“Just having you as my mother made me happy. You know I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, Piccianina.” It had been years since Matelda had called her daughter by her childhood nickname, which had also been her own.
“I wouldn’t have wanted to be any other woman’s daughter.”
“You may have had a day or two.” Matelda smiled before she closed her eyes. “And it would have been completely understandable. I’m not easy.”
* * *
Anina lit the overhead work lamp with a single bright beam. She was alone inside Cabrelli’s Jewelers on the main boulevard in Lucca. Night had fallen but she didn’t notice it. She didn’t check the time because she didn’t care how long it would take. She could hear the laughter and conversations coming from the street as the young set in town headed out to the clubs. She looked up and smiled to herself. That used to be her routine. Soon, the sound of the car horns and their voices fell away as she concentrated on the task before her.
Anina slid the work goggles over her eyes. She flipped the switch to turn on the bruting wheel. She tapped her foot on the pedal, gently pumping the machine wheel. She cocked her head to listen for the sound it made when it was operating at the proper speed.
The apprentice picked up a sliver of peach quartz and held it against the rough edge of the wheel. It jumped between her fingers and out of her hands. She turned the machine off. Anina got down on her knees and looked for the stone. When she found it in a crack in the floorboard, she stood and held it under the light.
She heard her grandfather’s voice in her head. She examined the quartz, turning it over to find the stone’s point of strength. She adjusted the light and started the machine again. She hoped the stone would not shatter in her hand and tumble into the catch tray below the table. The stone felt substantial as she tilted it against the wheel, slowly grazing the quartz against the abrasive rim of the wheel. She held on to the stone, gently guiding it, shifting it slightly to create an edge on the cut. She heard the music of the cutting as the wheel spun faster, the notes climbing an octave. Anina stopped breathing as the quartz squared in her hand. The stone, cut by her own hands, had a top, smooth, without cracks or fissures. Anina stopped the wheel. She looked at the stone. The quartz grabbed the light. Cutting was all about the light. Yes, Anina said to herself, yes.
* * *
Anina sat with her grandmother on the terrace. “This is the best view in the village,” she decided.
“I think so. But it’s the only one I’ve ever known. Maybe the Figliolos have a better one.”
“Maybe.” Anina pulled the chair closer to her grandmother.
“I’m afraid, Anina.”
“Are you in pain?”
“I’m all right if I don’t move.” Matelda grinned.
“So don’t. Are you afraid of death?”
“No. Not at all. We’re promised that the afterlife will be beyond our imaginations. I’m looking forward to seeing what that could possibly be. But I am afraid I won’t recognize John McVicars when I meet him in heaven.”
“Maybe you won’t recognize him, but he’ll know you.”
“That’s actually wise.” Matelda nodded. “You with the tattoo knows about the afterlife?”
“Nonna, a jab? Really?” Anina took her grandmother’s hand and squeezed it affectionately. “I’m trying to help.”
“I’m sorry. I say whatever I’m thinking and half the time it’s just rot.”
“It’s your sense of humor. Don’t apologize for it now.”
“My humor is so dry, it could be the bread crumbs in your meatballs. Well, that’s what happens as you get older. You lose your patience, and it’s replaced with sarcasm. I can’t help it. I look around and what I see is stupid. You will find out for yourself when you’re my age. It’s the sign that it’s time to go.” Matelda took sips of air. “Have you heard from Paolo?”
“He wants me back.”
“Do you think you’ll take him back?”
“The Ulianas are good people. A little overbearing. His mother texts me to see how I am. She says she doesn’t care whether I go back with her son or not. She says she loves me.”
“Who cares what she thinks?”
“You told me, ‘You marry the family.’ I should have it tattooed prominently.”
“No tattoos! I didn’t mean what I said. You marry the man. It was my attempt to get you to think with your head and not your heart. Can I take it back?”