The Waters of Arcamo: Book Two of the Arcamo Saga

By A. C. Nicholas

High-school senior Gina Corcoran lived a fairly normal life with her mother, grandmother, and brother. Once, every year or so, she would even get to leave her home in San Antonio, Texas, and spend a few weeks in the summer with her great-aunt Anna, at a small farmhouse just outside of Binghamton, New York. There she would be told stories of her family, of how they came from the Italian island of Sicily to Americafirst to New York, and then, when her grandmother moved, to Texasand of her life in San Antonio. Family stories like these often have a lasting effect upon a person. The stories that she wasnt told were older, deeper, darker, and would change her life forever.

This is the story of Gina, the great-niece of Anna Del Forno, the wealthy owner and CEO of Del Forno Bottling, producers of Acqua DArcamo, a popular, bottled water made at a plant on the grounds of the Del Forno Villa, an estate in Arcamo, Sicily. How Anna came to be the head of such a profitable company and all the abundance that came with it, at first meant very little to Gina, until of course, the legacy took hold. What some would see as a family legacy, others might view as a curse. How could Gina have possibly known what turns her life would take, when with each passing day, each startling revelation brought her closer to danger, dancing with death.

Have you ever been frightened? So afraid that you could barely control your own emotions? Imagine what it would feel like if your inner fears and angers got the better of you and came out. Think of it as letting out the inner beast. Imagine, over time, being able to allow those feelings to come out whenever you needed them. Oh, and imagine that when you do, you are no longer you, but rather a fully grown wolfnot a monster, not a science experiment, but a genuine, living wolf. You can think like a wolf thinks, see like a wolf sees, even hunt with the quiet tenacity in which a wolf hunts. And when you hunger, you will hunt. All this unfolds here, and more, as Gina becomes immersed in the Waters of Arcamo.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491805633

A. C. Nicholas

A.C. Nicholas lives with his wife in Sayville, New York. He really enjoyed the experience of writing his first book, Anna and the Tale of the Wolf. Apparently, a number of other people enjoyed it, too. So much so, in fact, that he wrote this, the second installment of the Del Forno saga. It is his fervent hope that you enjoy reading this as much as he did writing it.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The End

I t was raining—one of those spring rains that couldn’t decide whether to be cool or warm. The sky was gray and showed no sign of letting the sun in. It was as if the day were sad.

The White Wolf had been there for some time. She had found her Fiero and La Notte and had been with them. La Notte, beautiful, graceful La Notte was dying. Her passing was a long process. She rested on a bed of leaves that Fiero had found and built for her, safe from the eyes of man and wolf. From time to time, she shifted and breathed what could only be described as a sigh. Even nestled within the overhanging rocks of the niche they had found, an occasional drizzle of rain dripped down through the crevices and found its way onto her, making her quiet struggle for a final warm resting place all the more difficult.

She moved her eyes to view them both. The White Wolf was majestic, as vibrant and youthful as when she first turned and joined them those many years ago. There was a comfort in her presence.

La Notte closed her eyes slowly and opened them again, this time upon the sight of her Fiero, his muzzle now smoke and ash colored, his broad shoulders now a bit more stooped with age. Wolves might not understand years, but they know age. Age slows the step. What was once thick and lustrous fur becomes thin and wiry. Deep, rich colors of tan and black and walnut brown turn to shades of gray and then ash. All this she saw in Fiero.

In her cold weariness, she shuddered and closed her eyes sadly. She sighed one last time and then shuddered no more.

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La Notte opened her eyes to find that the rain had stopped. The sun shone warm and bright, its battle to conquer the gray rain having been won. She rose and breathed deeply. The air was sweet and clean, as after a spring rain. Flowers peeked out from here and there near the tops of the outcropping of the rocks and in patches near the brush and wood, all straining to drink in the glorious sunshine that filtered through to the very ground where she had lain.

She didn’t understand any of this. She did not see Fiero or the White Wolf, but she felt an overwhelming sense of gladness. She wanted to run and then roll around in a bed of clover to surprise birds and squirrels foraging for something to eat on the ground. Oddly, she felt no need to hunt. She felt no hunger. She felt content and alive. It seemed like a long time since she’d felt this way, and she was going to enjoy it.

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As the White Wolf and Fiero watched La Notte shudder at the end-time, the rain grew stronger and poured down more steadily. It was as if the heavens themselves were crying, thought the White Wolf. Without saying a word, she and Fiero bent their heads and pushed leaves over and around their fallen La Notte. Instinct dictated covering the body to make it more difficult for scavengers to find, but some piece of submerged humanity saw the leaves as a sort of funeral bier, a final testimony to a loved one now gone. They completed the task and moved on.

Gelsamina, the White Wolf, stood for a moment at the opening of the outcropping of the rocks, trying hard to commit the place to memory. She would get back to the spot soon. In the meantime, she turned to Fiero. She knew he wouldn’t leave the vicinity. He had already taken a position near the rocks, sitting in a manner that made him look as if he were waiting. With the rain slowing to a steady drizzle, his fur was matted and soaked. His old frame shivered from time to time, but still he sat. No one can say what he stood vigil for. Perhaps to guard against the predatory, natural world. Perhaps believing that his turn would soon be coming, he would wait there in that solemn place for it to happen. Whatever the reason, there he stayed, sentry-like.

