She drove the van right up to the former church, which, like every other building in Venice, looked like it had been built in the eleventh century, remodeled in the fifteenth, then benignly neglected ever since. It was near the St. Mark’s clock tower which, when it wasn’t so early, he appreciated as a beautiful sight. The area was mostly deserted, because Venetians were a clever and resourceful people who understood that 5:00 A.M. is still bedtime. And the tourists didn’t have a clue about anything, so they were still in bed, too. (Lucky bastards.)
He walked past three pillars to the entrance, Delaney and the others leading the way, and then they led him straight to the depths of hell: the kitchen of San Basso.
* * *
Colomba di Pasqua was a terrible fruitcakesque confection people were forced to eat at Easter. Not only that: It was tradition to give them at Easter. What kind of deep loathing does someone harbor to give a loved one a dense terrible cake studded with orange peel?
“It’s the garbage of the orange!” he cried, then had a coughing fit when he accidentally inhaled some flour. “It’s not a gift, it’s a prank! Something you do to someone you don’t like, every single year. It is not dessert!”
He was floured from eyebrows to knees, despite the apron Delaney had insisted on tying on him. Which was fine. He was a manly man and not threatened by any apron, however frilly, and better yet oh my God Delaney’d had her arms around him while she tied it in back! Their faces had been mere inches apart! And when her pretty wide mouth opened, he wondered, Oh God what is she going to saaaay?
“Try not to hurt yourself. There’s a lot of sharp things in here.”
“Right,” he replied, because honest to God, it was all he could think of. “Thanks for the tip. No picking up knives with my mouth.” This made Lillith laugh so hard, she almost fell off her stool.
“Just don’t be a dumbass,” she said, already on her way to the meeting. “You’ll be fine.”
“Hey! I don’t wake you up in the wee hours and give you impossible tasks and then demand you change your entire personality!” he shouted after her.
“Shut up, please,” she said in a tone he was starting to love. From Delaney, that was almost “Kiss me, you fool.”
Man, do I wish she’d kiss this fool.
Then she callously abandoned him—them—to their fate, and for the first time in his life, he regretted learning Italian. It meant he was reading the recipe right. He really did have to peel dozens of oranges. He really did have to scoop up cup after cup after cup of disgusting dried fruit. He really did need a buttload of almonds, the most disgusting of all nuts, and tube after tube of almond paste, the most disgusting of all pastes. He’d cracked so many eggs, his fingers were numb as well as stained orange. He was sticky and he stank and flour was fucking everywhere and he’d been at it for hours.
“It’s been forty-five minutes.” From Lillith, who looked adorable in her giant apron, and who was as flour-splashed and orange-stained as he was.
“Don’t you hate this? Why aren’t you sulking because you can’t stare at a screen? Any screen?”
“I like you” was the simple reply. “And if you’re my dad, we have to get to know each other.”
That gave him pause. “Right,” he replied carefully. “But if I’m not—”
“Then I’m no worse off than I was before.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—”
“Uh-oh.”
“—how did your mom die?”
“Hit-and-run. And nobody figured out who did it.”
“Oh.” But Donna had made arrangements of a sort—she must have; otherwise, Delaney wouldn’t have learned of her estranged friend’s death.
As if reading his mind, she added, “My friend Jim’s family took care of me until Delaney came. We used to play at each other’s houses all the time, before. His mom said we were practically siblings anyway.”
“Yeah?” He kneaded more disgusting dough, hoping that a lack of eye contact would keep her talking. “Did you mind? Being an only child?”
“… No.”
“Because I kind of envy you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“So it was just you and your mom? The whole time?”
“Sure.”
“Did she ever talk about me?”
“Sure.”
“She did?” He stopped with the dough and looked up. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” Lillith was working on her own smaller pile of disgusting dough, but now she looked up and smiled. “She said meeting you changed everything.”
He hadn’t expected to feel pleased. “Really?”
“Sure! She said when she found out she was pregnant, she knew she couldn’t waste any more time scamming pretty boys, she had to grow up and be a responsible human being.”
“Oh.”
“You were responsible for her one-eighty. She always gave you credit for that.”
“Great.”
“Why haven’t you asked about the DNA test?”
“Uh.” Wasn’t expecting that from the kiddo. Delaney, yes. Not Lillith. “I’m not sure that’s something we should—”
“We’re friends, remember?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s right. And friends don’t lie, so I’ll tell you the truth—I haven’t asked because I’m not sure what’s going on. And I’m curious. Because I thought all I wanted was my money and my life back, but … I just don’t want to walk out of the theater until I know how the movie ends. And…”
“And you’re wondering why Delaney hasn’t brought it up, either.”
“Yeah.” He surrendered, reminding himself he was in the presence of a mind quicker and less cluttered than his.
“It’s limbo, kind of. The in-between. No one’s in a rush to get to the next stage of—of whatever this is.”
He nodded.
“Which is curious.” She was fixing him with that dark gaze again. “Don’t you think? I mean, I know why I’m in no rush. And you know why you are. But what’s motivating Delaney?”
“You’re…” He tried to think of the word. Settled for a poor substitute. “Extraordinary.”
“No. Just smart.” But she smiled down at her dough, and edged a bit closer to him.
“Break time!”
“Thank God,” he groaned as Delaney and Elena came back to the kitchen.
“For the child, idiota.”
“Oh, please, not another one of those ‘Working children fourteen hours a day is cruel’ softies.” But he was already helping Lillith clean up, handing her a damp kitchen cloth to destickify her hands. When he moved to brush the flour off her shirt she jerked back so quickly, she nearly fell. “Whoa! Careful, hon.”
“Sorry. Ticklish.”
“Come along, my sticky tickly sweetheart.”
“Please don’t talk to me like I’m three.”
“You would prefer if I talked to you like you’re forty?” Elena asked.
As he and Delaney watched them leave, he grinned to hear Lillith’s “Come to think of it, yes.”