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“You will address me as Signora Bonetti,” Aunt Ginerva announced. No surprise there, but she did temper her words with a kind look at Donvino.
“You should tell them about what Piravino said to you,” Donvino said as he pushed his tray away, his unease over using first names morphing into something angry and dark.
My father and aunt’s gaze flew from Donvino to me. I took another nervous sip of my juice.
“Arlo, what did Piravino say to you?” Dad enquired, leaning up in his chair, sharp gaze riveted to me and me alone. That was the look that always made me testy, nervous, and snappy, just like one of those sweater-wearing Chihuahuas of Señorina Cappello’s. The look that said I had done something incredibly stupid, and he was ashamed of me. Again.
“Nothing. It was stupid. He was just upset that I took his place at the mill,” I replied with a carefree attitude that I did not feel. “Some bullshit about eradicating cursed souls or something. Very old school biblical shit that I didn’t think was important. If I worried about every Bible quote nonsense some hater slung my way, I’d never get out of bed.”
“Arlo, that should have been put into a report for HR immediately,” Dad snarled, and I bristled like a cocky Bantam rooster instantly.
“Instead of sending Lowell, maybe you should have taken a few days of your own precious time to spend time at the mill with me when you forced me into this position. Seems pretty damn sad to me that the only way I get to see you is when I nearly die.”
The room went silent as a tomb. A crack of thunder shook the skies and the hospital as if Zeus himself was pissed at my comeback. Now that it was out, I wasn’t exactly proud of it either, but there it was, floating in the air like a rancid poison cloud. Toxic AF it was.
“Arlo, that was unkind,” Ginerva scolded, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses as she gripped her cane tightly. “I think your father deserves an apology.”
“No, zia, no, he’s right.” He looked right at me. “I should have flown over. I should have worked beside you instead of Lowell. I should have heard the hate thrown at you by one of our own and punched him in the face for his impudence. I should have done so much, son, over the years. Sometimes it takes a close call to drive home…” He paused, ran his hands through his hair, and then drew in a shaky breath. “I should have learned when we lost your mother. She always said you were a child that required more than most, but I had no clue how to give you that. More. How could I give you more when I didn’t know how to give you the minimum that you required?” He glanced at Ginerva, who stiffened in her seat, chin rising. “Our family is not known for hands-on child rearing.”
“Weak children grow into weak adults,” Ginerva stated as rain buffeted the window behind her. “I was raised to be strong, and so I raised you, Tommaso, to be formidable as well. These young people today are scared to venture forth into the world unless they have safe places to run to as if they were living in war times. Life is not gentle or kind. It is filled with hazards and pitfalls that must be navigated. As a child, I lived through great losses during the Second World War, lost many relatives, saw my fellow playmates wither away as starvation roamed the lands like death’s wolves. Even my own family, rich as we were, were impacted greatly as were our workers. We survived because we were resilient. The weak fell away. I raised you to be powerful, Tommaso, and I will raise you to be tenacious as well, Arlo. Call me what you wish, but we are not weaklings, and nor will I allow any Bonetti to be!”
She cracked her cane to the floor, the sound like a starter’s pistol. Her words echoed around the room.
“We need to stop yelling at each other,” I finally said. Donvino was stunned into silence, his eyes flitting from one Bonetti to another. I drew in a breath. “I’m sorry for being a jerk, Dad. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Yes, you did, and it was fair. I have much to make up for, Arlo, and I hope I can do so, but for this moment we need to know exactly what it was that Signor Piravino said to you. Then, when we are home and safe, we will talk about us and how we can make bad things better.”
I bobbed my head. He was right. This was not the time or place to pull all of our familial skeletons out of the Bonetti closet. Instead of airing more dirty laundry, I told all, leaving nothing out about the showdown with Piravino. Before I was halfway done, my father was on the phone with Lowell telling him to inform the police of this new information about a possible suspect in the arson case.
I threw a look at my aunt sitting in her chair, prim and proper, in a gray Gucci suit. “Arson? When was that word used? Why have I not heard that word connected to the fire before?”
“We thought it best to let you rest and recover. The police are working on things. You and Donvino may be released tomorrow, but only if you do not overreact.”
“I never overreact!” I snapped but heard Donvino coughing lightly. Whether that hack was to bring up some black goo in his lungs or because he found my comment amusing, I didn’t know. Probably the latter. Which took a lot of the air out of my indignation dirigible. “Fine, maybe I do respond to some things with more vim than others.”
“Vim, yes, you are full of vim,” Donvino whispered as he slid from his bed, IV attached to his forearm, to come sit with me. I took his hand in mine, lifted it to my scruffy cheek, and rubbed my lips over his knuckles like a love-starved cat. “I love your vim.”
“And I love your vim too.”
“The police will be here in the morning to speak with both of you. They wanted to come now, but I refused. You two need to sleep.” Dad rose as he spoke, moving to the bed where we both sat in our gowns. “We’ll find some clothes for you two to wear back to the villa tomorrow. Tonight, sleep, heal, and remember that we love you.”
Dad patted my shoulder. Ginerva came over to pat my cheek and Donvino’s before Dad took her elbow and escorted her out. The nurse hustled in, cleared our plates, and told us we had a little time before it was lights out. She gave our vitals a check, told Donvino to use the mask overnight, and then left us alone.
“Can you sleep here?” I asked, moving to the side of the bed. “I’m not sure I can fall asleep without you close. We almost—”
“Shh, don’t think about that right now,” he whispered and stole a kiss, his soft lips on mine, clearing the anxiety away like a warm breeze. Outside the rain fell, sheets and sheets of it, the sound joyous to be sure. “It will be cramped,” he commented as he slid under the sheets and coverlet, his bare legs tangling with mine as we situated ourselves. I let my cheek come to rest on his chest, the steady thumping of his heart the best lullaby ever created. I could hear the faint rasp in his breathing, which made the memories flare up brightly. Squeezing my eyes closed, I willed them away, focusing on the feel of his body close to mine. Relaxation crept in, softening my muscles, clearing my mind…
“I like being cramped with you.” I sighed as sleep stole whatever it was I had planned to say next. Probably how much I loved him. I’d just have to say it twice as many times tomorrow.
***
The following morning was sunny, the city of flowers washed clean from the deluge of storms last night. The doctor had made his rounds, erring on the side of caution for Donvino. The doc said he wished for him to stay another day. My boyfriend declined, promising to rest when he found a place to do so. My father entered then, looking like he’d been pulled through the gutter. Jet lag and stress did bad things to Bonetti men. He was carrying two fat travel bags and he placed them at the foot of our beds, one for each of us.
“You’ll be staying at the villa,” Dad said matter-of-factly. Donvino started to politely argue. Dad walked to my bed, placed his hand on my shoulders, and bent down to kiss both of my whiskery cheeks. Then he turned to Donvino. “There is no sense in arguing. Ginerva has already had Giada freshen up the green room for your convalescence, something that your grandmother was quite tickled about. So you can heal your lungs while four old women cluck over you like mother hens.”
“Four?” I asked, pushing my empty breakfast tray away.
“Ginerva, Vittoria, Giada, and you, Arlo,” Dad teased, lowering himself to sit on the side of my bed. I rolled my eyes but smiled just a bit. “Now, as for other less pleasant things. There are two gentlemen from the police waiting outside to speak to you both. Lowell has been busy passing along the information about the threats to both of you to the law. They are searching for Piravino as we speak, but so far, he’s given them the slip. His wife has not seen him, he has not shown up for work at the Pisa mill, and his banking accounts have been drained. Needless to say, Signora Piravino is in a state of red rage over being left without funds for her or the four children they have together.”