The White Wolf spoke to him silently, in that fashion they had long communicated: I must leave now, but I will come back to you soon. I feel as if there is a hole in my side.

Although I cannot describe it, that is just how I feel, too. It hurts with every breath I take. I remember this feeling; I remember calling it sadness. And having made his reply to her, Fiero returned to his sitting vigil.

The White Wolf made her way back to more familiar territory. Specifically, she made her way to the edge of the estate of the Baronessa D’Arcamo. The White Wolf picked up the pace as she entered through an opening in a wrought iron fence at the end of the estate. Trotting toward the far side of the garage, out of any line of sight from the villa itself, she entered from a far door, always left ajar. There, inside the garage, she surveyed her surroundings. Satisfied that she was alone, she curled herself into a fetal position and began the transformation that she had performed so many times before. Hair vanished in some places and grew in others. Actual body shapes and sizes metamorphosed from that of a stately wolf to a statuesque woman, not tall, but of a stature and shape that was quite becoming for someone who had the appearance of being in her early to mid-twenties.

Within a few moments, the change had taken place. The young woman padded barefoot to a cupboard and slipped on the necessary undergarments, followed by a pair of jeans and a pair of sandals, and then a simple v-neck sweater. Checking herself in the mirror that hung on the door of the cupboard, she opened one of the garage bay doors and headed home, rain mixing with the tears that were now, more visible in her current, human form.

The Villa D’Arcamo in the spring was an odd mixture of realities. The main building itself was old. Its design, taken from the Baroque of the early 1700s, had a stark, almost foreboding quality to it that contrasted with the brightness and warmth of the light browns of the countryside. The flowers that grew wild around it held exaggerated shapes and vivid colors, almost as if they were in competition with nature itself to see who would survive the oncoming heat of the near-tropical Sicilian spring and summer. Unexpectedly, the rain had cooled things down to a point where even the rocks on the walkway leading from the garage to the house were cold underfoot as Gelsamina, arms folded around her waist, hurried down to the house.

Carmela stood in the kitchen doorway, arms outstretched with a thick, plush robe to wrap her young mistress as she entered. Gelsamina stood there and shook slightly, letting the robe absorb the cold and wet that had entered her very being.

As she began warming up, Carmela spent a few moments rubbing Gelsamina’s arms to get the blood flowing. Then she went over to the stove to pour heated milk into a large cup, following it with a strong, dark-roasted coffee.

Here, she said. Over the past few years, her English had improved. Drink this, but not too fast. Two robe-covered arms reached out, eventually exposing two hands that took the cappuccino and sipped at it with gusto.

Slow, slow. Carmela said. Not so good to have cold feet and a burning mouth.

Gelsamina smiled and sipped some more, letting the warmth of the mixture work its magic.

Next, we have to get you out of the wet clothes and into dry ones.

Do I have time for a bath?

Of course you do. Dinner will be a little late though.

Anna won’t be calling until tomorrow, and there’s nothing going on tonight. Did you remember?

Yes, but the dish won’t be full until after dinner.

That’s fine, I’ll go out then. Maybe after dinner the rain will stop.

Cappuccino finished, the slender young woman padded out of the room and up the stairs to the end of the hall. There she drew a hot bath, disrobed completely, and sank into the soothing tub. As she soaked, she reflected on the events of the day, both the sadness that took place earlier, and further back, the news that Anna, her great-niece, now over sixty, would soon be coming for a visit.

Some would consider it a blessing, others a curse. She still didn’t understand it. She thought about the pastoral life she’d led in her youth—her real youth, before 1920. How the first real sadness of her life was the influenza epidemic that tore through Italy and Sicily and took both her parents, leaving her alone with her younger brother Giacamo to run the little farm their parents had left them. The two teens had been raised well by loving parents but were barely old enough to make their own decisions, let alone run a small farm. They adapted; some might even say they thrived. Then came the Baron D’Arcamo—Leonardo, her poor, twisted Leonardo. Whatever sadness he eventually caused was balanced by her pets, her wolves Fiero and … she choked up at the thought of La Notte, chest out, sitting proudly at her side, just as they had for the chalk portrait, created so long ago.

She thought of her two pets and the transformation that took her to a realm that she’d never imagined—the one that remade her into the White Wolf. How she roamed the Sicilian countryside with them, the journeys and adventures that they shared after Giacamo left. She remembered how two of the younger members of the wolf clan found Leonardo, wandering alone and unarmed, sad and disoriented, in the brush and hills outside the Villa, and how they stalked him to a desolate place, an arid scorched place where living things rarely go and even more rarely return from, and how they and the rest of the clan made their move, finally getting their chance to repay him for the cruelty and death that he had brought upon them for so long, only to be stayed by her command. She still wondered at whatever blessing or curse took his spirit and left the husk that was once Leonardo. Could it have been a hope that he’d see what misery he’d caused? She thought of how the plan didn’t work, how he’d escaped from them all, and how he’d remained apart and distant.

