Читать книгу Gaining Visibility - Pamela Hearon - Страница 15

CHAPTER 8

Julia watched the dramatic pantomime taking place in the front yard, trying to piece together what was happening.

After the initial shock, it seemed everyone at the table began talking at once. Most of the tones were angry, though whether they were directed at the young woman, Vitale, or someone else entirely she couldn’t tell.

She watched Vitale extricate himself from the woman’s embrace and send her away. The chatter at the table increased as the woman threw up her hands and took a step toward him, but Vitale held his palms up in a “stop” gesture and motioned toward her car. This brought on a collective whispered gasp from inside the house. The woman wheeled around and started toward her car, only to stop and turn back to Vitale. This time she was obviously crying, and the talk at the table rose to a crescendo as the woman held out her arms, pleading. Vitale turned back toward the house. The woman shouted something and made a hand gesture that must have meant something obscene based on the sharp tones of the audience surrounding Julia.

She felt like she was watching an opera, trying to keep up with the story without any subtitles.

Before she had time to piece it all together, which mostly meant deciding who was the protagonist and who was the villain, Vitale stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind him. The talking came to an abrupt stop, though a telltale silence hung over the group. Everyone, even the children, seemed fascinated by the ingredients of the smooth concoction in their bowls.

Vitale’s chiseled jaw was set in stone, and the brooding darkness had returned to his eyes when he sat down and placed his napkin back in his lap. He addressed the group with a quick “mi dispiace” and resumed eating his soup.

No one made eye contact with anyone—especially not the stranger in their midst. Oh dear! Did they think she had something to do with the scene outside?

She needed to show his family she and Vitale weren’t lovers, if they’d jumped to that ridiculous conclusion. Which they surely hadn’t, considering the age difference. A lover would be upset by what just happened, so she would show them how not-upset-in-the-least she was.

She smiled broadly toward Vitale’s mother, whose frown was set as hard as Vitale’s. “Angelina, la minestra è magnifico.”

She watched the transformation as the woman absorbed the compliment. The tense muscles around her mouth and eyes went slack before she returned the smile, but a hint of worry clouded her eyes. “Grazie, Julietta.”

She added something else, but Julia only understood “Thank you.” She looked to Vitale for translation.

His brown eyes locked with hers, and his mouth twitched at the corners. “She did not know you speak Italian.”

Julia turned back to Angelina with a sheepish grin. “I don’t speak Italian. Only a few words.”

A laugh with a definite feeling of relief swept over the group. Whether it was relief she hadn’t understood their conversation during the confrontation outside or relief that she and Vitale weren’t lovers, she couldn’t be sure.

Maybe both.

But the tension remained broken and normal family conversation returned to the table along with plenty of laughter. This was obviously a close-knit group.

Throughout the remaining courses—delicate fettucine with peas and prosciutto, roasted chicken, a variety of cheeses, and dessert—Vitale worked hard at translating and keeping Julia involved in the conversations near them.

Occasionally, someone would ask her something directly in English and then it was such a relief to relax and talk about things she knew. Giada, whose English was perfect because she’d been an exchange student in Chicago, asked about her business in the States. Adrianna wanted to know all about how she trained for the long hikes. When Celeste asked about her family, Angelina became all ears, especially intrigued to hear about Melissa.

“Bring her to Italy. We marry her to Vitale. Is time he have the children.” Angelina’s tone didn’t sound like she was kidding despite the snicker that moved through the group.

Well, obviously his mother didn’t think they were lovers. In spite of its smooth texture, the bite of panna cotta she’d just swallowed wedged in Julia’s throat. She forced a laugh around it and shifted uncomfortably in her chair, tugging again on the skirt. And, of course, there was no reason Angelina would have thought that. They weren’t lovers, and they weren’t going to be lovers—no matter what Vitale said in the car.

The custard certainly took its time, wiggling its way past the constricted muscles in her throat.

“Mama.” Vitale’s voice held a don’t-go-there warning, which Angelina ignored. She dove into a lecture filled with motherly tones that Julia understood despite the language barrier. And the way she kept pointing out the window made Julia think the young woman who’d shown up might’ve been Angelina’s choice of daughter-in-law.

Piero jumped in, appearing to take his son’s side, and then it seemed like everyone at the table had an opinion about whatever-it was, and they all voiced them at the same time.

Although Vitale made no move to translate any of it, the name Francesca seemed to be repeated by everyone, so Julia assumed it to be the young woman’s name.

This put a new wrinkle in the where-was-she-going-to-stay mystery. Vitale said he didn’t have a girlfriend, but they could just be on a break. Julia sighed, remembering the angry breakups when she and Frank were going out and the makeup sex.

She finished her panna cotta in silence.

Vitale stayed mostly quiet also, occasionally giving a sarcastic snort accompanied by a gesture, but the rest of the table was anything but quiet. The volume continued to rise until, at last, Vitale stood up abruptly, his chair grating backward again across the worn floorboards.

