“And you didn’t feel that either?”
Anina worried about her grandmother, though her mother assured her that Matelda would outlive all of them. It might be true, because it seemed Matelda had not aged like other grandmothers. Like volcanized rubber, her grandmother seemed to get stronger over time. If she fell, she bounced. Matelda was the only nonna Anina knew who didn’t slump. Her upright posture was something out of a military exercise. Her style was classic. Matelda dressed in classic wool skirts and cashmere sweater sets. There was always a tasteful brooch and a string of pearls. Matelda dressed like a woman of means who worked in a city, even though she was now, in retirement, a housewife who lived by the sea.
“Stop staring.” Matelda put her hand to her face and found the cut with the tips of her fingers. It was no thicker than a thread and went from the top of her cheekbone to her ear.
“If a bird attacked you, all those germs got into the cut. They carry disease; plus, it’s bad luck.”
“I wouldn’t worry. It’s my bad luck, not yours.”
Anina opened the jewelry case. The contents glistened like ribbon candy. “I remember this case. When I was little, you’d let me play with the jewelry.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Well, you let me help you polish the pieces. Remember?”
“That sounds more like me. Putting idle children to work to keep them out of mischief.”
“You took a chore that needed to be done and made it fun.”
“I was fun?” Matelda chuckled to herself.
“Here and there.” Anina closed the jewelry case and looked at Matelda.
“What’s the matter?”
“Do you have ointment or a bandage or something? I won’t enjoy our time together until you put something on that wound.”
“Madonne.” Matelda pushed her chair from the table and went to the powder room. “It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s a wound,” Anina called after her. “I’d google it, but you stole my phone.”
Matelda opened the first aid kit she kept under the sink. She washed her hands before applying a thin line of antiseptic to the cut on her face. She pressed a gauze pad against it to let the ointment soak in. “All right, I am cured.” Matelda returned to the table.
“Grazie mille.” Anina lifted the compartments out of the case, placing them on the table. “How did the incident with the bird happen exactly?”
“What difference does it make? We can’t file a police report.”
“Was the bird alone, or was there a flock of them?”
“Only one. I see what you’re getting at. There’s some meaning in all this. I’m afraid I don’t know what that would be. My mother knew Italian folklore. She was the expert. She used to say if a bird perched in the window looking into the house, it meant someone in the house would die.”
“What would she say about a bird that attacks an innocent woman unprovoked in broad daylight?”
“I have no idea.”
“We could call a strega,” Anina suggested.
“All the stregas I knew in the village are dead,” Matelda admitted.
“Mama might know someone in Lucca.”
“We are not calling around Lucca to find a witch.”
“It’s just a thought.” Anina pulled a ring from the box and tried it on. “I’m just trying to help.”
“It’s nothing,” Matelda assured her. But she wasn’t entirely certain. This was the worst aspect of being old: There was no one left to call when Matelda needed answers. “Your coffee is going to get cold. How about the strudel di mele?”
“I can’t.”
“It’s your favorite.”
Anina patted her taut midsection. “I have to wriggle into a wedding gown.”
“You’re wearing one of those?” Matelda couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“I’m not wearing a big skirt. I don’t want to look like a bombolone on my wedding day.”
“Instead you’ll wear a tight gown like a television game show hostess with everything spilling out.”
“I won’t have spillage. There are alterations to take care of that.” Anina examined a platinum brooch with a bow of tiny blue sapphires, holding it up to the light.
“The priest will have something to say about it.”
“He did. I’ve been going for instruction with Paolo. I showed Don Vincenzo a picture of the gown. He thought it was lovely.”
“There are rules. A bride is required to have her head and arms covered in church. No bosoms.”
“But I have bosoms.”
“Modesty. It’s a sign of self-respect to stay covered. It’s keeping something just for you and your husband.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“And it’s too late to teach you.”
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not.” Matelda smiled. Most of the things that mattered to her didn’t matter to anyone anymore. Matelda didn’t have a right to complain, but she remembered a time when an elder could. “Anina, wear whatever makes you happy.”
At least Anina was getting married in a church. Plenty of Matelda’s friends had grandchildren who were married in public parks or on the beach without a mention of God. All they got was a barefoot bride, a sunburn, and warm prosecco in a paper cup. “Do you know what today is?”
“The day you asked me to come over and choose a piece of jewelry for my wedding.” Anina placed the brooch back in its velvet envelope. “Cabrelli family tradition. Your grandmother gave you a piece of jewelry to wear on your wedding day, your mother gave jewelry to my mother, and now it’s your turn to give it to me.”
“It’s also my birthday.”
“No.” Anina placed her hands on the table and thought for a moment. “It is! I am so sorry! Buon Compleanno!” She got up and gave Matelda a kiss on her cheek, the side without the cut. “I didn’t forget altogether. I remembered it yesterday; I just forgot this morning. I should have brought you a present!”
“You did. You brought me fruit, a gift that has to be used immediately. It’s the perfect gift for a woman of eighty-one if I don’t die before it spoils.”
“I’m sorry, Nonna. I can’t do anything right when it comes to you.”