“You can do whatever you want, Nonna.”
“If Paolo makes you feel that everything is possible, marry him. If you think you have to make everything possible for him, don’t marry him. A woman appreciates support; a man needs to believe he did it all on his own. It’s ridiculous but accurate.” Matelda shielded her eyes from the setting sun. “Is there still a bottle of prosecco in the refrigerator?”
“Would you like some?”
Matelda nodded. Anina went into the kitchen and opened the bottle of prosecco and poured two glasses. She had made her decision about Paolo. It wasn’t anything he had done; it was what he had left undone. He had not taken an interest in her dreams. It was never a bad idea to listen to her grandmother.
Anina gave Matelda a glass of prosecco and toasted her.
“No, no, let’s toast you,” Matelda said, holding up her glass. “Screw Paolo Uliana.”
“Nonna.”
“Listen to me. Love yourself. That’s the greatest adventure. When you love yourself, you want to find your purpose, something only you can do in the way only you can do it. Make things. Create. And if a man comes along—and believe me, he will—the relationship is already off to a good start because both of you love the same person. You. Lucky him.”
* * *
The church bells rang in the distance. Matelda hummed along to the melody of the chimes.
Nicolina prepared her mother’s breakfast in the kitchen. She placed it on a tray and brought it out to the terrace. “I don’t miss those bells in Lucca. Every hour on the hour is too much,” Nicolina said as she placed the tray on the table next to her mother. “Mama, Matteo is coming today.”
“Again?”
“Yes. He wants to see as much of you as he can.”
Olimpio carried the moka pot to the terrace and poured a cup of espresso for his wife.
“You eat,” Matelda said to her husband, pushing the tray of food toward him.
“I had my breakfast.” Olimpio gently pushed the tray back toward her.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“I can make you an egg, Mama. Would you like an egg?” Nicolina asked.
Olimpio held Matelda’s hand. “She’s cold as ice. Get a blanket, please.”
“I don’t feel cold.” Matelda watched the seagulls circle in the distance over the beach.
Matelda was calm. The priest had brought her Holy Communion. She had given her confession, and as a bonus, he offered her the Anointing of the Sick. She happily accepted the sacrament. In her mind, it was insurance. She did not want to do anything between this moment and the hour of her death that might prevent her from seeing the face of God. Her conscience felt buoyant in her body. For any evil she had done, she had asked for forgiveness. She had not wasted time. Women rarely did. They squeezed each moment out of the day serving others. But the good left undone? Had she been enough? Done enough? No answer came, but it wasn’t her problem anymore. Her final desire was to leave this world in a state of grace. His will be done would be her redemption. The only thing left for her soul to do was the business of her salvation. Matelda took a deep breath and did not cough. Her lungs opened to the sea air like a bellows.
Nicolina returned with the blanket and Anina.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Matelda looked at the tourmaline-blue sea. She had waited for spring and the color to return, and miracle of miracles, it had. Even though she hadn’t put her feet in the sand, she felt herself sink into the powdery bliss as the sea water filled in between her toes, making clay from the tide, then puddles cooling the soles of her feet. Little pink fish gathered around her feet and nibbled at her toes. Far away on the horizon, billows of coral clouds settled in the light, making a path to the sun. Matelda squinted down the hemline of the white shore, when she saw her mother on the beach. Matelda sat up in her chair. She saw a little girl run toward her mother. She recognized the girl. “Domenica! My Domenica,” she whispered.
It was then that she heard the braying of an elephant, or was it the trumpet voluntary of the angels, or Puccini’s revelry? Whatever it was, the sound was sweet.
Nicolina followed her mother’s gaze and surveyed the beach. “Do you see something, Mama?”
“She said Domenica. Nonna, what do you mean?” Anina asked her.
But Matelda did not hear her. As she began to leave the world, their voices and words became a language she did not know. Each aspect of her person began to fold, one into the other, until her soul rose from her body. She felt herself become faceted light, rays of the brightest white sun set in the deepest blue.