The Don's Widow Carries His Heir novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: Seven Fishes

"His wife," I said.

"That's what he told your father. At our kitchen table. With his coat on."

"What did Daddy say?"

My mother was quiet for a second.

"Nothing," she said. "He went out to the garage. He's still out there."

"Are you going?"

"I don't know." Her voice broke. "Marisa cried until I said yes. Lia, I don't know what's happening. I don't know which of you to believe anymore."

I looked out the window at the Hill going by in the grey.

Nick's eyes were on the road, but I could see his jaw.

"Go," I said.

"What?"

"Go to the dinner, Mom. Sit at that table. Wear something nice."

"Lia..."

"And this time," I said, "don't look at whichever one of us is crying. Look at whichever one is telling the truth."

I hung up before she could answer.

Antonia moved Christmas Eve to the twenty-third.

"We'll be in Cranston for the real one," she said. "So we eat the fish a day early. God won't mind."

"Are you sure?"

"God is Italian," Antonia said. "He understands a schedule."

The widows came at noon.

All twenty-three of them, and some of their daughters, and three of the capos' wives with aprons already tied on under their coats.

They filled Antonia's kitchen until you couldn't open the refrigerator without somebody saying "excuse me, sweetheart".

The salt cod had been soaking in the cellar for three days.

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