Home to Italy (19 page)

It was late afternoon
and the last few rays of sunlight were darting in and out of the dark clouds gathering over the mountaintops when Peppi heard the knock at the door. A hot, sticky breeze puffed through the window and the low murmur of thunder rumbled far off in the distance. A storm was brewing somewhere.

Peppi had been sitting at the table, looking over the flower vase he had purchased from Enrico just before Lucrezia's accident. A slice of the porcelain vase shaped like a small half-moon had cracked and broken off when it fell to the street from the basket on his bike. Only the layers of paper in which the vase had been wrapped prevented the whole thing from being smashed to bits. All things considered, the damage was minor. Never one to let anything go to waste, Peppi had glued the broken piece back in place and was pleased to see that it had dried to the point where the vase could once again be put to its intended use.

There came a second, more insistent knock. Actually, it sounded more as if someone were kicking the door. For a moment Peppi supposed that it must be Luca, but then he remembered that Luca and Filomena had already returned to Alba Adriatica. He had seen them off that morning just after breakfast. At the time, it had struck him as a bit odd that they should suddenly be so anxious to leave. Then again, there were only so many days of summer. Why waste them sweltering in the mountains when you could be lying on the beach enjoying the cool ocean breeze?

“Un attimo!”
Peppi called to whoever it was at the door. “Just a moment!” He gently set the vase back down and pushed himself away from the table.

When he opened the door, Peppi was surprised to see Lucrezia standing there. In her arms she clutched two bags of groceries. A loaf of bread and the edges of a colorful bunch of flowers protruded from the top of one bag. A bottle of red wine peeked out from the other.

“Buona sera,”
said Peppi, not sure of what else to say.

“Out of the way,” Lucrezia ordered. “These bags are heavy.” She squeezed past him and went straight to the kitchen. “Go sit down,” she said over her shoulder.

“Whatever you say,” said Peppi, closing the door. “But what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she answered as she started to lay the groceries out on the counter. “I've come to cook you dinner. You haven't eaten yet, have you?”

“No, I haven't,” Peppi admitted.

“In that case sit down and just do whatever it was you were doing before I arrived.”

“I was just fixing this,” said Peppi, gesturing to the flower vase on the table.

“Can it hold water?” Lucrezia asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Good, then you can put these in it,” she said, pulling the flowers from the grocery bag. She handed them to Peppi, turned back to the counter, and tied an apron over the simple cotton dress she wore. “They came from the gardens out back,” she said of the flowers. “I picked them this afternoon.”

“I hadn't noticed.”

Peppi half-filled the vase with water and put in the flowers. It was, he saw, a nice little arrangement. He set it on the center of the table, pleased to note that the crack in the vase was barely visible. He turned away from the table and leaned over toward Lucrezia to get a peek at what she had brought. On the counter stood a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil, some garlic and fresh oregano and basil, two cans of tomatoes, a bag of rice, another of mushrooms, some sort of meat wrapped in white butcher's paper, lettuce, onions, a small pastry box, a package of ground coffee, a container of cream, some spices, and an assortment of other odds and ends.

“You brought so much food,” he noted.

“I didn't know what you had, so I decided to just bring everything I needed,” she replied. She turned to him and made a brief, unfavorable assessment of his appearance. “You could put on a clean shirt,” she suggested before turning back to the business at hand.

Peppi looked down at his sweat-stained undershirt. Without a word he went into the bathroom. Once he had the door closed behind him, he filled the sink and splashed some water onto his face. Shaking off the droplets, he straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked into the mirror.

Time had chiseled some hard lines into Peppi's face, but his dark skin still had a healthy glow to it and his eyes were as clear and bright as ever. Peppi passed his hand through the thick head of black and silver hair that nature had allowed him to keep. He was certainly no youngster anymore. All the same, he knew that he was still fit and strong. Peppi seldom dwelt on these sorts of things, but for some reason, right at that moment he felt good about himself. He also felt very nervous as he looked squarely into his own eyes.

