Chapter 24: Nerina Brancato

We married in March, in the courtyard of the Corvi house in Bay Ridge, with forty people on folding chairs.

I had written the terms myself.

Nobody gave me away.

Nobody walked ahead of me, and nobody announced me.

The morning of the wedding my middle brother arrived with a box of almond pastries and stood in the kitchen, unsure where to put his hands.

"I got the right ones," he said. "The ones with the sliced almonds on top."

"They're the right ones."

"I asked the girl at the counter for twenty minutes."

"Thank you," I said, and I ate one standing up.

He grinned and went red to the ears.

My youngest brother had come an hour earlier and carried every folding chair out of the truck himself.

He did not talk much.

When I passed him, he stopped and said, "Mom's reading it at the reception. The letter. Dad's been sick about it since Tuesday."

"Good."

"He wrote it four times."

"I hope it was bad the first three."

He laughed, a surprised short sound, and then he looked ashamed of laughing.

"Nerina."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry about the grave," he said. "I'm sorry I put my hand on you."

"I know," I said. "You carried the chairs. That helps."

Tullio met me at the edge of the courtyard in a black suit.

"Do you want me to walk you?" he asked.

"No."

"I'll stand beside you."

"Yes," I said. "You can do that."

I walked out alone.

My mother sat in the front row in a pale blue dress, with her pearls straight for once, and she was already crying.

My father sat beside her with his hat on his knee.

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