Chapter 7: Mrs. Carraro

The Carraro house stood on a rock at the end of a road in Marblehead, with the harbor on three sides.

It was made of grey stone, and it had a wall around it and a man at the gate.

"Mrs. Carraro," the man said, and nodded at me through the window.

It was the first time anyone had said it.

I looked at Santino.

"They'll all say it," he said. "You'll get used to it."

"I haven't agreed to get used to anything."

"Ninety days."

"Ninety days," I said.

The front door opened before the car stopped.

A woman came down the steps wiping her hands on an apron.

She was fifty-two, with silver in her auburn hair and flour up to both elbows, and she had my father's eyes.

I got out of the car and did not know what to do with my arms.

Rosalind did.

She hugged me so hard my feet nearly left the ground.

"Look at you," she said into my hair. "You have your father's chin. You've got his stubborn chin."

"I don't remember you very well."

"You were seven. You wore a yellow raincoat and you wouldn't take it off in the house."

I laughed, and it came out wet.

"I'm sorry I never came."

"Don't," Rosalind said. "Nobody let you. Come in. I've made far too much food."

The kitchen was warm and smelled of garlic and tomatoes.

There were four pots on the stove and a tray of meatballs on the counter.

Santino took one from the tray without asking.

Rosalind smacked his hand with a wooden spoon.

"Those are for dinner."

"I'm having dinner."

"You're having a hand with a bruise."

"She's had that spoon on me since I was fifteen," he told me.

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