“Don’t worry about him, Ida. He got sober. He’s a strong person. You’re a good family.”
“Not good enough.” Ida gestured with her hand.
Matelda laughed, but it caused her to cough. “Your family has seen worse.”
“I know. That’s where it comes from—they see worse, and therefore they do worse. What’s the difference to them?”
“Anina canceled her wedding.”
“I heard. She’s a smart girl. A seer! She can see the future. Maybe she should be cutting tarot cards instead of rock. She is doing the right thing. Take a hard stand with that nonsense when they’re young, because when men hit forty, it’s over. It only gets worse.”
“We push men through the midlife crisis, and ten years later they need a pill to get the train moving.”
“You can keep the train. I jumped off that train and didn’t even get a bruise,” Ida confirmed.
The old friends laughed.
“I want you to get better, Picci.”
“It’s out of my hands. God’s will be done.”
“God’s will,” Ida said, echoing her friend’s prayer. “My mother told me that she was grateful to have the time to sit and think before she died.”
“Your mother was right. A little time is a big gift. All my life I worried about death. Not my own, but, you know, the kids, my parents. Friends. There’s no way to prepare for death unless you’re the one dying.”
“Are you sure you’re dying?” Ida looked into Matelda’s eyes. “You don’t have the look of death. You don’t have the rattle. I don’t see any signs.”
“I don’t know when, Ida. But it’s getting closer.”
Ida leaned in. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you?”
“I have what I need. I’m home. I have a nice wheelchair. Better than a Maserati. Keeps me right here, where I belong. That ocean is my salvation. It’s been my constant companion, you know. My mental health. I come out here and talk to God. I’ve been doing it all my life. How lucky I am. I grew up in this house, I raised my family here, and I will die here.”
“You Cabrellis with the villa. How many houses did Hitler bomb in Viareggio, and this one made it! Do you ever think about that?”
“That Nazi bastard got me good in other ways, so let’s not get too excited about what we didn’t lose.”
“Did you hear about Bim? He dropped dead last night. You remember Bim? He was in our class. He was a looker. I always thought Bim looked like Robert Redford when he was young.”
“How does he look now?”
“Robert Redford? Better than Bim. He looks like The Way He Was.” Ida laughed at her own joke.
“It’s awful to get old.” Matelda sighed. “They’re fussing over me.”
“Let them. At a certain point, you get to be our age and look around the room and you realize that you’ve changed the diapers of every person that is taking care of you. So if they want to get you a cookie, or help you take a bath, let them. As long as they don’t drop you.” She checked her watch. “I have to go. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“My feet. My toes are so bad—when I’m barefoot, they look like I’m wearing the shoebox instead of the shoe.”
“Are they that bad?”
“You will never know.” Ida stood. “My feet are the only thing that’s wrong with me, but feet are a big one. You need them to get around.” Ida gave her a hug. “Do your exercises. Lungs are a big one too. You need them to breathe. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“What else have I got to do?”
Matelda heard Ida chatting with Anina inside. She sipped a short breath and another. She coughed. She tucked her hands under the blanket and raised her face to the sun. Ida Metrione Casciacarro was a good friend. Time spent with her was never wasted. They had kept busy at church. They volunteered as tour guides at the Villa Puccini. They went out to lunch, and when Ida was in the mood, she’d join Matelda on a walk through the village. They kept each other in the loop, but mostly Ida helped her remember. There are many gifts a friend brings to a woman’s life. History. Empathy. Honesty. Lucky was the woman who kept a childhood friend because that friend remembered what you looked like, who you were, and your people. Lucky was the woman who had a friend from the age of ten, when girls were brave, gutsy, and full of questions and had the time and pep to seek the answers. That friend knew who you really were. That friend had seen your soul.