Four Times Blessed (12 page)

Another curl tucked. Yup. Seriously need some kind of drug for that.

Next door, I hear windchimes knock lazily into each other. My zizi hates those things. She’ll talk about how much she hates them, right on our front stoop. I’ll try to tell her to talk quieter, and she’ll wave at the trees and the scant fifty meters and say no one can hear her.

“I got this one a few years ago,” Lium holds out the inside of a wrist.

I move to see. “Where’d you get it from?”

“A guy at a shop.”

“Oh.” I seem to have crossed a line. Again. Into what, who knows with this one. “They have whole stores for that kind of thing?”

“Yeah.” He lays back again and this time I do the same, curling up on the rocks.

“Where?”

“This is from one in North Orleans, called Alfonse’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was down this alley that was only this wide.” The space between his two hands isn’t even big enough for his shoulder. Does he really think I’ll believe that?

“Huh.”

“What? You want to go? I could show you where it is.”

“Mm, no thanks. Was the shop small, too?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. But never crowded. At least, not while it was open.” He scrunches his brow. I scrunch mine back. He nods.

“Yup, not a soul there after dark. Except Alfonse.”

“Why?”

“It was only open then.”

“Oh. How come?”

“During the day, it was a coffee place.”

“Oh. Because more people want coffee than tattoos?”

“Nah, because it’s illegal. The tattoos, not the coffee.”

“I see.”

“There you are,” comes a sharp call.

I jump and try not to act like a stunned puppy.

“What happened? I thought you were right behind me.” Andrew comes over and holds out a hand. He pulls me up and gives me a little hug.

“Hey, Andrew. I was just out here talking to Lium.”

“Well, thank God. I thought you’d gotten cold feet and hightailed it out of here. But then one of your cousins said to me, I forget which one, it’s an island so how far could you get, really? Your family’s hilarious. Anyways, what are you doing?”

“Um, nothing really,” I glance at Lium for some help clarifying, but he’s too distracted.

“I’m telling you, Crusa, when we look back on tonight we’re going to keel over laughing. Now, come on, babe. Everyone’s asking where you are. I want you right by my side the rest of the night.” I feel shy as he sets me right against him, his arms going around and crossing over my hips.

“Your aunt wants you back inside to serve dessert. And I’m going to help you.”

“Oh, Andrew, you don’t have to do that.”

“I am. Now come on.”

“Alright, alright. Lium?” He’s got one side of his face raised. I pretend that’s normal. “Make sure you come in and get some, ok? And your brother, too. It’s blueberry crisp, family recipe. I picked all the berries myself and made sure there was the exact right proportion of blue to sour. It’s my secret ingredient. The proportion. Trust me, you’ll love it,” I smile.

He sighs, “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, you little lovebird.”

There’s no real gracious response to that, so I just turn and go inside with Andrew.

I serve the crisp with my zizi’s help, and Eleni threatening that if I get a blueberry stain on the dress, even though it’s mine, but she has to wash it, she says, she’ll murder me in my sleep.

Glad that she doesn’t know about the one that’s currently soaking in the sink upstairs, I give a reply that our zizi rewards with a look for me that makes me glad Andrew is here, paired with a suggestion for Eleni to go someplace else.

Later, we sit at the long table with Andrew. My aunt grabs my brother by the wrist and begs him to join us. Camillo sits, but I think it takes him a whole lot of determination to do it. I wonder why he’s in such a bad mood. We never get to see him anymore, I wish he’d just relax and be happy tonight. I mean, he’s barely talked to me all evening.   

Still worried about my brother, I turn to someone who is happy. He taps a rhythm on my hand, like he’s listening to a song in his head and my zizi at the same time.

All things considered, I think I’ve been truly blessed. This Andrew is wonderful. He’s handsome and talkative and nice to everyone, even me. He could’ve hated me, for being forced to marry me. He could have been sickly, or smelled bad, or…I want to cry, I’m so relieved that he doesn’t. I think he honestly wants to marry me. It sends a thrill through me.

              “Our Crusa is very accomplished.”

             
Huh? I heard my name.

             
“I’m sure she is,” he says. It’s embarrassing how easily he agrees. “That’s why this is the greatest country on earth. I mean, not everybody gets the philosophy. My own parents were against it when I first started, but they came around. My father is a business consultant, you know, for the state, and my mother is a reporter like hers was, you know that, that’s how they met, but still neither of them got how my studying soccer strategy would make me a better journalist.” He laughs, “It’s hard to explain to people unless you’re in it, right?”

             
I nod. Along with my core classes in anatomy and physiology of the senses, general logic, visiospacial/auditory/kinesthetic reasoning and analysis, military support practicum and whatnot (plus, after a certain airplane borrowing thing, on a certain Problem Solving Tuesday, my highly suggested volunteer hours in Land-based Air Support Command), I spent years and years studying random subjects.

Embroidery, European history, guitar, organic chemistry, immunology, they even made me figure skate two hours six days a week, something about vectors and rhythm and proprioception, and I don’t even remember what else, all to improve my AIS performance.