The room grew silent.

His steps were slow and deliberate as he made his way to Angelina’s end of the table. He stood for a moment, towering over his mother, whose chin rose defiantly. “Mama.” He stooped down beside her and took one of her hands, pressing it to his lips. “Ti voglio bene.”

Angelina’s anger visibly melted. “Ah, Vitale.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead, and a collective feminine “Aw” lapped the table.

Julia smiled at the sweet scene, but she let the words from Rosa, the young server from yesterday, serve as a warning.

“All the women love Vitale.”

* * *

The kitchen didn’t take long to clean and straighten with so many hands working. Julia convinced her reluctant hostess she was capable of washing dishes, happy to repay their warm hospitality at least in part.

Afterward, Giada took her for a short tour of the olive grove, walking slowly so as not to tax Julia’s foot as she pointed out some ancient trees that had been growing on the spot for over a hundred years.

A beautiful, ornately carved wooden bench sat nestled in a shady corner. Giada indicated for Julia to sit and settled herself at the opposite end. “You are disappointed you cannot make the hike, yes?”

“Yeah.” The wine at lunch and the warm breeze brushing her cheeks lulled Julia into a tranquil mood and loosened her tongue. “It’s not so much the hike that disappoints me as what it meant to me.”

Giada cocked her head. “The hike had special significance?”

“I had breast cancer two years ago.” Sharing something so personal with a virtual stranger felt odd, and the second she said the words, she wished she hadn’t. They hung heavy for a few seconds before they pierced the air, and she felt the serenity flow out and away.

Giada’s eyes grew wide—maybe it was a good sign her vitality had returned enough for people to be surprised. “I’m fine now.” Julia hurried to get to the good part. “But the hike was like my victory symbol. The ultimate sign to me that I’d regained my health.”

Giada nodded, but Julia watched as the redness of unshed tears bloomed around the young woman’s eyes.

She’d obviously scraped a raw nerve. Cancer? Some other disease? Vitale’s sister looked like the picture of health.

A few beats of awkward silence passed before Giada spoke. “Adrianna has a lump in her breast, but she will not go to the doctor. She is afraid. She made me promise not to tell Mama.”

Julia’s stomach twisted with empathy at the terror the young woman was going through. She’d been in that exact spot once. But the danger of Adrianna ignoring the lump spurred her to speak out even though it was none of her business. “She has to have it examined. You have to convince her to go to the doctor.”

“I have tried. She does not listen to me.” Giada’s face shifted from sad to imploring. “Would you speak to her? Maybe she will listen to you because you have been through it.” She chewed her bottom lip, then added, “But she cannot know I told you.”

“I’m not sure how I could do that. I mean, she’s going to know you told me.” The weight of the information she was now privy to hung in Julia’s belly. This was touchy. Trying to talk with someone she didn’t know and who didn’t want to hear, about an awkward subject, with a language barrier thrown in to boot?

Her conscience poked its head in the ring. What if Adrianna lost a breast or died because she was too chicken to speak out? Potentially saving a life would be worth the discomfort in her toe when she kicked herself later. Besides, she reminded herself again, she was never going to see these people again anyway.

And Giada’s eyes, wide with fear and hope, would haunt her forever if she said no.

“I suppose I could try to talk to her,” she offered. “But we’ll have to be sneaky.” An idea started to take shape in her mind. “We’ll go back to the house, and you’ll casually bring up my hike again like you just did, and I’ll mention my cancer, and we’ll let it go from there.”

“That is perfect.” Giada nodded. “Thank you.”

They followed the path back the direction they’d come. Sounds of laughter and spirited conversation drew them around to the side of the house where they found the rest of the women enjoying the shade from a pergola that overlooked the bocce ball court, while the children chased each other around the yard.

On the court, it was Vitale’s turn, and the tension cording the muscles in his arms and back implied the world championship was at stake. Her imagination ran amok, and for a split second, she was running her tongue along those deep grooves.

Her breath stopped as he stepped softly, with the fluid grace of an Olympian, and tossed the ball, which landed with a thud and then proceeded to roll right into the space that separated two others.

A cacophony of joyful and mournful howls split the air, leaving no doubt as to who were the victors and who the vanquished.

Amid the pats on the back, Vitale threw a glance toward the house. When his gaze found Julia’s and locked on to her appreciative stare, he kissed two fingers and turned them her way.

She returned the motion, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Ack! Had she just propositioned him here in front of God and his family?

A mischievous grin spread from ear to ear, and he sprinted to her side.

“How is the toe, Julietta? Do we need to leave?”

The thoughtful question was innocent enough, but the idea of being alone with him coupled with the thoughts that had been racing through her mind were anything but innocent. And Giada cast her a pleading glance.

“My toe’s fine. I’m in no hurry to leave. Go. Play.” She motioned him away and out of her space so she could breathe again.