Chapter 18: Reopening Night

The night before the twenty-first day, Sabatini's opened its doors for the first time since the city shut them.

Nico's inspector had left a notice taped to the glass.

Cesare took it down and folded it into his pocket.

"Keep it," I said. "For the frame."

"I'll burn it."

"You'll frame it."

By six the dining room was full.

The foreman had come with half the dock crew, scrubbed pink in clean shirts.

The wives had pushed three tables together and brought their own tablecloths.

The white-haired captain sat at the head of that long table with his napkin tucked into his collar.

The dog lay under it with her chin on his shoe.

Fiora stood at the host stand in a black dress that was not red.

The oldest wife had found her the job that week.

"Two for dinner," she said to a couple coming in. "Right this way."

She caught my eye over their heads and mouthed, Don't cry.

I did not cry.

I took off my coat and found an apron on a hook.

"What are you doing?" Cesare said, from the pass.

"Carrying plates."

"You're the head of the family."

"Not until tomorrow."

I carried plates.

I carried veal and eggplant and the dock crew's cannoli.

Men who had said nothing to me for fourteen months told me their daughters' names.

At nine the white-haired captain beckoned me over.

Two other men sat with him, one with a limp and one with a thin gold watch.

Neither would meet my eyes.

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