She thought of her brother Giacamo, and how sad she was when, heartbroken, he left for the new land, America, and how he had brought with him the only remembrances of her that he had: a chalk portrait, drawn at the local feast as a folly, and a red ribbon. When she finally decided to follow her brother to the little farm in upstate New York, she wondered too if her self-imposed exile to that very same chalk portrait made of her was to serve as penance for having left her beloved Figli Del Lupo, unaware of the eventual significance of her actions.

She thought of Anna, her beautiful Anna, who became her summoner, her student, her companion and ultimately her savior. When Anna returned to America, she began her own journey, perhaps not the one that Gelsamina would have chosen for her, but a noble one, nonetheless. And now the Little One would soon be returning. She thought about the conversations they’d had regarding Anna’s own great-niece, Gina.

As the heat of the bath finally achieved its purpose, the thoughts that coursed through her mind began to muddle and run together. Gelsamina tried to imagine what Gina could be a shortened version of, but was losing concentration. Those Americans, always with their short names, she thought. The warmth of her comfort eased her into a relaxed sleep that was interrupted only when the water started to cool. She stayed in the tub a few more minutes. Then, realizing that she’d been in there for nearly a half hour, got up and out, toweled herself dry, and went into the bedroom to dress.

A few minutes later, dressed in comfortable, warmer clothes, the dark-haired resident of the Villa D’Arcamo came down the stairs to the dining room. There, Carmela was waiting with a hearty bowl of escarole soup and a heel of freshly baked semolina bread.

Carmela had been with Gelsamina for a number of years now, having taken over the responsibilities of the Villa from her aunt Francesca Paola, who had since retired at the graceful age of seventy. Carmela served ably, living at the Villa and working full-time as cook, keeper, and confidante. With the addition of a woman who had been hired to come in three or four days a week to clean rooms and make beds, the Villa D’Arcamo ran with clock-like efficiency.

Anna, the actual baroness of the villa and its owner, preferred to stay in America, coming to Arcamo only from time to time, visiting her great-aunt to confer on matters of importance. They had both agreed long ago to avoid speaking on the phone regarding matters that involved the Figli Del Lupo and their mutual secret, choosing instead to write letters weekly, offering cryptic allusions to their plans and questions. Although when in relative proximity they could communicate in what could only be described as telepathically, the distance that separated Sicily and America made this virtually impossible.

As Gelsamina savored the meal, Carmela stood near her and spoke.

"Signorina, where are you right now? You have that look in your eyes."

This morning, Carmela, one of my oldest and dearest friends passed away. She had been a part of my life since the time when I lived with my brother at the farmhouse.

What’s her name? Will you be going to the funeral? What do you … oh, Carmela stopped in the middle of her questions. It dawned on her that the friend who passed was not human. Having become this close to Gelsamina required a level of knowledge that, at times, she had to work on.

La Notte, said her mistress as she put down her spoon. I’m sorry. I thought I could eat more. I just can’t.

Did she go in peace?

Yes.

How old was she?

"It’s hard to say. In human years, she’d have to be perhaps a hundred and forty, and because things with the Figli are so different, well, I just never gave it much thought. As long as my Figli were safe, I was content."

Signorina, where is she now? I mean, if you believe that La Notte was once someone else, has she become someone else again?

Understanding the question, even in its simplest terms, Gelsamina paused and, with sad eyes, smiled a little. Oh, Carmela, I know far less about these things than you give me credit for. My La Notte had lived a good life before she turned. I met her afterward, and I believe with all my heart that becoming one of the Figli was a reward for her. The only greater reward that I can think of would be to go to some sort of heaven. I hardly understood religion before I became who I am today, so I still know very little, but I have faith. I believe that all things happen for a reason, and wherever she is, my pet is happy and without pain. There are times, I think, that that may be as close to heaven as one can get.

Carmela stood and patted the delicate hand that rested on the table. Then she cleared the plates and turned to take them into the kitchen. Signorina, there’s still some coffee in the pot. Would you like a cup?

No, thank you, Carmela, I think I’ll take a dish out to my Fiero. Would you make up something extra? I have a chore to take care of.

As you wish, signorina.

It was late in the afternoon. The rain had stopped but left a cool dampness in its wake. Gelsamina had already left something in the usual place at the far end of the line of lemon trees but now was walking out further, past the actual property of the villa, out to where Fiero—old, loyal, handsome Fiero—stood vigil near the lifeless body of the wolf La Notte.

