am I still here on this earth?”
She touched her hand to her heart and then raised it to sign I love you.
He’d learned American Sign Language after losing his hearing in the accident, but rarely used it. Signing in public still made him feel self-conscious. But they weren’t in public now, so he signed back. I love you more.
As she pulled away from the curb, she let her father’s warning play over and over in her head. You shouldn’t mess with that guy, just because he came back.
“Right, Pop,” she said, then turned onto Ocean Road, heading toward the Montgomery place.
Ciambellone
Ciambellone is a cross between a cake and a bread, with a nice texture well suited to be served at breakfast or with coffee. The smell of a baking ciambellone is said to turn a scowl into a smile.
4 cups flour
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup sugar
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ cup oil
1 teaspoon baking powder
zest from 1 lemon, finely chopped
garnish: milk, coarsely granulated sugar
Make a mound with the flour on a board, creating a well in the center. Using your fingers, begin alternating the liquid and other dry ingredients into the well, mixing until all the ingredients are combined, adding additional flour as needed and kneading to make a smooth dough. Divide into 2 parts and shape into fat rings. Brush the tops with milk and sprinkle with sugar. Place the coils on a buttered baking sheet and bake at 350° F for about 40 minutes or until golden brown.
PART TWO
Insalata
When she made a salad, Mamma used only the most tender hearts and cores of the lettuce. She tossed everything in a bowl so big and wide, a small child could sit in it. That’s the secret of a great salad. Give yourself plenty of space to toss. You always need more room than you think you need.
Romaine and Gorgonzola Salad
Wash two heads of romaine lettuce in cold water, discarding the tough outer leaves. Shake dry and tear into bite-sized pieces. Add basil sprigs and cherry tomatoes, cut in half. Right before serving, toss the lettuce with Gorgonzola vinaigrette.
Gorgonzola Vinaigrette
¼ cup white wine vinegar + ¼ cup apple juice
1 Tablespoon minced shallots
2 Tablespoons mustard
2 teaspoons chopped basil
2 Tablespoons toasted pine nuts (pinones)
¼ cup walnut oil + 3 Tablespoons olive oil
2 Tablespoons crumbled Gorgonzola—preferably the aged variety from Monferrato
freshly ground black pepper
Put everything in a jar and shake well. Makes about 1 cup. Store in the fridge for up to 5 days.
Five
Summer 1983
When Rosa Capoletti was nine years old, she learned two important lessons. One: after your mother dies, you should still remember to talk to her every day. And two: never put up a rope swing in a tree containing a beehive.
Of course, she wasn’t aware of the hive when she coiled a stout rope around her shoulder and shinned up the trunk of a venerable elm tree by the pond in the Montgomerys’ garden. The pond was stocked with rare fish from Japan and water lilies from Costa Rica, and had a burbling fountain. Pop had told Rosa she should never bother the fish. The pond was Mrs. Montgomery’s pride and joy, and under no circumstances must it be disturbed.
Pop had told her to stay out of trouble. He was going to the plant nursery with Mrs. Montgomery and Rosa was not to leave the yard. That was fine with her, because it was a perfect summer day, third grade was behind her and she had nothing but lazy days ahead. When Mamma was alive, Rosa used to help her in the kitchen garden at home. Mamma’s tomatoes and basil were so good they won prizes, and she always made Rosa wear a straw hat with a brim, tied on with a polka dot scarf. She said too much sun was bad for the skin.
Since Mamma died and the boys went into the navy, there was no one to look after Rosa once school let out for summer, so she went to work with Pop each day. The nuns from school urged Rosa’s father to send her to a Catholic summer camp. Rosa had begged to stay home, promising Pop she’d stay out of the way.
Going to work with her father turned out to be the only thing that kept Rosa from shriveling up with sadness over Mamma. He used to be a familiar sight around the area, going from place to place on his sturdy yellow bicycle. Now they drove together in the old Dodge Power Wagon, with all his gardening tools in the back. During the summer, he worked from dawn to dusk at six places—one for each day of the week—mowing, pruning, digging and clipping the yards and gardens of the vast seaside estates that fringed the shoreline.
This was Rosa’s first visit to the Montgomery place, a giant barge of a house with a railed porch on three sides and tall, narrow windows with glass so old it was wavy. She found all sorts of things to explore in the huge, lush yard that extended out to touch an isolated stretch of beach. Still, she was bored. She wanted to go to the beach, to take the little dinghy out, to go on adventures with her friends. But she was stuck here.
Spending the afternoon alone would be a lot more fun now that she had a rope swing, she thought, sticking one bare foot in the bottom loop and pushing off. She laughed aloud and started singing “Stray Cat Strut,” which played on the radio at least once a day. She didn’t really know what a “feline Casanova” was, but it was a good tune, and her big brother Sal had taught her all the words before he left.
He and her other brother, Rob, took the train early this morning. They were going to something called Basic Training, and who knew when she’d see them again?
She soared high enough to see the empty beach beyond the lavish gardens and then low enough to skim the soft, perfectly groomed carpet of grass. The sky was bluer than heaven, like Mamma used to say. In the garden below, the button-eyed daisies and fancy purple lobelias were reflected in the surface of the pond. Seagulls flew like flashing white kites over the breakers on the beach, and Rosa felt all the fluttery excitement of freedom.
Summer was here. Finally, endless days out from under the glare of Sister Baptista, whose stare was so sharp she could make you squirm like a bug on a pin.
The little seaside town of Winslow changed in the summer. The pace picked up, and people drove along the coast road in convertibles with the tops down. Pop would comment that the price of gas and groceries went sky-high and that it was impossible to get a table at Mario’s Flying Pizza on a Friday night, even though Rosa and Pop always got a table, because Mario was Mamma’s cousin.
Rosa came in for a landing, aiming her bare
