less than forty-eight hours and he’d already had time for a manicure.
I was jealous.
The steps creaked under his feet. For a little guy, he carried a lot of weight, muscle weight, I supposed. “Hate’s a strong word.”
“Not necessarily. I think it makes things easier.”
“You mean when someone holds a grudge?”
“I already told ya. I don’t hold no grudges,” he said as he stepped on the landing then headed for the front door, grabbed the glass knob and swung the white door open as far as it would go. Maryann’s music slowly faded. Conversation stopped. All I could hear was Bisnonno’s clock ticking.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Before he stepped out on the porch, he turned back to me, leaned in closer, smiled, revealing a dimple on his left check and whispered in a low, raspy voice, “I get even.”
FOUR
For a Few Bottles More
Trying to get my mother alone during the party was like trying to isolate one snowflake in a blizzard.
She scampered around attracting family as if no one could breathe without first learning how from Mom. Even Uncle Benny couldn’t seem to get her alone. I know because I watched him follow her around for about an hour.
It didn’t help that Mom glued herself to Dickey’s side so tight that I was sure their hips had fused.
And never mind that the only time she spoke to me was to ask if I could bring out another plate of olive focaccia, panini with buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes and chicken or anis cookies or pasta drenched in our Limonato olive oil, browned garlic and fresh parsley, or grilled veggies brushed with our Estate olive oil. But the strangest request was to help open more bottles of wine for the guests—Leo’s wine. I couldn’t imagine who might have brought it since most of the people in my family didn’t like the Russos or their uppity wine.
But that was beside the point.
As if anyone in this group needed help with a wine cork!
Then she fussed over not having enough olives on the tables, but when I looked around, there were mounds of olives on every surface.
Federico had gathered all the varieties we cured and filled up several wooden bowls he’d commandeered from my mom’s kitchen. Believe me, we had enough olives. Plus he brought out his famous tapenade made with chopped black Kalamata olives and sweet wine. His was my mom’s all-time favorite.
I was thinking that making good tapenade took time, especially if you didn’t use a food processor like Federico who insisted on chopping everything by hand. It would be a great addition to my cookbook, especially since you had to refrigerate the mixture for about ten hours. All that chopping and marinating could work for a level two alcohol need, like right before a job interview or a date to meet the parents or having to wait to talk to your mom about a document that could potentially change your entire life.
If I didn’t clear this up soon, I would have no choice but to slip away from the festivities and whip up a couple dozen pizzas just to ease the tension.
Taking in a deep breath and looking around, I noticed I wasn’t the only tense one in the bunch. Federico appeared to be just as uneasy as I was. He usually enjoyed watching people eat his olives and delight in his tapenade, but not today. He seemed a bit uptight as he leaned against my mom’s porch railing, sucking on his pipe, staring at the crowd. Then again, he never was one for family gatherings. They made him uncomfortable.
Federico was not only our groundskeeper, and olive expert, he was also my dad’s younger brother. My mom and I never would have made it through my dad’s disappearance if it wasn’t for Federico’s help. He kept a roof over our heads when money was tight, and taught me all those things a dad taught his daughter.
Admittedly, in this family those lessons included how to lock and load a weapon, how to shoot to kill, and the ever popular, never trust anyone, no matter who they are. He must have told me that one a hundred times.
I wasn’t too keen on the weapons program, but I learned the trust mantle in spades. Every shrink I’ve ever been to said the same tired refrain: You have trust issues.
Ya think?
Uncle Federico also taught me the basics that my dad never had time for: how to ride a bike, how to tie my shoe, how to pitch a baseball and