Love Hurts (26 page)

The little couple sat, engrossed in their menus, all the while talking a mile-a-minute in Italian. The woman turned as Mamma and Anna approached. She stopped speaking, her gaze riveted on Mamma’s face.

“Maria?” the woman asked. She looked like she’d seen someone rise from their grave and become mortal again. “Maria?” she said again and crossed herself.

Anna wondered who Maria was. She looked up at her mother and saw tears on her cheeks. Mamma must know who Maria is.

Mamma shook her head. “No, non Maria. Il mio nome è Catarina. Questa è la mia figlia, Anna.”

“Catarina? Catarina di Rossi?”

The man stared at Mamma.

“Sí,” Mamma answered.

Mamma turned to Anna. “These are my old neighbors, Sal and Bettina Clementi.”

Anna shook their hands and smiled.

Anna had followed most of what they were saying, but then the woman pushed out a chair and gestured for them to sit, while she unleashed a torrent of Italian. Her husband just watched with a small smile on his face. He must be used to her ways after so many years.

She and Mamma spoke for a few minutes and soon both had tears running down their cheeks. The woman pulled Mamma close and kissed her on both cheeks numerous times. She kept saying, “Mamma mia, mamma mia, Catarina.” Anna found her adorable.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak to the couple, Anna excused herself to go back to Chris. She wanted to let him know that Mamma knew the couple, and that they would probably be able to help them find Mamma’s family.

Chris stood and held out Anna’s chair as she approached the table. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to thank him. After so many years of pulling out her own chair, she would never tire of his chivalry.

The pasta had come, or the prima piatti, as Mamma had called it. It was every bit as delicious as described. Chris had already eaten most of his.

“I couldn’t wait, sorry,” he said with a sheepish look.

“It’s okay,” Anna said around a mouthful of the delicious food. “I can see why.”

“So?” Chris asked. “I assume since you’re back on your own that Mamma was right about who they were.”

“Yes. They looked like they’d seen a ghost, although it wasn’t Mamma who they thought they saw.”

“Really? Who then?”

“The woman called her Maria. I don’t know who that is.”

“Maybe your grandmother?”

“Could be,” Anna said. “Mamma never told me her name.”

“They were happy to see her, though?”

“Yes, thrilled, I think. I’m so glad for her. She fits here, don’t you think?”

“Perfectly. You have a wonderful mother, Anna.”

“I do, don’t I? Although I never used to think so.”

“Well, truthfully she wasn’t very warm when I would come around in the old days. I just thought it was because she felt I was endangering her beloved daughter.” Chris took the last bite of pasta and closed his eyes with an expression of bliss. “I’m so glad the hotel recommended this place.”

“Me too.” Anna looked up as Mamma entered the room. She looked happy, less nervous.

“Well?” Anna and Chris asked together.

“They haven’t changed a bit,” Mamma said. “They’re older, yes, but every bit as kind as ever.”

“And did you find out anything?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“What?” Anna felt incredulous. “Why not?”

“It would be rude, Annabella. We’re invited to their home for dinner two nights from now. I’ll ask then.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I didn’t want to take up too much time from their dinner.”

Anna suspected it was more than that, but she understood. Maybe Mamma wasn’t quite ready to find out the truth. Two more days would give her a little more time to acclimate.

“Now, let’s eat this wonderful food,” Mamma said. She dismissed the conversation and Anna didn’t argue. She was happy to sit back and enjoy the delights of Italian cuisine.

Chapter 30

Catarina sat at the table among the people she should have grown up with and tried to keep a smile on her face. Mostly it was for Anna, her newly returned daughter, that she tried so hard. Anna wanted more than anything for their family to be reunited and for everyone to be happy again. Anna had an idealistic nature, and had since she was a tiny child. Catarina wondered if she’d gotten it from Federico, her father. He’d been idealistic, too, and an artist. Funny that Anna never became an artist with so many of them in her family. Instead she’d turned to words, which was, Catarina admitted to herself, a form of art. How she’d had so many dreams and plans for Anna. And yet children go their own way, as she had despite her Papà’s plans for her. She wondered if he’d be proud of her now.

All these years, she was nearly an old woman herself now, and still she hoped to make her Papà proud.
How strange people are
, she thought as she passed the jug of wine to the lady beside her.

Anna sat at the other end of the table, her young man beside her. He looked at her the way Federico had looked at the young Catarina.
I threw it all away because of my mother.

Catarina realized in that moment that she hadn’t been forced to throw it all away. It wasn’t because of her mother.
I did it to myself. Mamma never made me do it. She hurt me, yes, but I hurt myself worse.

Catarina stood from the table and asked Bettina where the toilet was. She left before her face could give her feelings away. Catarina stood over the small sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Ever since the day she ran into the Clementis two days before, she couldn’t stop thinking about how Bettina had called her Maria. Maria was her paternal grandmother’s name, Papà’s mother. She had lived with them for a time before passing away at about the age Catarina herself now was, so Bettina had spent many mornings having coffee with both Catarina’s mamma and nonna. Nonna had died young, probably of stomach cancer.

Bettina knew Nonna’s face well, so it must have shocked her to see Catarina standing beside their table and looking for all the world just like Maria. It was a compliment, of course. Nonna was beautiful even as an older woman, but it reminded Catarina just how much she belonged to her family, no matter that she’d rejected them all, yes, even
Papà
,
when she ran away to Canada at only eighteen. They hadn’t even known she was carrying Anna.

