Gaining Visibility (9 page)

After the preliminaries, Julia waved as Vitale and the men disappeared around the side of the house.

* * *

Angelina walked her slowly up the uneven sidewalk, which was paved with ancient stones that matched the ones on the house. “You
americana?
” she asked.

“That's right. I'm from Kentucky.” Julia watched the woman's eyes narrow in question. Vitale had done the same thing when she mentioned the state to him. “It's sort of in the middle of the country,” she explained. “I wish I had dressed more appropriately. I didn't know we were coming here for lunch. I thought I was switching hotels . . .” She remembered where Vitale actually intended for her to stay and quickly dropped that line of conversation. “But thank you for having me.”

Angelina's eyes stayed narrowed while she shrugged. “My English not good.”

A flowering vine with small, poppy red flowers blanketed portions of the house's façade, and huge bushes flanked either side of the stone stoop. Their scent was familiar, and Julia took another sniff as they passed. Rosemary. Gigantic versions of the small pot she grew on the deck at home.

A deluge of mouthwatering aromas assaulted her nose and taste buds as she stepped through the doorway. One whole side of the house was a gigantic kitchen/dining room combination. A massive table, already set and surrounded by an eclectic mixture of chairs, dominated the room.

Angelina directed Julia to a caned chair against the wall. “Sit now.”

Julia sat helplessly to the side as the women scurried around placing platters of food on the huge, marble-topped buffet. One of them—Giada perhaps?—quickly set one more place and rearranged the chairs to allow for the addition of another.

“Can I help?” Julia offered.

Angelina answered with
phtt, phtt, phtt
and an impatient gesture Julia translated as “No, and stay out of the way.”

Two little girls sidled up, eyeing Julia warily. When she smiled, the oldest one attached firmly against her thigh while the smaller child held out her arms. Julia gathered the child onto her lap. Tiny arms encircled her neck and a warm cheek nestled against hers.

Precious memories of Melissa at that age brought a lump to her throat. God, she missed her.

Both of the children chattered away, asking Julia question after question, obviously perplexed with her pat answer, “
Non capisco
.”

Through the great French doors at the back of the house, Julia could see what had stolen the men away so quickly—a bocce ball court and what already appeared to be a heated competition.

With movie director precision, Angelina choreographed the position of each dish until, at last, two large terrines of soup were placed, one at each end of the table. She seemed satisfied that all was ready.

A gentle command was directed to the little girl leaning against Julia's leg. She ran out the back door, but soon returned, leading her grandpa, Piero, by the finger. Vitale and the other men followed.

Everyone gathered around the table, moving so quickly Julia had to assume seating was assigned and set for life. Vitale took her hand and led her to the seat beside him at his father's end of the table. He continued to hold her hand, which made her heartbeat speed up to its third-cup-of-coffee level. What would his family think of them? Holding hands like a couple of teenagers! When Celeste took her other hand, Julia understood, feeling a bit foolish as Piero intoned a beautiful blessing for the food.

He finished and Vitale pulled her chair out for her and pushed it in after she was seated. All the men and boys did the same for the women and girls sitting near them.

Angelina and Piero ladled the orange-colored soup into bowls and passed them down the sides of the table amid lots of banter that Julia could only grapple single words from. She understood “automobile” and “Mario Moretti,” so she inferred Vitale was explaining whom he'd borrowed the car from.

Proud of her accomplishment, and already exhausted by the effort of trying to understand the foreign language, she rewarded herself with a spoonful of the soup, which had been placed in front of her. The delicious sweetness of butternut squash surrounded her tongue, chased by a hint of nutmeg. Another flavor teased her senses, and she concentrated to name it. Sage maybe? She was so caught up in the mulled flavors, she didn't think anything of Celeste's sharp but whispered utterance, “Vitale . . .”

It was the jerky movement of his arm against hers that drew her attention.

“
Merda!
” He swore under his breath and scooted his chair back. His napkin landed hard in his empty seat, thrown down like a gauntlet.

“What's wrong?”

But he was already making his way to the front door.

She glanced around the silent table.

All the eyes were focused out the large front window. She followed their gazes to the small black sedan parked behind the yellow Smart car.

As she watched, a petite brunette with hair to her waist ran up the walk toward Vitale and launched herself into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.

C
HAPTER
8

J
ulia 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-itwas, 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.

One of the men called his name, and he headed back to the court, throwing a wink over his shoulder in parting.

Julia turned her focus to the group of women she approached, not daring to glance his way again for fear of drooling. Hettie certainly knew what she was talking about when it came to the sex appeal of Italian men!

Orabella scooted over to make room for her on the wicker couch. “Your foot. She hurts, Julietta?”

Before Julia could answer, Giada moved into place with her practiced cue. “Not if you walk slowly, though, yes? But what a disappointment to come all this way and not be able to hike the Cinque Terre.”

“Yeah.” Julia gave a disappointed sigh that held no pretense. “I was supposed to begin those hikes today. I'd worked out for months, training for them. It meant a lot to me.”

“The hikes held some special significance to you?” Giada's act was Academy worthy. She fed lines to Julia as though reading from a script.

“Well, I planned it as a victory hike to show myself I had completely regained my health after my bout with breast cancer.”

The women all stopped what they were doing in unison and looked at her. It grew so quiet, even the men threw questioning looks their way.

“
Che?
” Angelina leaned forward.

“I lost my breasts to cancer two years ago.” Julia aimed for a perky tone. “But I'm fine now. I'm healthy, and I feel wonderful. Well, except for this broken toe.”

“But you . . .” Maria's gesture toward Julia's chest wasn't quite a point, but it conveyed her question adequately.

“Have breasts?” Julia smiled and nodded. “Yes, I had reconstruction done. The doctors built me new ones.”

The crease between Angelina's brows deepened, and Giada translated what Julia said. The woman eyed Julia's chest with wonder, and she returned Julia's smile with a gentle one of her own.