Mom.
âHello, Mom.â Gemma leaned in to kiss her motherâs cheek; her mother flinched slightly. She also kissed her aunts. Millie covertly winked at her as if to say, âDonât mind your mother,â but Betty Anne was cold as marble.
âYou look good,â Aunt Millie croaked, her gravelly voice betraying her lifelong, three-pack-a-day Winston habit.
âI canât believe you came to church,â her mother snapped.
âI was invited, Mom.â Gemma was determined not to take the bait. âIâm a member of this family, too.â
âYou should have just come to the party. To show up at the house of God . . .â She made the sign of the cross while emitting a heavy theatrical sigh.
âDonât start,â Gemma implored quietly.
âIâm not starting anything,â her mother insisted shrilly, eyeing her younger sisters for backup. âAm I?â
Betty Anneâs eyes fell to the ground. Millie excused herself for a smoke. That said it all. God forbid anyone stand up to Constance Annamaria Grimaldi Dante.
âIâm going to go talk to Nonna,â Gemma informed her mother politely. I tried, she told herself. Thatâs what matters.
Still, she felt like sheâd been punched in the stomach.
She found her grandmother still inside the church, talking to one of the priests. Nonnaâs tiny, gnarled hands were waving madly, while the rapid-fire patter of her voice told Gemma that this priest was not number one in Nonnaâs hit parade. Gemma approached carefully, not wanting to interrupt. But the minute her grandmother caught sight of her, the tirade halted and she broke into a wide, delighted smile.
â Bella, Iâve been waiting for you!â She smiled knowingly at the young priest. âThis is my granddaughter, Gemma. Bet you wish priests could get married, eh?â
âNonna!â Gemma turned to the priest. âPlease, Father. She didnât mean it.â
The priest coughed uncomfortably and hurried off, clearly relieved to be free of speaking to an old devil like Nonna.
âI canât believe you did that!â
âWhat, told the truth?â Nonna snorted, watching the priest hustle up the center aisle of the church. âTight ass,â she added disdainfully.
âNonna!â Gemma exclaimed again. Depending on who you asked, Maria Grimaldi was either âa pip,â âa character,â âa loon,â or âa royal pain in the ass.â To Gemma, she was simply Nonna, the grandmother she adored, and who loved her unconditionally.
âHere, let me look at you.â
Gemma dutifully held still beneath her grandmotherâs loving eye, Nonnaâs head bobbing in approval. âBeautiful.â
âYou always say that.â
âBecause itâs always true.â Her hand clasped Gemmaâs forearm for support. Gemma jumped.
âNonna, your hands are freezing!â
âMy bloodâs getting too tired to make the full round.â She waved a hand in the air. âIt happens.â
That was Nonna: no nonsense, philosophical about the passing of time. Sheâd been a great beauty, and to Gemma was beautiful still, with her long, white braid and her big, green eyes that were always alert, always watchful. âHave you held the bambina yet?â Nonna asked.
âNot yet. Thereâs quite a crowd around her.â
âSheâs gorgeous. Perfect. Her name is Theresa.â
âTheresa is her mother, Nonna,â Gemma laughed. âThe baby is Domenica.â
âRight, right,â Nonna replied hastily. âDomenica.â Slowly, they made their way toward the open church doors to join the rest of the family.
âSo, your mother,â Nonna began, her steps small and careful.
Gemmaâs eyes darted down to meet her grandmotherâs. âWhat about her?â
âIs she still upset about La Stregheria,