It was all because of what Mamma did. No one even knows but me.
It was the refrain she’d repeated over and over to herself throughout the years, and especially whenever she felt lonely or guilty because she’d left. She never even sent word to Papà to tell him she was okay. Guilt covered her like a sticky spider web.
What Mamma did was inexcusable, but so was what I did to Papà.

Blame. That was where it all stemmed from. Catarina knew that everyone could lay the blame on someone for the things that had happened to them, but doing so didn’t get them anywhere. In fact, it had even hindered her own growth and the relationship with her children. Anna and Jilly, bless them, had finally stopped blaming and come for a solution, and look where it had gotten them all.
My own children are braver than I am,
Catarina thought, watching as a tear rolled down her cheek.

She lifted her chin and looked herself in the eye.
 

“Catarina,” she said out loud, “you are going to take responsibility for your part in all this and let Mamma pay whatever price she has to pay. You are going to find Papà and apologize to him, even if only at his grave.”

Catarina dropped her head and closed her eyes. “Please, Mother Mary,” she prayed to the saint she’d largely ignored for her adult life, “please let him still be alive. I need to see him.”

As for her mother, Catarina had no idea how to pray. She decided she would leave that up to the Virgin and trust that She would know best. Catarina reached for the rosary that hadn’t hung around her neck since she was eighteen. She decided she needed to find one and soon. She’d rejected everything that had made up her foundation for long enough. It was time to get back to her roots.

It’s no wonder I’ve felt like I was drifting for most of my life. No wonder my daughters didn’t even know who I was. I didn’t even know who I’d become.

Catarina grabbed at the tissue in a box on the counter and swiped at the leftover tears. She checked her makeup in the mirror and gave herself a stern stare. She again lifted her chin then left the bathroom.

If Annabella and Jillian can be brave, so can I. After all, I’m their mother.

Anna looked up at her with concern as Catarina came back into the garden. Catarina gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile and sat back down.

“Catarina?” It was Bettina beside her.

“Yes?”

“Please, you haven’t seen your Mamma yet, have you?”

Catarina’s Italian was rusty, but she was sure Bettina had asked if she’d seen her mother. It didn’t make sense. She’d been at the house for a couple of hours already, but Bettina hadn’t said anything.

“What do you mean? My mamma’s here?” she asked.

“Sí. She’s over there. I thought you would have already gone to her home and known she would be here.” Bettina gave her a strange look, obviously wondering why she was being remiss as an Italian daughter. She must not have known of their family history.
 

Maybe Mamma never told her that I left and didn’t speak to them again. Of course!
How could she not have realized? Appearances were everything to Mamma. It would have given their family a
brutta figura
to admit their daughter had left for North America and never spoken to them again.
Famiglia
was everything. A child’s responsibility was always to care for their parents. Bettina must have assumed that Catarina was back to care for her mamma.

All these thoughts ran through her mind and then stopped on one point.
Her aging mamma.
Her mother was not only alive, but just feet away from her.

She turned to where Bettina had gestured. An old, shriveled woman sat in a chair among the olive trees. She sat by herself, looking off into the distance.

Bettina still watched her strangely. Catarina needed to come up with a reason and quick.

“I had only just arrived when we met at the restaurant,” she said. “I wanted to rest and then surprise Mamma with a visit.”

“Ah, sí, sí,” Bettina nodded, her face clearing. Catarina hadn’t removed all the doubts, but it would have to do for now.

“I’ll go see her now,” she said. “
Grazie
.”

Bettina smiled and turned to a little one tugging on her skirt.

Catarina stood on shaky legs, smoothed down her dress and ran her hands over her hair. Everything in her screamed, “Run,” but she forced her trembling legs to carry her directly where she truly didn’t want to go.

The old woman—she couldn’t see her mamma in any of the woman’s features and she wondered if Bettina was mistaken—looked up at her with a lost-child expression as she approached.

“
Buonasera
,” Catarina said, not knowing what else to say.

The woman nodded. “
Buonasera
,” she whispered, her voice creaky, like she hadn’t much occasion to use it.

Catarina crouched down on the grass in front of the woman. “Mamma?” she said. “It’s Catarina.”

The woman looked at her and then quickly away. “No, no, Catarina,
niente
.”

Nothing?
What does she mean by nothing?

“Mamma, it’s me, it’s Catarina.”

Mamma’s gaze again found hers and then fled. Her hands fluttered in her lap. “No, no,” she muttered over and over. “She’s gone, gone away. No Catarina,” she said again in Italian.

Catarina rocked back on her heels. It was too late. Her mother had gone somewhere from where she would never return, a place Catarina couldn’t reach. She had waited too long. But, it wasn’t too late to care for her as a good Italian daughter should.

Her mother had done something that she would stand before God and make penance for, but Catarina knew now that she didn’t have to carry that burden. Her mother would have to atone, but Catarina would have to make right the wrongs she’d committed against the people who loved her.

She got to her feet and looked for a minute longer at the woman who’d brought her into the world. She could see Mamma wasn’t well. Her scalp showed through her white hair. She was thin and pale, her cheeks sunken. She looked like she wouldn’t live more than a few months and nothing like the robust, full-figured woman who’d won Papà’s love and devotion. It was only after he’d been snared that she’d turned into a harpy.

As Catarina stood there, looking down at the shrunken woman, pity replaced the anger. This woman could do nothing further to hurt her. Catarina walked away to find Bettina. She needed to know if Papà was still alive.