She approached slowly, as a monarch would process, and made eye contact with him before she set down the dish of meat scraps. Before he bowed his head to eat, he looked at her. She reached out her hands and held his head. She knelt and drew closer to him, her arms first enfolding his head and then his chest and shoulders. As he stood with his head against her, she wept; deep sad wails roiled forth from the pit of her being. Normally, they would speak in the silent fashion that she and the Figli Del Lupo were accustomed to, but here, now, there was not even that, no words, only sadness. Some few minutes passed before she rose and then turning slowly, she left him. Wiping her eyes, she walked back to the villa, through brush and along a partially strewn path. As she entered the property, she heard it as she had countless times before, but this time for a different meaning, a meaning far more permanent. She heard l’anelito, and she knew that the cry was from Fiero.

CHAPTER 2

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

I t had been some time, years really, since Anna Del Forno had seen her sister Tina. The change in Anna, back in 1980, had a profound effect on the relationship with her sister. They had once been close, but the distance between San Antonio, Texas, where Tina had made her home with her husband and family, and Conklin Forks, a small town outside of Binghamton, New York, where Anna kept her home when she wasn’t off traveling, grew with each passing year. Along with the realization that while Tina was aging normally, Anna was not.

The legacy, as Anna called it, had changed her, and although she never fully revealed the extent of the change that had come over her, she never showed a sign of age past her mid-thirties. She remained slim with a taut, athletic figure that would never let anyone think she was already over sixty years old.

Tina, on the other hand had lived a life that showed itself in a number of ways. It was difficult to balance the rigors of the corporate world and maintain the quintessential American family, a fact that became brutally evident at the beginning of one summer, years ago, when they sent the twins off to visit their Zia Anna for a vacation. Dan, Tina’s husband, had announced that he needed some time away from her. He tried to explain, as gently as possible, that he was tired of being the second husband in her life—after the Austin hotel chain. Now that the corporation had broached sending her to Vancouver, British Columbia, to help open and run the Austin property there, he felt that he couldn’t take any more. He waited until after the kids were gone before telling her of his plans. After all, the twins would be gone for almost a whole month, so it wouldn’t affect them at first. And after a month, maybe Tina and he could look at things a little more clearly and come to a more rational, mutually beneficial decision.

At first, she agreed to the separation. It would be for only a month, and with the kids gone, they could use that time to work and then hopefully reconnect. With sad reluctance, she let him go, even helping him find an apartment in town, asking him, practically from the start, when they could meet and talk. She realized that he wouldn’t want to at first, but after a week of being apart, surely there’d be a chance to go out and talk, maybe over a cup of coffee. She even made him keep the keys to the house.

After a week, he stopped returning her calls. He stopped by the house, but only when he knew that Tina was at work, even then only to take his clothes and some furniture that he’d inherited from his side of the family. When she called again at the end of two weeks, she found that his number had been changed. She drove over to the apartment and discovered that it was empty. Dan had disappeared. No note, no papers; he was gone. She couldn’t even find out if he still lived in the San Antonio area.

Tina was frantic at first. She notified the police, telling them of the marital situation up to that point, but when there still came no answers, she slipped into a state of functioning depression. She had already declined the promotion and move to Vancouver. She’d hoped that he would have seen that as an offer toward reconciliation, but now, he would never know. When the occasional phone calls from unknown females started coming in, she grew angry. She called his office a number of times, only to find that his secretary was screening them all. It was then that she received the legal papers asking for a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. She was starting to crack, and the kids would be home any day now.

She called her mother, but Mrs. Del Forno was in poor health and had been since the death of Mr. Del Forno the previous year. Mom listened to Tina but really couldn’t offer much in the way of help.

By the time the twins got home, Tina had resolved to muddle on without anyone’s help. She knew nothing of her sister’s transformation. She still believed it was all just a matter of getting the right genes. She decided not to call Anna, at least not right now. She picked up the kids from the airport and took them home.

Of the two kids, Michael took it the best. Although they were in their teens, he always seemed to be a little more levelheaded than his sister, Marie. And besides, he had outlets: sports, his studies, and the occasional girlfriend. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy dating; he simply related more to a group of friends, both male and female, that he enjoyed being with. In the absence of a father, from the divorce, and mother, from the hotel, Michael often turned to his friends for solace. The fact that he had become a fullback on the varsity football team always helped for taking out aggressions.

Marie was different. Average in school and a bit less outgoing, she found, from an early age, that she loved her mother but had idolized her father. He seemed to be, at least to her, the nest-builder of the family. He’d know when she was sad and took her out for her favorite dinner when she got a good report card. He was the one who told her about the facts of life and even talked her through her first menstrual experience. To Marie, Mom was always working. Dad worked too, but Dad always made time for family, for her. He even knew how to braid her hair.

Although she was old enough and mature enough to understand that her parents were divorcing, a kernel of blame began to grow inside of her. Over time, she felt more and more that it was her mother’s fault that Dad had left. She didn’t think of other women; she didn’t have to. It saddened her that weeks would go by between phone calls. And based on Dan’s behavior since leaving, the judge’s decision to award custody solely to Tina only made matters worse. Tina had always brought home the larger salary. According to the court papers, Dan was quoted as saying he felt that his pay was really only good enough for the incidentals. Tina really hadn’t done much to make him feel that his contributions were anything other than superfluous.

