All the Way to Heaven

Chapter 32

Fifteen minutes later, to my surprise, I'd cried myself out. I simply didn't have any more tears to shed over the proverbial spilled milk of my life. It was time to pull myself up by my bootstraps—and my ankle brace—and do something productive.

I had a whole day ahead of me now, a wheelchair I was getting really comfortable using, and the invitation to make myself at home in the lovely casa de Lazzaro.

Fueled by determination, I dressed in a pair of boot cut, barn red jeans. I had to lie down on the bed to get them on, not because they were tight, but because I was afraid I might fall over if I tried to put them on while balancing on one leg. I layered an ecru lace top over a camisole the same color, giving a feminine softness to the bold look of the jeans. I added a chunky jade necklace to the ensemble, and the huge gold hoops in my ears matched the cluster of thin gold bangles on my wrist.

In the bathroom, I washed my face and pulled out my make-up bag. I couldn't completely hide my puffy eyes, but a little artificial color on my face definitely helped. I chose black eyeliner and smoky gray shadow today instead of my usual chocolates and plums—the bolder look gave me a boost of self-confidence and after my little meltdown, I needed it. I smeared on a sticky peach lip gloss and gave my eyelashes a double coat of mascara for good measure. My hair, by some small mercy, looked pretty good today, so I left it down and loose around my shoulders.

Back in my room, I straightened my bed as neatly as I could, collected my cup and saucer and the phone on the tray, and reached for my "strong and sexy" boots. Loosening the ties on the left one as wide as they would go, I slipped it over my foot, brace and all, and carefully pulled the laces snug around everything. It looked ridiculous, but I pulled the pant leg down and nodded with great satisfaction. Except for the blaring presence of the wheelchair, one would have to look twice to know I had a bum leg.

I found Claudia and Franco in the kitchen with Margarite when I delivered the tray. The two women made much ado over how pretty I looked. I beamed and blushed appropriately. I hated feeling so fragile, but if I had to be needy, this was a good place to do so. Everyone was so anxious to offer help and comfort and ease.

And food. Margarite beckoned me to pull my chair up to join her at the butcher block table where she was kneading a large batch of dough. Claudia made me a cappuccino topped with an inch of foam, and I leaned too close to breathe in the intoxicating fragrance of coffee and cinnamon and cream, coming back up with a tiny dollop of white on the end of my nose. I swiped it clean with my napkin and Margarite slid a plate my way, smiling indulgently at me. On it were two croissant rolls, but not like any I'd seen before. Cornetto, she called it. The ends oozed some kind of deep purple fruit filling.

"You like to cook, Ani?" The housekeeper's voice was as round and full-bodied as she was and seemed to bounce around the high-ceilinged kitchen.

"No," I readily admitted. "I'm a terrible cook. But I like to help anyway. I'm very good at washing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen afterward." I took a bite of the flaky pastry and closed my eyes in sheer delight. "And I like to eat whatever you cook, Margarite."

At the table, Claudia and Franco had their heads together over a large calendar laid out between them and Claudia was busy penciling in names as Franco looked on. "It is the frantoio schedule," she explained, when she saw my curious gaze. "We usually operate from now until December 15th, open twenty-four hours the first three or four weeks, but this year, we will only be open two weeks as there are so few with olives to bring. It is a very busy time beginning next week, regardless. We must be completely ready if everything is to operate smoothly." She paused and peered at me over her reading glasses. "You have heard of our trouble, Anica?""