Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Anna, sono Matteo Lucchese. Sono qui con la tua pronipote, Allegra.” It’s Matteo Lucchese. I’m here with your grandniece, Allegra.
“Entra,” a voice yelled from inside. Her tone grew more stern. “Ma se è la parente del traditrice, lasciala fuori.”
I frowned and looked at Allegra. “She wants me to come in but leave you outside.”
“Really?”
I shrugged. “That’s what she said.”
“All right. Well…” She extended the letter to me. “I guess just give her this and let her know where I got it.”
“Will do.”
The rickety screen door creaked open, and I found Anna sitting at the kitchen table. She had on a housecoat and a pair of glasses with lenses thicker than a Coke bottle.
“Come sta?” I asked. How are you?
She pursed her lips. “Ho novant’anni. Non esiste più il bene o il male. Sono solo qui.” I’m ninety. There is no more good or bad. I’m just here.
I smiled and held out the letter. “Ho qualcosa da parte di tua sorella.” I have something for you, from your sister.
Anna pursed her lips, turned her head, and spat on the kitchen floor. “Per me è morta.” She’s dead to me.
I didn’t think it wise to point out that Sophia was dead to everyone. Ninety-year-old, four-foot-nine Italian women who’d survived Mussolini and World War II were better at nailing you in the head with a shoe than a marksman.
“Che ne dici se te lo lascio sul tavolo?” How about I leave it on the table for you?
She pointed to her glasses. “Non ci vedo più un accidente. Leggimelo prima che lo bruci.” I can’t see shit anymore. Read it to me before I burn it.
I shook my head. How the hell did I get myself into this?
Anna folded her arms across her chest, perhaps only a few heartbeats away from grabbing that shoe, so I tore open the seal to the back of the envelope and slipped out the letter inside.
I had experience with pissing off Italian women, so to be safe, I scanned the page for a quick read before starting. Oh fuck. This wasn’t going to be good. I tossed around making up something different from what the letter actually said, but then I’d be pissing off a dead Italian woman, and I wasn’t sure which of the sisters could do me more damage. So I bit the bullet and began reading in Italian.
Anna,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead, which is the only way you’d get another word out of me after what you did. Congratulations for outliving me, just like you outlasted the three husbands you slept next to, two of them actually yours, along with your Thanksgiving invitation, and the shame of serving my lasagna recipe and calling it your own.
I’m leaving you nothing. Not a dollar. Not the pearls that have been in the family for two hundred years. Not even my unmatched Tupperware lids.
Rot in guilt. Or better yet, choke on your bad lasagna.
No love,
Sophia
P.S. You can no longer be buried with our family. I donated your plot to a hooker who died of syphilis. I figured at least she earned it, not stole her way through life, like you.
I wasn’t sure what the hell to do after that. Anna’s face was beet red, and it looked like she wanted to hold someone accountable for the letter. Since I was the only one around, I decided it was time to go. I set the letter down on the table and held up a hand in a wave.
“Ciao. Stammi bene.” Bye. Take care.
I made it as far as the door before she caught up to me. Anna had the letter in one hand and a lit Bic lighter in the other. She caught the bottom of the page, and the sheet went up in flames. I opened the door, and Anna tossed the paper on the front lawn before spitting at Allegra’s feet and marching back into her house.
Slam! The door flew closed.
Allegra’s face wrinkled. “What the hell?”
I put my arm around her shoulder and started her toward the scooter. “I’ll explain after we are out of shotgun range, yes?”
Chapter 11
Allegra
“HEY.” I SWIPED my cell phone to answer and put it on speaker. “Hang on one second. I’m getting something out of the oven.”
“Umm…I must’ve called the wrong number,” Cassie said. “The woman I’m trying to reach needs a recipe to boil water.”
I laughed. “You’re never going to believe me, but I’m actually taking a beautiful torta di ricotta e spinaci out of the oven. I made it from scratch.”
“You’re right, I don’t. So I’m switching over to FaceTime to see this shit. Hang on.” A few seconds later, my phone flashed with Cassie’s name. I answered wearing two red oven mitts.
“Oh my God. What are those things on your hands? Was there an accident of some sort?”
I chuckled and tilted the phone so my friend could see the pie I’d set on the counter. “Wiseass. Look at my torta di ricotta e spinaci.” I said the last part with my best Italian accent.