Like her brother, it wasn’t long before Marie began to look for friendships outside of what used to be her family, but here, a different set of needs were being pursued. Mom worked harder than ever now, partly to make sure that the money was there and partly because work helped to keep it together for her. Michael was already developing his own life, so Marie sought affection elsewhere as well. Hanging out with people her age soon grew into parties; parties became boyfriends, and boyfriends became close … sometimes too close.

It was a few months before her graduation from high school that she discovered she was pregnant. Any one of those boys at school could have been the father, but she chose not to tell any of them. Perhaps there was something of her mother in her after all, because she decided early on to raise the child without the help of a biological father.

She had the presence of mind to say nothing until after her graduation, although her mother did think it odd that plans for college were pushed off and pushed off until Tina realized that no plans had ever been considered, especially since Michael had made such a big deal out of wanting to attend the University of Texas at El Paso. Tina said nothing, figuring that, like many kids her age, Marie just needed more time to decide where she wanted to go and what she wanted to go for.

The reason that Marie chose not to talk about college became painfully obvious by mid-July, when it was no longer possible to hide the physical attributes of the beginning of her second trimester. Again, a conversation with Tina was held off until Michael this time had been sent packing off to UTEP.

Now, alone, Tina sat down with her daughter and began a conversation that should have been started far sooner.

So how many months along are you?

I don’t know. I haven’t been to the doctor yet.

You haven’t been— Tina stopped mid-question, flabbergasted at her daughter’s response. How far along do you think you are?

I don’t know … five, six months maybe.

Well, the first thing we’re going to do is see the doctor. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Wallace. She’s the one who saw you last year for your physical.

Tina decided not to ask the question that was burning on her mind. She realized that to ask Marie why she hadn’t spoken to her earlier would have been pointless. Since the break-up, hell, maybe two or three years before the break-up, she sensed that work was slowly taking the place of her family. Sure, she was an executive with the Austin Hotel Group, but all that would do for her now was help to pay for an illegitimate baby.

Have you given any thought as to what you’re going to do to raise this baby?

Not really, Marie answered, trying to sound nonchalant. I figured I’d stay here for a while, but eventually I’ll get a place of my own.

I see. And how are you going to pay for this place?

Well, I’ll have to get a job.

And who’s going to watch the baby?

I don’t know, answered Marie, now coming to terms with the fact that she would be stuck here at her mother’s house for far longer than she expected. She looked away from her mother and began to cry, overwhelmed at the daunting set of responsibilities that lay before her.

Knowing that practically all the hopes that she’d ever had for Marie’s future had, at best, taken a severe left turn or at worst, had crashed, careening off a mountainside, Tina too began to cry.

The relationship between Tina and her daughter eventually solidified into something cold and hard. After the birth of the baby—a lovely little dark-haired beauty with dark brown eyes—it seemed that the only times that the ice melted even a little was when they were both around her. Marie named her Gina, which in and of itself was a bit of a tweak to her mother. Almost all of the family up to that point had been named after some beloved member from a previous generation. Marie chose Gina simply because she liked the name. It broke with tradition, so by choosing it, she hoped to annoy Tina. And she did, a little.

When Michael came home from college, a cool civility hung in the air like fog, so it wasn’t difficult for him to tell that things hadn’t changed. After four years at UTEP, it became easy for Michael to want to move out and find his own way. Tina had hoped he would stay, as she longed for the warmth of another friendly voice. With the exception of little Gina, she heard none.

And so, for the better part of Gina’s formative years, there was a cool, love-at-a-price type of atmosphere in the house. Tina Corcoran, ever the career woman, was now, in her early fifties, a vice-president at Austin, making decisions on a global basis, but still unable to put her own house in order.

Marie had moved beyond angry. Between raising Gina and working here and there at low-paying jobs, she hadn’t moved anywhere else. She would go out from time to time, leaving Gina home with her mother. In a way, it was Marie’s form of revenge, an odd rationale for what she had resorted to in her own life. Tina was forced to stay home and care for Gina, as Marie would go out to clubs, sometimes drinking more than she should, and sometimes staying out far later than self-control would have allowed for. She was still young, and after a few drinks, and then a few more, she always came to a similar conclusion. She still needed attention, too. And in this state, she would do pretty much anything to get it.

And then came Tommy.

As with Gina, Marie didn’t know who the father of her son was. The only aspect of her life that was now similar to her mother’s was that she also had two children. Her pregnancy went smoothly, uneventfully. Not having done the drill until late-term with Gina, Marie visited her doctor more regularly, and as a result delivered Tommy in a short, virtually pain-free hospital stay, about two weeks ahead of schedule,

Tommy’s adolescence and growing up in general was different from Gina’s. When Marie looked at her daughter, she revisited the anger that she felt at her mother’s career and divorce; she felt the sting of the loss of her father, blamed her mother and in turn her daughter for it. Gina, never knowing a father, grew up without her mother’s emotional scars and as such, learned to live with everything, even what she viewed as merely her mother’s crankiness.