“Be careful, old man,” he told himself. With that warning in mind, he reached for a comb and began to pull it through his hair.

The table was set and the pleasing aroma of sautéing garlic was already in the air by the time Peppi finished freshening up. Lucrezia, he saw, knew her way around a kitchen. With quiet efficiency, she worked away, slicing and chopping her ingredients as the frying pan sizzled and the steam rose off the pot on the back burner. All the while she seemed not to notice Peppi standing there watching with the towel draped around his neck. Not wanting to disturb her concentration, he turned away and slipped into the bedroom to find a fresh shirt and a clean pair of trousers.

“That's better,” said Lucrezia when Peppi came back out looking more presentable. “Now go sit and read the paper. I brought
La Gazzetta dello Sport.
It's there on the table.”

Peppi had already read that day's edition of
La Gazzetta,
but he decided not to say so. Lucrezia had obviously tried to think of everything and he did not want to disappoint her. Of course, why she had decided to go through all the bother of cooking him dinner that night was still something of a mystery to him. Certain that sooner or later she would get around to telling him, he sat down and began to peruse some of the articles that he hadn't bothered to read earlier.

Now and then, as he scanned the headlines, Peppi lowered the paper just enough to watch Lucrezia cooking. He was finding it very difficult to prevent his eyes from roaming up the sleek contours of her legs to the back of her apron. Tied tightly around her waist, the apron only served to further accentuate her figure. His gaze continued up until it reached the glistening skin of her bare shoulders where her luscious hair cascaded down like ruby-colored water tumbling over the falls. The parts, he couldn't help but see, were equally as beautiful as the whole. Peppi swallowed hard and tried his best not to stare.

“I hope you like pork,” said Lucrezia, glancing over her shoulder. Suspecting that she could somehow feel him watching her, Peppi ducked back down behind the newspaper. “Even if you don't, you'll have to eat it,” she added.

“Pork sounds fine,” said Peppi.

He looked out the window. The sky had gone black and the first few heavy drops of rain were beginning to plop down against the dry earth outdoors. The breeze picked up noticeably, signalling that a storm was imminent, but the faint rumble of thunder suggested that it was still far off.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Peppi asked.

“You could open that,” she replied, nodding to the bottle of wine.

Peppi put the paper aside and went to the drawer beneath the kitchen counter. He began to rummage through it, puzzled as to why he could not find the corkscrew.

“What are you doing in that drawer?” said Lucrezia in a testy tone that suggested that he was somehow invading her own private property.

Peppi stopped and looked at her, unable to suppress a sheepish grin. “Um, I was just looking for the corkscrew,” he replied meekly.

Lucrezia gave an exasperated sigh. “I already put it right there next to the bottle,” she huffed. “Now close that drawer and stay out of my way while I'm cooking.” Those orders were immediately followed by the hiss of the chopped onions as they slid from her cutting board into the frying pan.

Peppi obeyed and dutifully sat at the table, rereading
La Gazzetta dello Sport
until later when Lucrezia announced that dinner was finally ready to be served. By then the rain outside was coming down in earnest, but the thunder still sounded far off. The brunt of the storm, Peppi guessed, was passing them by.

“We'll have to serve ourselves from the pan,” said Lucrezia, placing a pot holder on the table and resting the frying pan atop it. “One would think that by now you would have bought some decent serving dishes.”

“It's been on my list,” said Peppi with a shrug. “If I'd known that you were coming…”

Lucrezia ignored the remark and returned to the stove. “I was going to make a marinara to have over linguine, but I decided to make a nice risotto instead,” she said, coming back to the table with another pan. She set it next to the frying pan and went back for the bread. Once all the food was put out and the wine glasses filled, she paused for a moment, looking over the table to make sure she had everything just the way she wanted before sitting down. With little fanfare, she reached over and removed the lid from the frying pan. Peppi's mouth instantly began to water. Inside were four perfectly cooked pork chops laid out on a bed of fried escarole. Like Lucrezia herself, it was a study in elegant simplicity. The whole thing looked like a picture out of a gourmet cookbook, and the aroma was indescribable.

