left you on the roof?” Laura pummeled her pillow into a fluffy circle and rolled onto her side to face Enza.
“I’m not going to stop working,” Enza vowed.
“I hope you like making shoes.”
“I’ll help him, and he’ll help me.”
“Really. A man is going to put your work on a par with his? I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”
“I have hope, Laura.”
“Yeah. Hope is wonderful thing. It has no memory. It fills you with possibility. Whatever your imagination can conjure, hope will design and deliver.”
“You just don’t like him,” Enza said.
“I don’t know him. But it’s not about liking Ciro. It’s about loving my friend and wanting the best for her. You have no idea what you’re getting into. You’ll be living on Mulberry Street, doing his boss’s laundry. I don’t know how he convinced you to change your life, one that you created over years, in a matter of minutes. He must have made some pretty big promises.”
“He promised to love me. And for once in my life, I’m going to do the impractical, unwise, ill-advised thing. I’m going to make a decision based upon the feeling I have in my heart, and not what looks good on paper or makes anyone else happy. I’m going to do something for me, and I’ll live with whatever Ciro brings into my life and be happy that I did.”
Laura sighed. “You’ve gone over the cliff. He’s got you. I have to hand it to him. For a woman, love is the highest dream, and if a man promises to build a ladder tall enough to reach it, she believes him, hikes up her skirt, and follows him to the stars. Now it’s my turn to hope. I’m going to hope Signor Lazzari doesn’t disappoint you.”
Laura rolled over in her bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Enza didn’t sleep that night. She spent the late night hours thinking about Vito and Ciro and the life she had chosen.
The fire threw a soft glow onto the walls, illuminating the cracks in the old paint. There were no shapes or strange shadows to portend Enza’s future, no signs whatsoever. On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Enza cried silent tears so as not to wake Laura.
Ciro stretched out on his cot at the Zanetti Shoe Shop. He crossed his arms and stared up at the squares of the tin ceiling, as he had done for many nights before he left for the war.
Remo and Carla had gone to bed after a supper of steak and onions, fresh bread, coffee, and cake. Ciro talked for hours about the war and his travels to Rome. He thought about telling them about Enza, but decided not to, as Carla seemed to expect him to get back to work immediately. Her bank purse was never so thick as when Ciro made excellent-quality work boots at the pace of a machine. Signora wanted the old profits back, the sooner the better.
Ciro heard a key turn in the front door of the shop. He stood and looked out from behind the curtain.
“Don’t shoot,” Luigi said, holding up the key. He looked at Ciro. “My God, you’re thin,” he said as he embraced his friend.
“You’re not. How’s married life?”
“Pappina is expecting.”
“Auguri!”
“Grazie. Grazie. We’re living on Hester Street.”
“How is it?”
“It’s no good. It’s noisy. There’s no garden. I want to get Pappina out of here.”
“Where would you go?”
“We thought about going home to Italy, but there’s no work there. The war made it worse.” He lowered his voice. “And I’m tired of making money for them.” He pointed upstairs. “I work seven days a week, and she pays me for five.”
“Signora wants me back on the machines in the morning—at the same salary. Says times are tough.”
“For us. Not for her,” Luigi said. “She couldn’t wait for you to return. I’m surprised she didn’t rent a mule and do a search for you in the fields of France. Did she make you steak?”
Ciro nodded.
“That’s how she keeps us under her thumb.” He patted his stomach. “When she expects double time at the same rate, you get tenderloin. We need to make a break.”
“Remo says he wants to go home to Italy.”
“And you think they’ll sell us the business? It will never happen. Signora loves the cash too much. She’ll work him to death and then spend the rest of her time counting the money.”
“I’ve thought about opening our own shop,” Ciro said. “What do you think?”