Page 79 of Valentino

"Pasta," I say. "This evening. I cooked it."

She is sixty-four years old and does not waste a pause. Since we lost my father, she talks more than she used to, filling every silence before it can settle, as if keeping the conversation going might leave less room for us to feel what is missing.

"How is she?"

"Strong," I say.

"Give her a kiss from me."

I close my eyes.

"mamma—"

"Don't 'mamma' me. Kiss her on the forehead, Valentino. Tell her it's from me. You will do this."

"Yes."

"And one from your aunt."

"Okay."

"We are praying for you. Both of us. Every morning and every evening. And Aria has lit a candle in her room for Amanda, which I suspect is against at least three house rules.”

That gets a smile out of me.

I can picture both of them. Aria lighting candles she probably isn't supposed to have. My mother pretending to be annoyed about it while making sure they never go out.

Aria loves Amanda. My mother loves Aria. The rest happened naturally.

"Valentino mio. You will eat. You will sleep. You will keep Amanda safe. And you will come home to me. In that order."

"In that order."

"Bravo." She says it the same way she did when I was a boy and managed something she'd already decided I could do. "Ti voglio bene, amore."

"Anch'io, mamma."

"Valentino."

"Yes, mamma."

"You did the right thing."

I don't answer.

"Do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

Amanda

I take a breath, open my eyes, and decide this is not me. I am not going to lie here pretending to sleep while fear eats a hole through my stomach.

Valentino's thumb is moving over my knuckles, slow and distracted. I let him do it for one more second, then pull my hand from his and tuck it into the front pocket of the hoodie.

"Why do you still live in Sicily?" I ask.

He blinks once, not expecting that. "What?"