She strained to pull together a vision of him. She thought she remembered brown hair and brown eyes. That could be anyone. She sighed, wishing she could picture him.
But if she wasn’t going to leave and marry Franco, she wondered whom she would marry. She hadn’t thought much about it. Anna and Maria Nina talked about the boys in the village incessantly, while the three waited in line at the pump to fill the water pitchers for their families, but there was no particular boy with whom she could picture spending her life.
Catarina visualized a few she knew. There was Dominico Pescatore—who had the most potential. He was handsome and kind, but he was the son of a fish monger, and she didn’t think she could stand to marry a man who was covered in fish blood all day.
There was Armondo Deluca, who was funny and made all the girls laugh when they were at town festivals, but his family was even poorer than Catarina’s, and his mother was difficult. She thought every girl was out to catch her perfect son, and that no one was good enough for him. She shuddered at the thought of living out her life stuck in that household under the dour eye of Signora Deluca.
Paolo Eliodoro could be a good man to marry, and Catarina liked him, but Anna had been planning to marry Paolo since they were both children, and she would never get in the way of that.
Besides the problem of marriage, she believed what Babbo had said about the war coming was true. At least that was what she kept hearing whispered in town. What if all the boys from home were sent away to fight? Who would she be left with then? That night she finally fell into a restless sleep, but when she woke up, in spite of her concerns she was resolved. She would stay. It would work out for her here. She would make it work out in order to be with her family. She didn’t care if she never married and worked as a maid her entire life. It would be better than being sent away.
Signor Carlucci’s face suddenly flashed in her mind, but she pushed that aside. She would figure that out, too.
JULIETTE, THE RING, FLEEING TO A BEAUTIFUL ITALIAN CITY AND TRYING TO COOK AWAY SORROW
“She wanted you to have the ring, Juliette,” her father Alexander said, holding out the perfect diamond ring that had belonged first to her grandmother, then her mother, and now, horrifyingly too soon, to her.
Juliette looked over at Gina, sitting beside her at the table in her parents’ kitchen, who nodded, obviously already having been told this news.
“Why me?” she asked, again looking at Gina who was older. Juliette had always assumed the ring would go to her.
“Mom left her share of the business to Gina,” their father explained. “That’s her heritage and connection to your grandparents. She left the ring to you so you would have a connection as well.”
Juliette’s hand shook as she took the ring from her father.
“I can visualize it on both of their hands,” Juliette said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’m not ready for it to be mine. I want it to still be on Mom’s finger.”
“I know,” her father said, and ran his hand over Juliette’s long light-brown hair. It was shot through with gold threads and was a sharp contrast to her sister’s loose dark brown curls that were so like their mother’s. His two daughters were physically dissimilar and yet there was something that gave them away as sisters in spite of their differing looks.
Juliette was tall for the family—more lanky to Gina’s petite frame that was like their mother’s and grandmother’s. Juliette took after the Brice side, whereas Gina looked like a Pensebene through and through. Except for their eyes, which they had each gotten from the opposite sides, to complete their heritage. Juliette’s were the same as her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, whereas Gina inherited her father’s hazel eyes. The sisters were an interesting contrast, yet both beautiful in their own ways.
She had been feeling detached and numb since the accident. Sitting next to her father and holding hands with her sister Gina during her mother’s memorial had felt surreal. The sorting and cleaning out of her belongings was even worse. It made the loss jaggedly permanent. Choosing some of her favorite things to keep seemed wrong, but her dad and Gina insisted so that there would be no regrets later about things lost or given away hastily in a moment of rash grief.
It had felt almost businesslike yet Juliette had felt like she was drowning.
During the weeks following Amilia’s death, Juliette’s mind often drifted towards the box of letters her mother had given to her. She had tucked the plane tickets inside the box with the letters when she had gotten home from the hospital after the accident, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to open the lid since. The box sat on her bedside table, under a stack of novels, and she invariably found herself glancing over at it every night before she clicked off her light until finally one night she reached for it and slipped off the lid.
Juliette scooted herself up until she was leaning against the pillows by the headboard, took the tickets out, and ran her fingers over them, thinking about her mom’s beautiful face when she had given her the early birthday present. They had both been so excited to go and had talked through travel ideas while they had eaten.
It felt like the world had tilted on its axis since that warm moment in the restaurant. Juliette took out the same letter she had looked at when her mother had given her the letters to read. It was from her grandfather to her grandmother when she still lived in Italy before they married. She gently slid the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it, looking at the words written in Italian. She lifted the letter to her face and inhaled, but she only smelled paper and ink—all traces of her grandmothers’ scent long gone.
Juliette had been fairly fluent in Italian when she was younger and her grandparents had spoken to her in the language. She had loved the sound of it and had taken it in college as well, but hadn’t said a peep in Italian for years. Nonetheless, she was pleased to see that she could make out most of the words in the letter, even though the language style was from another era.
That night, Juliette only got through the first few paragraphs before the tears blurring her vision became too much to continue. She carefully replaced the letter in its envelope, making sure not to get the paper wet from her tears, and then turned out the light. A huge, full moon shined through the window and she wondered what life had been like for Nonna Catarina when she received the letter from her grandfather.
The door chimed as Juliette walked into the Pensebene jewelry store and waved to Gina.
“What a nice surprise,” her sister said, and came to give her a hug. “Come in and sit down.”
“I brought us coffee,” Juliette said, handing her sister a latte from their favorite indie coffee place.
“Yum, thanks,” she said and took a sip. “Mmmm, perfect.”
Juliette set her bag down and plopped onto one of the stools at the counter while she looked around.
“The place looks great, Gina.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t changed anything.”
“That’s part of what looks great. I love the fact that I can come here and besides a few updates over the years, it always looks the same. How many times have I sat in this chair, for instance? I can’t even count the number.”
Gina looked at Juliette with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“I used to love sitting here, watching Mom and Granddad working on designs. And now I can come and watch you, too. It’s nice. Unusual in this day and age.”
“Are you OK, Juliette?”
“What do you mean? I’m fine. I just stopped by because I met a friend for lunch at the Ferry Building and had some extra time to come by and say hello.”
“Oh, nice,” she smiled. “Have you been sleeping any better?”
“No,”