For her part, whenever Domenica thought about the captain, she imagined him far away at sea. It helped to banish him to parts unknown in her mind. She had been too hurt by his silence to fantasize running into him in Glasgow, but promised herself if she did, she would tell him what she thought of him.
The street boys encircled the captain as they begged him to play. One of the boys latched on to McVicars’s forearms. He hoisted him like a barbell, up and down. “That’s enough, Nunzio,” McVicars said to the boy. “You’re getting too heavy for the old dumbbell routine.”
The Franzetti women apologized and wrangled the boys back out into the street to play with their ball and stick as McVicars made his way into the pizzeria.
The Franzetti boy brought Domenica the tomato pie she had ordered. She paid him and promised to return. She had turned to make her escape when the captain made his way over to her.
McVicars stood awkwardly before Domenica, not knowing what to say. She certainly had no idea what to say to him either. He rubbed his forearms, where the boys’ grip had left a burn. She remembered how those arms felt around her, and blushed. She was ashamed of the mistakes she had made with him, under the assumption that he cared about her. The blush in her cheeks turned to anger.
McVicars wanted to confront Domenica for ignoring his letters. He figured she’d met someone else and didn’t know how to tell him. After all, she was a beauty, and at a marriageable age. He felt his temperature rise, wondering if she had met another Scot she fancied more than him.
Domenica gave McVicars a nod and walked out into the street.
“Miss Cabrelli?” he called after her.
Not wanting to make a scene, she stopped. She decided to face him.
“It is you. What are you doing in Scotland?”
“Working,” she replied.
“You look well. Did you join the order?”
“Am I wearing a veil?”
“I should say not. Unless they changed their habit altogether, and that wouldn’t keep the order celibate.”
Domenica did not laugh at his joke.
“That’s a lovely dress,” he said.
“I made it myself.”
“You have talent as a seamstress.”
“My mother believed every girl and boy needed to know how to sew. My brother can make his own shirts. Do you know how to sew, Captain?”
“Is this what we have come to? Small talk about your dreadful brother, Aldo?”
Domenica was sorry she had ever told him anything about anybody in her family. “Excuse me, I must go.” Domenica left him standing in the street.
It took McVicars a moment, but he decided to follow her.
“Che bella, no?” the Franzetti boy said as he lowered the awning over the entrance of the pizzeria.
McVicars did not answer him. Instead, he looked for Domenica, but she was gone. Another boy pointed to the corner. The captain thanked him and took the turn on the boulevard, to find Domenica walking across it. The skirt of her pale blue dress billowed out like a bell. McVicars wondered if he had ever seen anything so lovely.
“Miss Cabrelli!” he called out again. This time, he quickened his pace to catch up with her.
Domenica climbed the steps to the trolley station. She had not heard him. He broke into a run. The trolley arrived at the station. The doors opened; passengers disembarked. Domenica climbed into the crowded car and sat down. The doors were closing as McVicars attempted to enter the car. He pried them open and wriggled inside as the trolley pulled out of the station. He looked up and down the car for Domenica. He spied her shoes at the far end of the car and wove his way through the passengers to her.
“Do you know somebody in Dumbarton?” she asked without making eye contact.
“Only you.”
The trolley shook over the tracks as it chugged toward the Dumbarton station. The clank of the wheels and the din of the crowded trolley car made it impossible for McVicars to talk to Domenica. It wouldn’t have mattered if he could, because she looked straight ahead, holding the tomato pie in her lap.
McVicars followed Domenica when she got off the trolley.
“I want to talk to you,” he said to her.
“You should go back to Glasgow,” Domenica said over her shoulder, and quickened her pace. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Why are you angry with me?”
“I’m not angry with you. I thought we were friends, and I don’t appreciate your behavior.”
“My behavior?” McVicars was confused.
“The trolley will be along in a few minutes. There’s a comfortable bench where you can wait for it. Goodbye, Captain.”