ from now on!”
That broke the tension. We all snickered. Giada chided her husband. Then, because she adored Donvino as much as I did, she leaned into her grandson for a tearful hug. He gathered her close. They whispered apologies to each other. I cried a little. Okay, I cried a lot. Bianca cried. Alessio swiped at his face, then got up to make sandwiches for lunch. Fat ones filled with pork loin seasoned with pepper, rosemary, and garlic. Olives, of course, on the side, as well as seasoned tomatoes and a dish of leftover cucumber and zucchini doused in olive oil, also Bonetti Farms brand.
Giada rose from her seat to set the table, her eyes still moving to me as if she was not quite sure if her honesty was going to come back to bite her or not. It wouldn’t. I was too thrilled to see Donvino smiling again, a true smile, one that lit up his eyes. That was what being able to be yourself did for a soul. It illuminated it.
We were all ready to eat when Alessio was called to come gather my aunt from Señorina Capello’s house in the city. Sighing as he went, we all ate a quiet but not uncomfortable meal, making some awkward small talk about the weather or sports. Keeping a distance from the fact that Donvino had done something monumentally huge that would impact this tiny clan in ways none of them could foresee. God knows my coming out had rocked my world, and my father’s, in numerous ways. But, over time, the tremors should subside, leaving them to only worry about the small aftershocks from the hateful assholes in the world.
An hour passed, and we were all just about to gather up the dishes and clean up when Alessio came in through the back door.
“Donvino,” Alessio said as he removed his driver’s cap, “Signora needs her bags taken upstairs, please. Giada, she would like some food to be taken to—”
“If it’s all the same to you, might I be able to join you here?” Ginerva said from the doorway, her weight bearing down on her cane. She looked quite washed out.
“Signora,” everyone said at once, rising to their feet as if the King of England had just entered the room. “The kitchen is not meant for you,” Giada replied while staring at her employer, then at us as if her mind was on the verge of total shutdown. She had to be wondering just how many changes one woman was expected to face in one day.
“Looking about, I think the kitchen is very much where I wish to be,” Ginerva answered with a tone of finality that none would brook.
I hurried over to escort my great-aunt to my seat. She settled gracefully, smiling wearily up at me as I took her cane and hung it off the back of her chair.
“How is Señorina Cappello?” I asked as my aunt was given food, drink, and a fan was brought out of a closet in the hall by Donvino. He placed it on the counter next to a clump of green herbs from the tiny herb garden out back.
“She is better. Her lungs are not so good,” my aunt explained as Donvino got the fan plugged in. My aunt thanked him with a nod, placed her napkin on her lap, and then picked up an olive to inspect it. Was that something all Bonettis were supposed to do? Hell, I wouldn’t know a good olive from a bad olive. Which was not exactly great for a guy who was being promoted to manager of an olive farm. Perhaps I should discuss things with my father or my aunt who seemed to be pleased enough with the olive she ate because she sighed in pleasure. “She is resting now and should recover within a week. She is quite stubborn and always overdoes. Then that damn pipe!”
“She sounds like someone else I know,” I tossed out and got a sharp look from my aunt. The others were still standing about nervously. “Please, sit back down, everyone. We’re not royalty. We’re just people who grow good olives.”
Ginerva inclined her head and then and only then did the others take their seats. Donvino stood since my aunt was in his chair, and I shot him a soft smile as he adjusted the fan to blow on Ginerva’s damp brow.
“I do not smoke a pipe,” my aunt parried and began cutting her sandwich with her knife and fork. I chuckled behind my hand. Such a prim and proper thing Ginerva Bonetti was. “The doctor has been to see her, pronounced her on the mend, and stated that she should not smoke anymore. Which is like speaking to that fan, for the words will go in and simply blow out the other side.”
“Again, just like someone else I know.” I batted my lashes at the grand dame.
“You’re too clever for your own good, Arlo,” Ginerva said, waving at the others at the table with her fork, her gaze moving around the small gathering. “Thank you for the sandwich. It is lovely. And the tea is light and floral. This is…nice.”
I so wanted to say that I had told her so, but I let it pass. Sometimes people needed to come to their own conclusions on their own timetables. We lingered there for a spell. After my great-aunt ate, I escorted her to her bedroom and told her to rest with her stockings on and her feet up. This time she didn’t argue, which showed how rundown she must be. Once she was abed with a book while her feet rested on a pillow, I eased out of her room. Lucia met me as I slipped out the back door, my goal the herb garden where Donvino was weeding. As I passed the large garden door to the docks, I paused to look out at the Arno. It was incredibly low. A few ducks flew past and landed on the water with a splash. I made a mental note to go visit them in the morning. The scull was no longer resting on the dock, or in the water. It was at Bianca’s still in the back of her truck. That dream was in limbo. Maybe, just maybe, if things worked out, it might be resurrected. All we needed was some luck and some rain to plump up the waterways. Surely that wasn’t asking for too much, was it?
I found him on his knees, a marvelous place for him to be in my humble opinion, his shirt off, his back slick with perspiration. His shirt lying next to him in a tight ball. The wrinkles would be set for sure. Still, he looked delicious.
“Buongiorno,” I said as I knelt beside him in the green grass. Yes, still green. My aunt was watering her lawn. I could foresee some major issues with the local government about her water usage in the near future. He glanced at me as he sat back on his heels, his torso slick with sweat. He looked delicious. “How are you feeling?”
“I am feeling as good as I think is possible,” he replied and swiped at his wet brow with a dirty hand, leaving a streak of rich loam on his forehead. “She is upset still, I feel in my heart, but maybe is less so now?”
“I agree. Give her time. It’s a big change for everyone.” I plucked a blade of grass from the lawn and ran it down his beefy bicep. The muscle twitched. He gave me a sly look that made my balls tingle. “I’m feeling a little intimidated again.”
“Oh why?” He placed his hands on his jeans, smearing mud into the denim. Honestly, the man had no respect for clothing.
