Bella Fortuna (39 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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Mrs. Santana goes back into a trance again. I don't want to intrude on her thoughts or time any longer. This is harder than I'd thought it would be.
“I should get going, Mrs. Santana. I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am and to let you know that if you need anything, please just call me.” I scribble my cell number down on an old business card I find in my wallet. As I hand it over to Mrs. Santana, I notice the front of the card. It's Michael's business card from Smith Barney. I thought I had thrown all those out.
“Thank you, Valentina. Who knows? Maybe if Tracy were still alive, the two of you would have picked up your friendship again. Ahhh . . .” Mrs. Santana shakes her head.
I've always wondered if she'd known what Tracy had done to me. I assumed she did. After all, several people in the neighborhood had seen my bloodied face, including Paulie Parlatone, who would have wasted no time recounting every detail to whomever he ran into. Maybe she does know but is too embarrassed to bring it up. It's not important now.
Mrs. Santana hugs me for a long time before I let myself out of her house. As I walk out, I notice a framed photograph of Tracy hanging on the wall. Tracy must've been no more than six years old, the same age she was when I'd first met her and she had tied my shoelaces. Though she's smiling in the picture, her eyes seem so sad. Had I misunderstood my childhood best friend all those years? She'd failed me, but I can't help wondering if perhaps I had failed her, too.
Instead of going home that night, I decide to go to Sposa Rosa. I call my family so they won't be worried and tell them I've decided to stop at Aldo's, and if they're too tired, they should just go to bed and not wait up for me. We'll see each other and catch up in the morning. Of course, Ma isn't too happy to hear that I want to see Aldo before her. Then, I text Aldo.
HEY! NEED A FAVE. MY FAMILY THINKS I'M HANGING WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. COVER 4 ME IF MY SISTERS CALL U.
 
WHAT R U UP 2?!!
I ignore his last text. Aldo knows that eventually I'll tell him. Of course, he will find some way to get me back for not immediately replying.
It's almost nine p.m. We close at seven p.m. except on Fridays and Saturdays when we close at eight. Since it's only Wednesday, the store has now been closed for almost two hours. I don't have to worry about Ma or my sisters working late since I know they've been anxious to see me and hear about Venice. Guilt stabs my heart that I've lied to them and am keeping them waiting. But I need to do something first before I can go home.
On the walk over to Sposa Rosa from Tracy's house, I can't get her out of my mind. I had hoped that I would have found some resolution by visiting Mrs. Santana, but instead I feel worse, especially after hearing about the new leaf that Tracy had turned over. I'm glad she had been dating someone seriously and had stopped going from guy to guy. But hearing what Mrs. Santana had said about Tracy never having her chance to get married has really struck a chord with me. Of course, I can relate only too well.
I let myself into the shop, but before I walk in, I look at what's featured in the display. My eyes open wide. All three mannequins are wearing PINK! I'm gone only a month, and my mom takes over. I can see one of the display mannequins wearing pink, which is becoming more popular with brides who don't want to wear the traditional white, but to have three mannequins wearing pink is absurd and cheesy, especially since our shop's name is Pink Bride in Italian. Also, we never display three mannequins. It's always just one mannequin to promote our Featured Bride of the Month. I can't wait to hear how this all came about when I get home.
I enter the shop with some trepidation, fearing what other changes I might find. But from what I can tell everything else seems to be the same. I've missed the shop tremendously since I've been gone even though I've tried not to think about it, hoping to obliterate all reminders of weddings and Michael.
After taking off my coat, I head over to the back of the shop. I'm finally ready to see my wedding dress since my engagement to Michael ended. But the dress isn't where I'd left it. That's right. I now remember that when I returned to the shop for the first time after Michael broke up with me, the dress hadn't been in its usual place in the sewing room. I didn't question it then since I was a zombie and the last thing I wanted to see was the dress. My mother or sisters must've hidden it before I came into Sposa Rosa that day.
After searching for almost fifteen minutes, I start wondering if they've sold the dress. But no, they wouldn't have done that without consulting with me first. Then again, I never thought they would've changed the model we were following for our display window without consulting me first either. If there's anything I've learned about my family, they can be quite unpredictable.
Finally, I find the dress covered in a garment bag and hanging in our supply closet. My heart starts to pound as I zip open the black garment bag. Great choice. Instead of using one of the translucent garment bags we normally keep our dress samples in, my family had even thought to bring a black garment bag from home to completely conceal my dress in case I went into the supply closet.
Tears come into my eyes. The dress is as beautiful as I remember it. Suddenly, a thought begins taking shape in my mind. I think about it a little while longer before I make up my mind.
 
