Chapter 22: City Hall

Nobody at the table spoke.

Santi slid off his cushions and went around the chair to Zia, and hid his face in her cardigan.

Simona's chin lifted.

She had planned this on the doorstep, Cecilia could see, and was waiting for them to bend.

"Well?" she said.

Ettore didn't stand.

"The night train leaves at ten," he said. "The boy can go on it."

Simona blinked.

"His share is a trust. It pays for a school in this city and a house in this city, and nothing else."

"Take him to Newark, and he goes with a coat and a toothbrush."

"You wouldn't."

"It isn't mine. It's his father's. He wrote it that way the week before he died."

Simona's mouth shook.

"Stay in this city, and the boy has everything," Ettore said.

"Every Saturday. Every Sunday. You may walk him to the gate."

"You will not sit at this table again."

"You're a monster."

"I'm the man who read your husband's letter out loud," Ettore said. "Choose."

Simona looked at the faces down the long table.

Thirty-one people looked back at her, and not one of them dropped their eyes.

She put down the suitcase.

It hit the floor with a soft, flat sound, and nobody picked it up.

"Santi," she whispered. "Come to Mama."

The boy peeked out from behind Zia's arm.

He looked at his mother for a long moment.

Then he trotted over and took her hand, because he was kind, and he walked her to the door.

At the door he looked back.

"See you Saturday, Aunt Cece," he said.

The door closed.

The old men turned to their coffee.

Zia wiped her eyes with her napkin and said somebody had better cut the cake.

They married three weeks later, on a Saturday morning, in the clerk's office at City Hall.

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