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Authors: Joanne Guidoccio
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8
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I watched on the flat screen as Sofia led the solemn, slow-moving group past the entrance into the foyer. My mother and aunt were wearing head-to-toe black and clinging to each other. Uncle Paolo followed behind, head down. I waited for the knock at the door and then opened the door to let them in. My mother burst into tears, and both Uncle Paolo and Aunt Amelia had to help her sit down.
“Please, Ma, don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.” I forced a smile and bent over and kissed her.
“Things will only get worse.” Head down, she continued to cry into her handkerchief.
“I agree,” Aunt Amelia said. “There have been two murders, and I’m certain there will be a third. Everything comes in threes.”
“Why not four murders? There are two more sisters, and they’re both blondes. This is a season for killing blondes,” Sofia joked as she arranged the muffins and fruit on the table.
“Sofia! That’s terrible. Don’t even joke about it.” I was taken aback by her comment.
“Sofia, what’s gotten into you?” Uncle Paolo gasped in disbelief. “What if someone else had heard you?”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “Just kidding! It’s pretty bad when you have to muzzle your comments in front of family.”
Yes, isn’t it, I thought. Although I did not approve of her comments, I envied her ability to speak so bluntly. It made life a lot easier and less stressful.
Sofia stood back and surveyed the table. She had artfully arranged the food and flowers to create an autumn burst of loveliness. Aunt Amelia and Uncle Paolo smiled and nodded in approval as they sampled the banana and blueberry muffins. My mother poured coffee into the small, espresso cups and carried the tray into the living area. The angry moment had passed, and now everyone focused on the food.
“Sofia, these muffins are delicious.” Uncle Paolo had both types of muffins on his plate and alternated between them. “Much as I hate to agree with your mother’s Aunt Renata, I have to admit she was right. The blueberry muffins are the best.”
Aunt Amelia laughed. “I never thought I would hear you say anything nice about her.”
We all joined in the laughter as each of us recalled the year that Aunt Renata decided to spend the winter in Canada. She did nothing but complain about the weather and the lack of stimulating activities. Recently widowed, she had decided to travel and visit her many nieces and nephews in Canada and the United States. She had not bargained for a harsh, cold winter and bouts of influenza. I visited Sudbury once during that time, so I hadn’t experienced the full impact of that woman’s selfishness and self-absorption. “I still don’t understand why you all catered to her. You treated her like a guest for four whole months. I wouldn’t have had the patience for it.”
“We felt sorry for her,” Sofia said. “Her children had all moved to northern Italy, and she lived all by herself in that large, rambling house in Calabria.”
“She drove everyone away,” my mother explained. “And she had such a sad ending in Italy. I heard that very few people attended the funeral. Maybe we should have gone, Amelia.”
“It wasn’t a good time for either one of you, Aunt Assunta. You had just lost a husband, and Ma had that cancer scare.” Sofia put down her coffee cup. “Enough about Aunt Renata. We have more important matters to discuss.”
Sofia nodded in my direction. “Did you call Henry Keenan?”
“I’m meeting with him early this afternoon.”
Sofia continued, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I really wasn’t fine, but I didn’t want to alarm everyone. Somehow, I would muddle through this mess.
Uncle Paolo cleared his throat. “Gilda, you need to start thinking very carefully about every move you make.” He waved his hands. “We feel you should move in with Sofia or your mother.”
“Are you putting me under house arrest?” Did
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I watched on the flat screen as Sofia led the solemn, slow-moving group past the entrance into the foyer. My mother and aunt were wearing head-to-toe black and clinging to each other. Uncle Paolo followed behind, head down. I waited for the knock at the door and then opened the door to let them in. My mother burst into tears, and both Uncle Paolo and Aunt Amelia had to help her sit down.
“Please, Ma, don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.” I forced a smile and bent over and kissed her.
“Things will only get worse.” Head down, she continued to cry into her handkerchief.
“I agree,” Aunt Amelia said. “There have been two murders, and I’m certain there will be a third. Everything comes in threes.”
“Why not four murders? There are two more sisters, and they’re both blondes. This is a season for killing blondes,” Sofia joked as she arranged the muffins and fruit on the table.
“Sofia! That’s terrible. Don’t even joke about it.” I was taken aback by her comment.
“Sofia, what’s gotten into you?” Uncle Paolo gasped in disbelief. “What if someone else had heard you?”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “Just kidding! It’s pretty bad when you have to muzzle your comments in front of family.”
Yes, isn’t it, I thought. Although I did not approve of her comments, I envied her ability to speak so bluntly. It made life a lot easier and less stressful.
Sofia stood back and surveyed the table. She had artfully arranged the food and flowers to create an autumn burst of loveliness. Aunt Amelia and Uncle Paolo smiled and nodded in approval as they sampled the banana and blueberry muffins. My mother poured coffee into the small, espresso cups and carried the tray into the living area. The angry moment had passed, and now everyone focused on the food.
“Sofia, these muffins are delicious.” Uncle Paolo had both types of muffins on his plate and alternated between them. “Much as I hate to agree with your mother’s Aunt Renata, I have to admit she was right. The blueberry muffins are the best.”
Aunt Amelia laughed. “I never thought I would hear you say anything nice about her.”
We all joined in the laughter as each of us recalled the year that Aunt Renata decided to spend the winter in Canada. She did nothing but complain about the weather and the lack of stimulating activities. Recently widowed, she had decided to travel and visit her many nieces and nephews in Canada and the United States. She had not bargained for a harsh, cold winter and bouts of influenza. I visited Sudbury once during that time, so I hadn’t experienced the full impact of that woman’s selfishness and self-absorption. “I still don’t understand why you all catered to her. You treated her like a guest for four whole months. I wouldn’t have had the patience for it.”
“We felt sorry for her,” Sofia said. “Her children had all moved to northern Italy, and she lived all by herself in that large, rambling house in Calabria.”
“She drove everyone away,” my mother explained. “And she had such a sad ending in Italy. I heard that very few people attended the funeral. Maybe we should have gone, Amelia.”
“It wasn’t a good time for either one of you, Aunt Assunta. You had just lost a husband, and Ma had that cancer scare.” Sofia put down her coffee cup. “Enough about Aunt Renata. We have more important matters to discuss.”
Sofia nodded in my direction. “Did you call Henry Keenan?”
“I’m meeting with him early this afternoon.”
Sofia continued, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I really wasn’t fine, but I didn’t want to alarm everyone. Somehow, I would muddle through this mess.
Uncle Paolo cleared his throat. “Gilda, you need to start thinking very carefully about every move you make.” He waved his hands. “We feel you should move in with Sofia or your mother.”
“Are you putting me under house arrest?” Did
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