Tracy's wake is scheduled for Friday evening, and her funeral will be held on Saturday morning. The autopsy has been performed, and the results will be in next week. It seems as if everyone in Astoria is at the wake, which surprises and angers me. I remember all the nasty gossip everyone spread about Tracy when we were in high school. Even though much of it was true, it still bothers me to see so many hypocrites now at her wake.
But wakes are very sacred for Catholics, especially Italians, and whatever ill feelings people might've had for the deceased while he or she was living, that must all be put aside. Paying respect to the dead and their family is above all else.
Who am I to talk? Aren't I a hypocrite, too? I wasn't able to forgive Tracy when she showed up with her cousin at Sposa Rosa, and here I am.
Ma, Rita, and Connie decide to come to the wake with me, but since the shop closes at eight, we don't arrive until an hour after the viewing hours have begun. As soon as we step into the room where Tracy's body is in repose, everyone's eyes turn to me. I can feel my face burning.
“Why is everyone looking at you, Vee? Sure everyone knows what Tracy did to you, but come on? You're not a cold-blooded bitch without feelings,” Rita says.
I silently laugh to myself. My family thinks I am this sweet saint incapable of malice when what I really am is a person who held a grudge for fourteen years and couldn't forgive her childhood best friend.
“Silenzio!“
The Sicilian Gestapo that is my mother shuts up Rita. “You do
not
speak ill of the dead at a wake! Tracy was just a young girl when that unfortunate thing happened. She was lost and confused. We must remember we are all sinners.”
Rita glances at Connie when she knows Ma isn't looking and rolls her eyes. My mother seems to be taking Tracy's death harder than I thought she would. She has been fighting off tears since we walked into the room. The viewing line is long and wraps all the way to the back of the room. We must have at least twenty people ahead of us. Ma pats her eyes with a white lace handkerchief that she told me has been in her family since her grandmother got married.
“Are you okay, Ma? Maybe you should sit down. You can go up after the line gets shorter.”
“
Sto bene
. Don't worry, Valentina.” She gives me a brief smile. Then she returns her attention to the front of the viewing room. I follow her gaze, which seems to rest on Tracy's casket. Sometimes I wish I were a tiny fly, such as a gnat, and could fly into my mother's ear and go straight to her thoughts. For one never really knows what Olivia DeLuca is thinking about.
 
Olivia knows she, too, is a hypocrite, since how many times did she call that girl
puttana
in her head and blame her for giving Valentina the
malocchio?
She even blamed Tracy's
malocchio
for Valentina's broken engagement. Olivia is ashamed. She has not been acting the way Christ would want her to. And what about all that nonsense over the years of going to the psychic so she could burn candles to protect Olivia and her family from the evil eye? Yes, Olivia thought she would never say this, but she is beginning to lose her faith in the
malocchio
.
She can't stop glancing over at Tracy even though she can barely make out the body with all the people waiting to pay their respects to her. All she can see is the girl's long dark hair, and her face—her very pale face. Tears begin forming in Olivia's eyes again. It's not fair. She was so young, and she finally seemed to be straightening her life out by finding love with that Snake Boy. Strange boy, but everyone has his or her soul mate. She'd seen Tracy and the boy a few times walking hand in hand on Ditmars Boulevard. She recognized that look in both of their faces. They were in love. She'd known that feeling with Nicola—and Salvatore. Tracy would probably have gotten married to the Snake Boy if she hadn't died. And who cast the
malocchio
on Tracy? Not her Valentina. She wasn't capable of hurting an ant, or was it a fly? Even after forty years of being in America, she still got confused with all these sayings they had here. Why couldn't Americans just talk plainly? She sighed.
Yes, it was true. Many people had not liked Tracy because of her loose ways, but she doubted people cared that much to place a curse on her. It was just God's will. Olivia also remembered the last time she saw Tracy. She was in her car outside of the shop, waiting for her cousin Kathleen, who was having one of her dress fittings. Olivia had no idea Tracy was double-parked in front of the shop. She'd gone over to spray the windows with Windex when she saw Tracy looking at her. As soon as Tracy noticed that Olivia had seen her, she quickly looked down at her purse and pretended she was looking for something in it. Olivia knew Tracy still carried the weight of what she'd done to Valentina all those years ago. Olivia should have gone out to her and asked her to wait in the shop. That would have been not only the polite thing to do but also the Christian thing to do. Yet her stubbornness refused to let her budge. Like Valentina, she hadn't forgiven the girl and didn't know if she ever could. Her thoughts are broken as she sees they are finally getting closer to Tracy's body.
 
As Rita, Connie, Ma, and I make our way toward Tracy's casket, we hear the guests whispering how beautiful Tracy looks.
“Rita's right, Vee. People are taking one look at Tracy and then looking right at you.”
Mrs. Santana is sitting in the front row with her husband. I still can't imagine how they must feel, losing their only child. Tracy's uncle has his five children present, including Kathleen, who had come into Sposa Rosa to buy her wedding dress with Tracy. She is sobbing uncontrollably. It's obvious they all loved Tracy very much.
When Mrs. Santana sees me, she gets up and takes me in her arms.
“I know I thanked you already, but I have to thank you again. You don't know how much this means to me.” I look into Mrs. Santana's eyes and just nod my head.
Ma, Rita, and Connie shoot questioning glances in my direction.
Mrs. Santana embraces my family and thanks them, too. They say, “You're welcome,” even though they have no idea what they are being thanked for.
When they take their place in line again, Connie whispers, “
What
is going on, Vee?”
I know she'll get her answer in a moment.
Rita gasps as she comes into view of Tracy. I then hear Ma murmur a
“Dio mio.”
They all look at me, just the way everyone else has after seeing Tracy.
I'm frozen in place, staring at Tracy. The tears I could not shed when I had first learned of Tracy's death flow freely now. The funeral parlor has done an amazing job. I know everyone says that at wakes, but in this case, it really is true. Her long jet-black locks have been lightly curled. Her makeup is not too heavy and gives her a pinkish glow, as if life is still beating within her. Bobby pins with rhinestones in the shape of a flower are placed randomly on the crown of her head. A ruby-red rosary is wrapped around Tracy's clasped hands. Her face looks very peaceful, and her trademark, bow-shaped lips look like they're slightly puckered as if they're waiting to be kissed.
Though her coloring has always lent itself more toward Snow White, the image of Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince to wake her up with a kiss comes to mind.
But for all the great work that the funeral home makeup artist has done, what really makes Tracy look beautiful is her dress. She is wearing a wedding dress, but not just any wedding dress. It's
my
wedding dress.
That was the revelation I had at Sposa Rosa the other night. I couldn't get Mrs. Santana's words out of my mind about never seeing her daughter get married. Never seeing her dream—or her daughter's—come true.

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