Tommy, on the other hand, would become the martyr of the family. With each passing year, he viewed his role as the faithful assistant to Mommy. He went food shopping with her, clothes shopping with her, accompanied her on walks in the park (first in the stroller, and then walking alongside her). He was never really sports-minded. The only time he spent alone, from early on, was the time he spent drawing. His first pictures were of what he saw around him in the house and yard, eventually graduating to flora and fauna in local parks and nature preserves. An activity originally dreamed up by Marie when she needed time away from him, it became something he grew to enjoy. Outside of school, much of his time was spent giving attention to, and getting attention from, his mother.

Even the facial appearances of mother and son were similar. Both had large, expressive, blue eyes and dark hair, full lips and a button nose, a combination that was both attractive and haunting at the same time. Perhaps it was this physical similarity that strengthened their bond. Gina, on the other hand, looked different. Unlike the heavier, more solidly built Marie, Gina was taller and more athletic in her build. Her features were thinner. Her brown eyes were darker. Her hair had changed since her birth and was now much lighter, in fact, the color of honey, not unlike her grandmother’s at the same age.

This difference could also be seen in her temperament. While she adapted and moved on, her mother had the ability to harbor feelings for what, up until now, was a lifetime. And now that Gina had grown into her teenage years, the bitterness between mother and grandmother, seen, but rarely felt head on, had become an actual presence in her life.

Whatever Gina did or even wanted to do was a cause for battle between her two elders. Her grandmother’s fear of allowing another member of the family to fall by the wayside by getting pregnant and eventually blaming someone else, was always lurking somewhere in the argument. Marie, on the other hand, did the only thing she knew how to do: give or deny approval based on how much approval she could get or lose in return, or barring that, how much pain she could cause Tina.

But Gina was a remarkably intelligent girl for her age. From time to time when she saw her uncle, who lived perhaps a half hour away in the town of New Braunfels, they would talk about the fights between mother and grandmother, agreeing that if Gina were ever going to become a healthy human being, in Michael’s words, she’d have to learn to straddle the middle between them.

But I get so sick of it, she said, letting her guard down for once. I always feel that if I listen to Grandma, I’m hurting Mom. And if I do what Mom says, Grandma makes me feel like I don’t love her.

You know, it won’t be too long before you get the chance to go to college. Make sure you go away to school, if for no other reason than to become your own person.

I was thinking, Uncle Michael, she began, what if I went to school in New York, maybe by Zia Anna?

My Aunt Anna? Now, that’s an idea … Grandma and your mother still send you and Tommy there in the summertime, don’t they?

Gina nodded.

Perfect, you’re in your senior year now. Am I right?

Again, she nodded.

Why don’t you ask Zia Anna to take you to see some schools near the farmhouse? There’s a big school near her, right in Binghamton. That might just work out fine. If nothing else, it’ll certainly get you out from under the fights at home

But I wouldn’t see you as much, Uncle Michael.

Hey, it’s not like you’re going away forever. You’ll be home for every holiday and in the summers, unless …

Unless what?

Unless you get really lucky and Zia Anna takes you along on one of her trips! You know, she owns some business in Italy. She goes there to take care of it. Sicily, now that I think of it.

"Zia Anna owns a business in Sicily? She owns a business in Sicily? Uncle Michael, seriously?"

How do you think she can do all that stuff she does? She’s had that business since I can remember.

What kind of business is it?

I think she sells bottled water. I remember your grandmother telling us about a well that belonged to the family. My great-grandfather inherited it, and he left it to Zia Anna. But it’s been so long, I hardly remember the whole story.

Speaking of a long time, Uncle Michael, how old is Zia Anna?

Zia Anna? Whoa, let me think about this. Let’s see, your grandmother is what, fifty-seven, fifty-eight? And I know that she’s a coupla’ years younger than Zia Anna, so maybe fifty-nine or sixty years old, maybe sixty-one, tops.

It’s just that Grandma looks older. I mean she still looks good, for an older person. But Zia Anna looks, well, young.

Keep in mind, Gina, your grandmother worked all of her life and got married, divorced, and raised your mother and me. All that takes its toll on a person. And Texas summers aren’t exactly kind to a person’s skin. He had a point. Gina was so used to the weather, she barely noticed the summers where the temperature easily broke a hundred degrees and sometimes stayed there for five or six days, maybe more. The winters in San Antonio were milder than in the east, but those summers were brutal. Sooner or later, one had to go out, and if they stayed out for a while, well, it could get to a person.

I guess you’re right. Gina said.

Sure, outside of your mother and me, and now you and Tommy, Zia Anna’s never had anybody to care for. I think that’s why she always put food out for the animals on her property.

Oh yeah, I forgot about that. What did she say she was feeding? Wolves?

Yep. I never saw any wolves myself, but she says they’re there.

Hmmm, wolves. Maybe if I go to school back east, she’ll show me a wolf. Uncle Michael?

Hmm?

Do we have any plain, normal people in our family?

Well, I know I am, but you, Gina … I just don’t know. He grinned at her.

