I let go of her hands, but never stopped moving, encouraging her to do the same.
She did. Scarlett learned how to fly.
I don’t know how many songs passed when the front door opened. Since it had been locked, I assumed it was Angelo. It wasn’t.
Scarlett yelled over the music, “Mae! Dance with us!”
With keys and grocery bags in her hands, Mae shook her elderly hips all the way to the kitchen. I danced out the front door to get more bags from her trunk.
I can’t explain the joy I experienced when Scarlett followed, all fear of the driveway gone. She shook and danced, helping me grab bags, music blaring out the front door.
The best part?
She was wearing her shoes.
Sadly, another miracle had to end. Eventually, Scarlett was again worried for Angelo. She stood at the front windows, like a puppy waiting for her master to come home. No headlights appeared as she clutched her plastic cup to her chest.
Back in my dress shoes, I stared at my cellphone. Angelo hadn’t called or answered my calls. I needed him to. I hadn’t ever dealt with Isabella on my own like he had. I was nervous I would fail Scarlett. The sun was setting, and I was almost through a bottle of wine with worry. I tossed the phone aside. Where are you, Angelo?
Gripping the kitchen island, I asked, “Dove, are you hungry?”
Her thighs had filled out and her arms no longer looked like string beans. I didn’t want Angelo’s actions to affect my hard work of putting weight on her.
Scarlett’s bare feet made no sound as she came to me in the kitchen. “Is he angry with me?”
“No. I think he is angry at himself.”
Her jaw dropped. “But… why?”
I smiled at her, loving how much she cared for my best friend. “Does he make your heart beat, Scarlett?”
Fingers reached around her cup to tap her chest as her eyes closed and her body swayed. “Yes.”
“See how your heart is beating for him again?”
Her gorgeous eyes opened as she quietly replied, “Yes.”
“Then remember, he doesn’t have to be by your side for you to feel him.”
Her expression was so gentle and serene. “Like Faith.”
Deep inhale… “Yes, like Faith. Have faith he will come back to you.”
She exhaled. “Thank you, Sal.”
I don’t know if God is more present in some, or if it was simply her belief that made it feel so, but at times, Scarlett truly had an angelic aura to her.
She asked, “You miss him, too?”
“Scarlett, since I was a young boy, I can’t think of one day we ever spent apart. Even when his father was sick—”
She covered her mouth. “No.” She grabbed her belly. “He has passed, hasn’t he?”
I nodded, then tapped my chest so she would understand. “It hurt Angelo, deeply.”
Scarlett thought for a minute. “Maybe I can make him dinner to help call him back to us?”
What a beautiful soul. “I happen to think you can do anything you want.”
Scarlett may have been angelic, but when unsupervised, she was Hell on bare feet in the kitchen. When I had gone to piss out wine while we were working on a sauce, Scarlett became nervous that Angelo would return before it was done, so she turned up the heat.
Bubbles popped out of the little saucepan onto her hands, scaring her half to death. I quickly rinsed her hands in the sink to cool down her skin. Under the water, my fingers tenderly ran over her scarred wrists.
Scarlett noticed me and confessed, “They don’t look like the women’s hands do on TV.”
I eyed the broken plastic of the television, grateful Scarlett no longer could use it as her example of perfection. “Then those women are not as beautiful as you.”
She gulped. “Really?”
I dried her hands with a dishtowel. “Really.” I dabbed her scars. “These are marks of strength and perseverance. They are battle scars announcing victory.”
She peered down at her permanent marks. “Wow.” She looked at me. “Do you have any scars?”
I immediately thought of the one on my head from when I was unknowingly experiencing my final test to become a Suit. Now standing in that kitchen, it felt like centuries ago. “Yes, I do.” But I didn’t want to walk down memory lane. The only person I would keep seeing there was Angelo. And he had abandoned us. At least, that is what my wine-influenced brain was telling me. “How about you help me cook dinner?”
She eyed the stove as if it were a beast trying to kill her.
That caused a much-needed laugh. “Help me with the salad? I’ll cook the lasagna.”
Absolutely against Angelo’s orders, while we cooked, I spoke to Scarlett about her ‘fathers.’ After what she had seen on the TV, I believed there was no need to hold back. I explained how a father should never have sex with their child. I explained that the actors were making love and that sex should feel good. I wanted to vomit when she sounded so shocked, claiming sex was awful.
Maybe it was that horrendous belief, or all the wine, but I kissed her.
Telling her about how making love could make her feel, I kept thinking of Noemi and how she had made my body soar. How she made my heart full…
Now, I was missing Noemi and Angelo.
“Soar like a bird?” asked Scarlett.
In front of me had been an eager and beautiful woman, begging for just a taste.
That ended up being the second disaster in the kitchen.
My ego took a hit, but I was truly happy that Scarlett was already far too in love with Angelo to ever desire Sal Rossi. Nope, instead of appreciating my famous Italian kiss, Scarlett now wanted to experience her first glass of wine.
Who was I to say no?
I opened yet another bottle, telling her, “We can have a picnic!”
Gasp! “A pic-i-nic?”
“Yes, like in Italy. Dove, you will love them! We eat lots of food in our front yards and celebrate family and friendships.”
“Sal, we must have a pic-i-nic.”
“Yes.”
“What is a front yard?”
I looked to the glass door leading out to the balcony, that hung over the mountainside—and no front yard. Then I looked to the front door that led to a driveway that didn’t even have space to be level. “Well, a front yard is something we are lacking at the moment.”
“Oh, no. How sad.”
I chuckled. “But who am I?”
She suddenly smiled, knowing me well. “Sal Rossi! The perfect Italian specimen who gives the best kisses to…” she winked—imitating what I had taught her, “most girls. Just not Dove.”
I held my stomach, laughing so hard. “Angelo is going to love that when he gets home.”
Gasp! “I heard about homes in the books Mother used to read to me.”
Realizing my mistake, I corrected, “Your true home is in Italy, but who is to say this can’t be our temporary home?”
“Sal Rossi? The perfect Italian specimen who gives the best kisses to,” she winked, “most girls? Just not Dove?”
Now, I was falling into the counter due to laughter. “That’s right! But Sal Rossi is not saying no. In fact, he says let us have our picnic inside!”