Chapter 21: The Boy

The ring was a plain gold band with nothing on it.

Cecilia stood on the step with the white box in her hands and read the card again.

HAND?

She carried the tarts upstairs and set them on the table.

Then she woke the man in her father's bed by dropping the little box on his chest.

"Eat," she said.

Ettore opened one eye.

"That isn't the answer."

"It's the first half."

She held out her left hand, with the fingers spread, and waited.

He sat up so quickly the narrow bed creaked.

He slid the band onto her finger with a hand that was not quite steady.

"It fits," he said.

"Of course it fits. You asked Zia."

"I measured one of your gloves in the hall."

She laughed so hard she had to sit down on the quilt.

At ten o'clock Zia arrived at the shop door with Santi by the hand.

The boy wore a coat too big for him and one shoe untied.

His eyes were red at the rims.

"Simona said Santi may spend the day with you," Zia said quietly over his head. "On the telephone. She sounded like a woman who had not slept."

Santi stood with his boots together on the mat.

"Aunt Cece," he said. "Are you still angry with me?"

Cecilia crouched in front of him.

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because I said Papa. In the shop. Mama cried and said I ruined everything."

"Oh, baby."

She pulled him in against her apron.

"You didn't ruin anything. You told the truth. That's not the same as ruining."

"Is it all right to say it?"

"Say what you like to me. Always."

"Is he my papa?"

She breathed once.

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