One Italian Summer - Lori Nelson Spielman Page 0,104

of me and the best parts of your father.” Tears blurred my vision. “Your papà may not be here, but he loves you. He—we—want only good things for you. You are going to have a wonderful life, full of opportunity and riches and joy. I promise you. And I promise him.”

Eight days later, Rosa blew into the apartment waving a newspaper. “They’ve built a wall!” she cried. “Two days ago, the free passage between East and West Berlin was sealed off with barbed wire. Today, they are building a wall out of concrete, five meters high.” She held one hand to her belly as she read from the article. “It will be topped with barbed wire, guarded with watchtowers and machine guns and mines.” She tossed the paper onto the table and took my hands. “Access to the West is closed, Paolina. Permanently. Rico will never return.”

Chapter 46

Emilia

I dab Poppy’s wet cheeks with a tissue, worried that the painful memories are too much for her fragile spirit. She leans back and closes her eyes.

“How could I celebrate the birth of my child while grieving the loss of Rico? The cruelty of the Berlin Wall was too much. I allowed my Joh to slip away. In my sadness, in the darkness of my despair, I didn’t realize how quickly she was fading.”

So that’s it. The Berlin Wall was erected. Rico was trapped. Poppy suffered from severe depression, so all-encompassing she didn’t even realize her baby was dying. I shudder, wondering what, exactly, happened to baby Johanna. Rosa was wise to bring Poppy to America. But she left all hope of Rico behind. Two hearts separated by war and wounds and a godforsaken wall. I kiss Poppy’s hand.

“I am so sorry.”

“Ditto,” Lucy says, her voice thick.

“Rosa’s waiting was finally over. We were both taken by surprise. When my sister arrived in Ravello, she wasn’t expecting motherhood to come so soon. She chose the name Josephina, after our mother’s mother.”

A shiver goes through me. One sister gives birth, the other buries her child. And the names—Johanna and Josephina—so very similar. Could the gods be any crueler? It’s no wonder Poppy transferred her love to Josephina.

From the car stereo, a sonorous ballad plays. The melancholy notes make my nose sting. Lucy shapes her sweater into a pillow, and soon she’s propped against the door, softly snoring. Poppy sighs when I reach for her, almost a purr. She’s a small child in my arms, in need of comfort tonight. Her breathing slows. Her body falls limp against mine. My arm goes numb and begins to tingle. I don’t move. I breathe in the sweet scent of my aunt, feel the faint rise and fall of her breath, hoping that years from now, I can close my eyes and retrieve this very moment.

“I should have tried harder to connect with you,” she whispers. “Please forgive me.”

I stroke her downy head. “There is nothing to forgive. You tried. But I allowed Nonna …” My words trail off. I’m an adult now. It’s not fair to blame Nonna.

“Next time you speak to Rosa, please tell her I’m sorry. That I love her.”

Uncle Dolphie was right. Reconciliation would give Poppy peace—and probably my nonna, too. “Why not tell her yourself? We can call her tomorrow.”

She shakes her head. “I phoned Dolphie just before leaving the States. We had a lovely conversation. But Rosa … she will not speak to me.”

I clench my jaw, anger burning in me. “She’s stubborn,” I say, “like my sister.”

“Yes. I’ve tried many times to reach out to Daria.”

I look down at her. “Really? She never told me.”

“You and I are together. That’s enough.”

“Thank God,” I whisper, and I kiss her head. “And thank you.”

“I love you, Emilia.”

“I love you, too, Nonna.”

I catch my mistake, but for some reason, I don’t correct myself. Neither does my aunt.

Jan drops us off at Rico’s old apartment above the bakery. “It is yours for as long as you need it,” he says, handing Poppy an old-fashioned brass key. “I will stay down the hill at Elene’s.”

Lucy helps Poppy into her nightgown before retreating to the living room sofa. I dampen a cloth and wash Poppy’s soft cheeks.

“I always dreamed I’d sleep in this room again,” Poppy says, staring up at the wall above the door. “He carved our initials. They are still there, somewhere.”

“I know,” I say. “He loved you very much.”

“He still does,” she reminds me, and I’m ashamed that I referred to him in the past