Oh, Uncle Michael. She looked at him fondly. She liked it when he teased her like that.

She enjoyed her talks with her uncle. To her, there was more than a grain of truth in the comment he’d made to her about normalcy. It just seemed that there was such animosity between her mother and her grandmother. And it had gone on for so long that it seemed to have taken on a life of its own. As if they had been fighting each other for such a long time that most people actually forgot how the argument began in the first place.

In truth, Marie remembered. She’d never forgotten. It was as if she viewed her pregnancy, eighteen years ago, as her mother’s fault for allowing the divorce from her father. She saw the subsequent eighteen years, up to and including this moment, as her mother’s sentence: her punishment for the crime. And the sentence wasn’t over yet. Marie didn’t view her mother as being sorry enough. Taking care of her, Gina, and Tommy was also part of the burden. It was Tina’s responsibility, one that Marie felt she was entitled to.

Gina could see this and not only did the whole thing confuse her, she hated being caught in the middle of it. This family made it that much easier for her when, come September, she began becoming more and more involved in school activities. Having just turned eighteen, she was lithe and fairly athletic—not exactly an all-league champion at any one sport, primarily because she lacked any sense of competitive dominance. But she did enjoy individual sports, and gymnastics in particular. To leap and land and feel her body twisting and turning through the air, whether it was on a balance beam or the uneven, parallel bars gave her a feeling of an almost out-of-body freedom. It was hard to describe really, outside of really liking it.

And it wasn’t long before people would stop and watch her practice her routines, mostly students who were on their way to the late buses after school, or teachers, on their way to after-school classes to give extra help. Eventually, there was one other visitor who would stop by to watch her practice, and over time, he seemed to be doing it more and more.

CHAPTER 3

Dennis DuPree

D ennis DuPree was, at best, a C student, and that was only when he applied himself. At worst, he’d already been suspended more than once for fighting, cheating on tests, threatening other students, threatening a teacher, and stealing food from the cafeteria. This last incident wasn’t due to hunger or poverty, but more a case of, Can I steal a block of cheese before anyone finds out? Unbeknownst to Dennis, cameras recorded him from start to finish. So when he and his parents were requested to appear in the superintendent’s office and shown the footage of his theft, he could say nothing. His parents had moved past mortification and now just registered weary disappointment. They’d taken him to counselors, but Dennis, after months of meetings, experienced no breakthrough. There was no reason, outside of occasional boredom, that Dennis did—or didn’t do—something.

He didn’t care for studying, but could pass a test when he wanted to … or had to. He certainly wasn’t popular yet somehow managed to remain distant enough to avoid social-pariah status. He wasn’t a criminal, although if he felt he needed something, regardless of the reason, he at least attempted to get it somehow. Consequently, there he was—at first, just once in a while and then with greater regularity—standing at the door of the gym or sitting at the top of the bleachers watching Gina.

It was over two months until he actually got up the nerve to speak to her. He had to wait until the gym was practically empty before he came over to her. Waiting until after she had completed her dismount from the pommel horse, he said. Hey …

She looked at him and smiled. It was the type of smile that said, I know you’ve been watching me, and I don’t know a lot about you; so take your best shot. Hey, she answered.

You’re pretty good, he continued, his dark hair falling down in front of his right eye. This effect, over his large, brown eyes, gave the appearance of shyness, of a need to be held, even cared for. He didn’t realize it. In truth, he just needed a haircut, but Gina accepted the perceptionanyway.

Thanks.

Truth be told, he had pretty much run out of things to say. He’d been watching with more enthusiasm and desire than when he stole the cheese, but just as with the cheese, he couldn’t explain his reasons, but he wanted to get to know her.

So like … aren’t you in my math class?

Yeah, I think so, she answered, knowing exactly where he sat in the class, but not letting on.

You wanna go out for a slice of pizza sometime? Maybe tomorrow?

Oh, I can’t. I’ve got an extra-help class in math.

Oh … yeah. Hold it. Great! Cuz … like, I was gonna take that extra-help math class too. At least he was now, as of that moment, especially if that meant sitting near her for an hour. You’re Gina, right?

That’s me, she grunted as she began her next routine. He remained quiet for the next three or so minutes of her work, waiting for her dismount before starting again. Then he did something awkward, even a little silly; he clapped.

Glad that there was no one else around, she took a small bow and then said, I have to go.

Okay, see you in class tomorrow.

Dennis walked home from school that afternoon in a better mood than he’d been in for some time. He’d just spoken to a girl, and not just any girl, a pretty girl, a nice girl, and one that talked back to him and smiled. And he was going to see her tomorrow. He actually thought about going back to school to get his math book … to do homework … but mainly to look good in her eyes. But in a moment or two, that idea faded, and the math homework went undone as usual. He rationalized it away by figuring that he could help her do it in the extra-help class tomorrow afternoon. That way, the teacher’ll see that I’m trying, he thought, not fully grasping the concept of an extra-help class. It would be, after all, the first one that he’d ever attended that wasn’t attached to a detention.