“Give me your plate,” she told him, pleased, it seemed, by the look of approval in Peppi's eyes.

“With pleasure,” Peppi said.

Lucrezia selected for him the thickest of the pork chops and placed it on his plate along with some of the escarole and a helping of the risotto. Then she took a spoon and ladled out some of the juice and bits of garlic from the pan onto the meat before setting the plate back in front of him.

“Lucrezia, this looks wonderful,” said Peppi, “but I wish you hadn't gone to all the trouble.”

Lucrezia gave a little laugh, her demeanor softening a bit for the first time since she walked through the door. “What trouble?” she said as she began to make her own dish. “You're the man who saved my life. It seemed like the least I could do to say thank you.”

“There was no need to thank me,” said Peppi.

Lucrezia gave a half-smile and sat down.
“Buon appetito,”
she said, raising her wine glass to his.

They ate for a short time in silence before Lucrezia put down her fork. She winced and rolled her neck from side to side.

“What's the matter?” said Peppi.

“Nothing,” she answered. “My neck is still a little sore, that's all.” She glanced at Peppi and saw the look of concern in his eyes. “It's all your fault, by the way,” she added testily. “You almost pulled my head off my shoulders the other day. You could have been a little more gentle.”

“Well, at that particular moment I really didn't give it much thought,” said Peppi. “We were, if you remember, a little pressed for time. I am sorry, though. Does it hurt very much?”

“It's getting better,” said Lucrezia with a pout. She pushed a strand of dark red hair from her face and sighed. “And I'm the one who's sorry,” she went on. “I know I really shouldn't complain about it. After all, putting up with a little sore neck is better than being burned alive.”

“That's pretty much the decision I had come to,” said Peppi, giving her a smile.

Outdoors, the clouds suddenly opened up and the rain began to come straight down in great torrents that pounded against the roof and ground so that it sounded like galloping horses. Peppi jumped up and went to the window to close the shutters to keep the rain from coming in. Before pulling them shut he took a look outside. Despite the intensity of the downpour there still came only a few flickers of lightning and a brief, faint rumble of thunder. It was a slow-moving storm, whichever direction it was heading. He considered the heavy rain and for a moment, worried that it might damage his tomato garden at the mulino. There was nothing to be done about it now, so he put it out of his mind and came back to the table.

“I think the sky's falling out there,” he said, taking his seat.

“It certainly sounds like it,” said Lucrezia.

“So, where were we?” Peppi asked.

“My neck,” said Lucrezia. “And the accident.”

“That's right, I almost forgot.”

Lucrezia shifted uneasily in her chair. She looked down at her hands and fidgeted with the wedding ring on her finger.

“Actually, I've been trying to forget it myself,” she said after a time. “Trouble is, I can't seem to stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I try.”

“That's no surprise,” said Peppi. “It was a traumatic event. It takes a while to deal with these things. Believe me, I know.”

Lucrezia looked up at him with sad eyes. “It's just that when the car caught fire,” she went on, suddenly letting the words pour out of her like the rain coming down outside, “and I thought I was going to burn, I don't know, something happened inside me. It was like that time after you were sick and you told me that you realized when you were going through it that you still wanted to live. The same thing happened to me. You see, ever since I lost my husband I've told myself that I didn't care if I lived or died. But in that moment, when the flames were breathing down my back, I realized that I was wrong, that a part of me still wanted to live more than anything else. For what, of course, I don't know. Somehow, though, I feel guilty about the whole thing.”

Peppi smiled and for the first time let himself gaze at her without looking away.

“I'll tell you something,” he said, looking into her eyes, “about that moment when the flames were coming and I thought that I wouldn't be able to get you out. Yes, I wanted to live too, but in my heart I was begging God to put me in the car, to let us trade places. I knew that wouldn't happen, so I made up my mind that if you were going to die in the fire, then I was going to die with you.”