Chapter 24: Mrs. Ferrante

A year later, on the first warm Sunday in spring, Livia climbed the long staircase of the Ferrante house with a baby on her hip.

I climbed beside her, one step behind, and I watched her hand on the banister.

She was not cold.

She was laughing, and the baby was pulling her hair.

"Look at that," Elliot said from the bottom, with his glasses crooked and a camera in his hand.

"My two favorite women on the most expensive stairs in New York."

"Take the picture, Elliot," Livia said.

"I'm taking it."

At the top, in the long hall with the tall windows, Livia stopped.

She looked down at the stairs and then back at me.

"I was so afraid of this house," she said. "Before I even knew why."

"I know."

"I'm not anymore." She shifted the baby and kissed me on the cheek. "You did that."

"Rocco did half."

"Rocco did the half where he stood at the bottom and finally looked up."

She grinned at me.

"Don't tell him I said that, he'll be insufferable."

"He's already insufferable."

"He's your husband. It comes with the name."

We went down together to the dining room, where the long table was set for twenty.

My parents were at one end, arguing happily about football.

The three elders sat at the other.

When I came through the door all three of them stood up.

The one with the silver wolf's-head cane inclined his head.

"Mrs. Ferrante," he said.

"Sit down, please. You'll be late for the soup."

"We will wait for you to sit."

I sat.

They sat.

Rocco came in last from the study with a phone in his hand.

He was in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and no tie.

Half the men at the table shifted in their chairs when he walked in.

He took the seat at the head of the table, and I took the seat at the other end.

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