              Andrew sighs and takes a bite of the blueberry crisp. His second bite. Everyone else is done.

“And what’s nice is, like what you’re doing now, people can transfer over seamlessly into peacetime occupations. It’s great. It will make a whole new world, someday. Until then, though, I have to say it sure works out well for husbands.”

              “Sure, sure. But then, our Crusa has always been talented, and would have been even without that school.” Oh, Zizi. “Would you like to see?”

             
No.

             
I’m given a choice between fetching my skating medals or a blanket I wove. I sigh. Silently, for the benefit of my zizi’s delicate ears, of course.

“Please, excuse me, Andrew.”

              “Well, excuse me, too,” my aunt proclaims, and I scamper up the stairs.

             
I fling open the door of my room to the darkness.

I end up grabbing my slate, planning on just pulling up a clip from my junior AIS final. Oo. I grab Camillo’s violin from the guestroom before tromping down the stairs.

             
Andrew and my zizi, and a bunch of little kids cram around to witness a tiny version of me in a long black dress, waving around a stick at an orchestra. About a minute in I’m declared an excellent conductor. I say thank you.

             
“And Andrew, you just have to hear this. It’s my brother that’s the real talent of the family. Milo, here.”

             
I smile, and, since he doesn’t take the proffered violin, I get up and arrange the thing so it sits properly on his collar. Then I look on adoringly.

             
“Sure, man, I’d love to hear you play.”

             
“Go on, Camillo. Your sister asked you.”

             
My brother grabs the thing without looking at any of us and walks clear across the meetinghall.

             
I see everyone’s heads turn until all are twisted to Milo, their backs so soft and dry after the dunked-in-summer-drippings day. He wipes his hair back and starts playing.

My chest hurts as I watch. Probably because I’m trying not to disturb him and the music with my breathing. It’s beautiful, and he finally looks less angry. I settle into the boy still next to me.

              When it’s done, there’s a good silence. The kind you always want, as a conductor. The kind that’s full of silent magic, I liked to imagine, when I would stand there on the box and hold my arms up until they ached. Then the shouts start coming, and the spell is broken. I smile. 

It’s nice and cool in my room. I start undressing, when Eleni comes in. She closes the door gently behind her.

“Hey. So…how are you?”

“Good. I’m tired, though. Did you have fun?”

“Oh, I had a great time. I think I found someone.”

I whip around from my dresser.

“Who? Where? How’d you do that?”

She bounces over, drawing a scrap of newspaper from under one breast. I take it and peel it open, fold by fold. It’s a little limp and smudgy from being tucked where it was all night, but I know which one he is. I know which one Eleni would pick.

There’s a sketch, just lines, so his box stands out whiter and brighter than the others, capturing a handsome young man. Square jaw, pleasing eyes, and nose and mouth. And I think something about the distance from feature to feature, or the combination of them or something, makes you believe the artist drew what he actually saw. Not like the poor boy in the next column whose chin is represented by a rather inattentive c.

“He’s lovely,” I say, handing the paper back. She holds it over a candle and examines it again, delighted.

“You didn’t read it.”

“I did,” glance it over.

She huffs and comes to pinch the fastening at the back of my dress. She then throws herself on my bed.

“He’s from Farmington. My mother already ran up to the base gate and called them. He has a phone right in his house. His maid answered it, can you believe that? It’s fate. She said he was out so she gave the phone to the mother, and she said that she thinks I’m perfect for her son. My father is down getting the boat ready to go get him now. They’re leaving tomorrow morning. Your aunt said I could put him in Milo’s room.”

“Oh.”

Well. I hope Camillo won’t be needing it any time soon. Probably won’t. And I suppose I’ll have to drag the toybox out of the crawlspace again.

“It’s already a done deal so he can’t stay in that guestroom. Honestly, it’s incredible anyone ever manages to keep a suitor on the island for more than a day. I’d rather camp out on the green than stay in that room.”

“Huh.” I wonder if I can make Milo drag it at least out to the middle of my room before he leaves. The thing was built by a grandfather of mine who used to carve out longboats. I currently use it as a doorstop for when people’s suitors are here.

Because people who are falling in love really love to talk about it, I’ve found. With my cousin Berto’s wife, I ended up living out of a snow shelter in the old graveyard for a whole week. I didn’t really mind, in the end, because I ended up passing Winter Survival Skills with a Great Proficient.

Thank you cousin Berto.

“So, what did you think of Andrew?” I gather up my nightgown and flop in the bed next to her.

“I like him. What do you think?” she giggles. I’m pretty sure she finds the whole me getting married thing hilarious.

I grin, surprising myself even, I guess, and say, “I like him, too.” 

“I liked his boat.”

“Yeah, it was a nice boat.”

“Weird stairs.”

“Very weird stairs.”

“Was the crisp any good?”

“Oh, yeah, people liked it.”

“Good. Your salad was very pretty, too.”

“Thanks. I added the strawberries at the end.”

“So they didn’t get mushy and make everything soggy.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you meet those two new boys?”

“Hale and Lium? Yeah. Everyone was talking about them. Did you hear?”

“What?”