to me, child. I saw it. The beast came for me on the mountain pass. Its teeth were sharp as razors, its eyes devilish. But worst of all, it was so like us. Monstrous and yet so human. The legends were true.”
Three
Devil. Monster. Beast. Suicide.
These words circled my mind as I walked through the parking lot. Devil. Monster. Beast. Suicide. Nonna Sophia had left Italy nearly seventy years ago, and yet her fear remained hard and tactile, so solid I could feel it there beside me as I kicked through the snow to my car. What on earth had she seen that had scared her like that? An animal? A person? What did she mean by “the legends were true”?
Try as I might, I couldn’t put her words out of my mind. The way she held my hand to her heart and the beseeching look in her eyes—she had been terrified. Don’t be fooled. Whatever that family gives you is nothing compared to what you will lose.
At my car, I looked out over the vast grounds of the Monastery. It was three thirty in the afternoon, snowing heavily, the sky a fog of indigo against the river. The days were at their shortest, and dusk had fallen, darkness rising from the river to the heavens like watercolors seeping into paper. I brushed a layer of snow from the windshield, wishing that Luca had come with me. Surely, he would have known what to say to calm Nonna. He was always better at these things than I was.
Yet, even Luca would have found Nonna’s reaction to the letter extreme. I leaned against my car, feeling unbalanced, dizzy. Had my grandfather really committed suicide? Why would my parents have kept that from me? Had they, like Nonna Sophia and the older generation, tried to protect me from the truth?
As I got into my Honda, I heard something behind me. I turned, expecting to find a visitor, maybe even Luca. There was nothing but the empty parking lot, the wash of darkening light, the snow swirling in the wind. And yet, I felt a presence, an eerie human presence, close as breath on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right.
I locked the car door, turned on the heater, and called Luca, telling him everything. After he promised to come to the Monastery to check on Nonna, I threw the car into reverse, did a U-turn, and headed back toward Milton. It was three forty-five. The town hall closed at five.
Mrs. Thomas, head of the Vital Records office, was my friend Tina’s mother. In high school, there had been weeks when I had slept at the Thomases’ house more often than my own, partially because Tina and I played softball together, but also because, being an only child, I loved Tina’s brothers and sisters, the big chaotic family dinners, and the sense that there was always something exciting happening at the Thomases’ place. I’d compared her house with mine and, finding life quiet and dull with my parents, chosen to be with Tina.
The Vital Records counter was abandoned, but I could smell coffee from somewhere beyond the rows of metal filing cabinets, so I knew someone must be back there. I rang the bell and waited. Office hours were 8:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Monday through Friday, but even if Mrs. Thomas had left early, someone would help me.
“Well, hello there, Bert Monte!” Mrs. Thomas said, stepping out from behind a cabinet. She was a tall black woman in her fifties with an abundance of gold rings stacked on her fingers. “You looking for Tina?”
I was glad to see Mrs. Thomas. She had a way of putting me at ease. Maybe Tina had told her about my troubles at school, or my crippling shyness, because Mrs. Thomas always made me feel welcome. “Isn’t Tina in the city?” I asked.
“Brooklyn,” she said, shaking her head. “That girl left the day she graduated and is never coming back.”
“I heard you’re a grandma,” I said, aware, suddenly, how much time had passed since high school. I could hardly believe Tina and I had graduated ten years ago.
“Blessed many times over,” Mrs. Thomas said. “Three grandbabies. Two boys and a girl.”
Mrs. Thomas reached for a framed photograph on her desk, but I was too preoccupied to see her grandchildren. “I know you’re closing soon, but I was hoping to take a look at the Monte family records before you leave for the night,” I said. “Birth and