That evening, as Dennis went home a changed individual, the effect of their encounter caused a different response in Gina. Dinner that night was shared with just Tommy and her mother, as Grandma Tina had to work late. This was something that happened about four out of seven nights a week. Marie, vented her usual vitriol at Tina’s routine absence, but this time something in Gina snapped.

You have nothing but mean things to say when Grandma’s not here, she began. "She’s at work. But then you snipe and complain even when she is here. And yet we live here with her for free and eat her food. You always told me that my job is to work hard in school. Well, I’m doing my job, and Lord knows Grandma Tina’s doing hers. What do you do, Mom? Besides constantly tell us all how much you hate her? You’re not doing anything to change the situation: you just complain."

Tommy was sitting in the chair closest to his mother. Head down, he just continued to eat, saying nothing. When Gina finished, he looked up at Marie. He didn’t have to anticipate how she was going to respond. He’d seen her go off before, and he knew that this episode would be no different. This was not an opportunity to say something for harmony’s sake; this was a time to shut up and eat. Especially since Gina, who normally just let it wash over her, was talking back, and he didn’t know why.

The color drained out of Marie’s face; not that there was a great deal of color there in the first place, but whatever ruddiness came from complaining with such vigor, dissipated. In seconds, it was replaced by a sneer, the kind that was usually reserved for Tina. Looking like a hurt, angry child, Marie whined, You don’t understand. Neither of you will ever understand. She stole my life. She drove my father—your grandfather—away! My life ended when she forced him to go. I thought you, of all people would understand, but now I see that you’re on her side.

"Just because Grandma’s marriage ended, didn’t mean that your life had to. Damn, Mom, you never even got married—at least you knew your father—and you don’t see me hating you for it, or Tommy for that matter."

Tommy looked up with an expression of What did I do? Don’t drag me into this.

Gina was trying to sidestep the melodramatic exaggerations of her mother’s rants, while trying to get her to see reason. She knew that this was an exercise in futility, but for some reason she felt as if she just didn’t want to deal with it any more. She’d never spoken out like this before, perhaps because up until today the two antagonists accounted for her whole world. She hadn’t even realized that someone new had stumbled in.

I don’t have to take this—not from you. Marie spat out the words as she flung her napkin down into her chair and stormed off to her bedroom on the second floor of the house.

Ever the dutiful son, Tommy finished his meal, muttered, Well, that’s that, and left the table.

Gina watched him leave. She was still riled up. She wanted to ask him why he never spoke up but thought better of it. It wasn’t because she felt that he was treating her unfairly, but rather that he was, in many ways a victim caught in the middle just like her. It was simply that he dealt with it in a different way than she did. She quietly finished her dinner and cleaned up the dishes, keeping a plate of it warm for her grandmother. As she cleaned up, she thought, This is wrong. I hate it when yelling ruins the dinner. She couldn’t fully put into words what was going on within her, but in some abstract way, she was beginning to experience a need for caring and nurturing—someone who would care for her, care about her, love her. As frustrating as she felt, she couldn’t understand why Grandma Tina was so distant and Mom was so angry. There had to be parts of this story that she knew nothing about. She went into her bedroom, did her homework, and eventually went to bed.

The next morning, Thursday, Gina got up, washed, dressed, and walked past her mother’s closed, bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen, where she found her grandmother sitting at the table, coffee cup in hand.

Well, good morning, and thank you for my dinner last night. I love chicken cutlets. Did you help your mother with them?

A little. I just made sure they didn’t burn.

An important job. You know, I was thinking, I’m free this Saturday, and I was wondering if you were busy.

Oh, Grandma, I don’t know. You know how Mom gets if we both go out.

Tina interrupted, Oh no, nothing like that. I was thinking that it’s time that I showed you how to make sauce. These days, I rarely get a chance to make it, and I’m not getting any younger. You should know how to make the world famous Del Forno gravy!

Gravy?

"When I was a little girl, every once in a while, Zia Anna and I would visit our grandparents, and they always called the red sauce gravy. And now it’s time for you to learn how to make it. So what do you think? This Saturday? You and I?"

I have practice in the morning, but after that, if Mom doesn’t have anything I have to do, sure.

Fine, then it’s settled. Oh, and what’s your favorite macaroni?

"You mean pasta?"

"Ah yes, pasta. Old habits die hard. At any rate, what’s your favorite?

The spirally ones.

Rotini? Good choice. The spirals catch more sauce. Okay, Rotini Del Forno for dinner on Saturday.

Cool, Gina remarked.

Hmm, Tina added. Cool.

There was a gleam in the eye of the middle-aged woman, a gleam in the blue green eyes that sparkled with regularity in her youth. Back then, she was more self-reliant, more independent, more carefree. Her older sister was the one who had needed direction but not Tina. There was an inner strength that came from their mother that said, I’m going to do what I want, and I’m not going to depend on anyone. It was that brightness that gave her, even from an early age, her drive. Indeed, that drive had cost her at times throughout her life. It cost her a marriage and quite