The Return of the Violet Full Moon: A mythical story of family, odd friendships and strange flights.

By Rose L. Cirigliano

It's been three days after Laura Brooke, and her mother Annie, a pilot for Rainbow International Airlines moved to Rome, Italy. Traveling is the best education. It's worked for ten years and four moves. LB discovers she has an odd gift: Conversing with animals. Things get complicated when LB invites two talking stray cats to live in her room wi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose L. Cirigliano Studio
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578561233

Rose L. Cirigliano

Rose L. Cirigliano was born in Yonkers, New York. She and her sister, Anne, grew up in the Bronx and Brooklyn. At a Parent Teachers' Meeting, a fifth grade teacher said to Rose's mother, "Your daughter's head is in the clouds." Years later, Trans World Airways (TWA) hired her as an airline stewardess. Finally, her head was in the clouds. Rose traveled the world and lived in several European cities. Rome was the first move, along with her two cats, Samantha and Daisy.  Three other moves followed: Brussels, Geneva and London. She now lives in New York City where she continues to write stories and plays. The cats live on, aka Livia and Octavius, in her debut novel, The Return of the Violet Full Moon.

Book preview

The Return of the Violet Full Moon

The Return of the Violet Full Moon

The Return of the Violet Full Moon

A mythical story of family, odd friendships and strange flights.

Rose L. Cirigliano

publisher logo

Rose L. Cirigliano Studio

Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

I The Roman Colosseum

II Livia and Octavius

III Via Tartaruga 33

IV Madame of Moonbeam Rays

V Thought Waves and Wishes

VI Key to the Sliding Glass Door

VII The Flying Rosegarden Chariot

VIII Home a Few Days

IX Time Off

X Return to Work

XI The Owl, the Kite, and the Cap

XII An Accident

XIII Two Strangers

XIV The Cave

XV Blather, Blather, Blather

XVI The Glade

XVII The Violet Full Moon

XVIII The Flight

XIX The Crash

XX The Captain

XXI The Truth

XXII Moon Mud

XXIII Do Something

XXIV Destination: Earth and the Colosseum

XXV The Penthouse

XXVI Strangers at the Door

XXVII The Return

XXVIII Epilogue

About The Author

Acknowledgements

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ten-year-old Laura Brooke, aka LB, and her mother Annie, an international airline pilot transfer to Rome, Italy. Traveling and homeschool is her education. Complications erupt when LB meets two talking cats in front of the Roman Colosseum and invites them to live in her room without her mother’s knowledge.

Copyright © 2020 by Rose L. Cirigliano

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

First ebook edition, December 2020

Book cover design by Michael J. Ryan

Interior design by Matthew Davie

ISBN 978-0-578-56123-3 (ebook)

Rose L. Cirigliano Studio

320 East 42nd Street

Suite 1507

New York, NY 10017

Dedication

To my family

Anne and Greg Cahill

Gregory, Kevin, Janet, and Maddy

Epigraph

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly: what is essential is invisible to the eye."

­­

The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupéry

I

The Roman Colosseum

It is my tenth birthday and I am supposed to be happy. I am not. Even today. Annie is by my side, so when she looks at me, I squeeze my lips together and feel them spread toward my ears. Automatically my eyes squint. This is my fake smile.

I keep thinking of my dad, whom I never met and wish he could be with me and Annie. His name is Richard Christianson and he is a pilot for Rainbow International Airlines. Was. His flight disappeared off the radar screen before I was born. Simply vanished. So you see why I don’t smile.

Annie is also a pilot. She is my best friend. I call her Annie instead of Mom. We are inseparable, kind of like peanut butter and jelly.

I am Laura Brooke. And I am going to be a pilot like my parents.

I give Annie a sidelong glance as we sit on a bench. She is looking across the street at the Roman Colosseum. Sometimes I get really scared that she will disappear too. Annie never got a chance to even tell my dad that she was expecting a baby—me. I am really mad that she did not tell him before his flight vanished. It’s not something we speak about. I want to. But the words will not come out. Sometimes it hurts when I swallow. Like today. It makes me feel like there is a space in my throat.

Three days ago, Rainbow International Airlines transferred us to Rome from New York City. Rome is our new base, our new home.

So here we are, sitting on a bench, eating gelato in front of the humongous Colosseum that stands there bleached from centuries of being exposed to the Roman sun. As soon as I unpack my sketch pads and pencils, I am going to choose one of those archways and draw it. Annie will stick them up on our refrigerator door. She does things like that. Sometimes I mind. I like my privacy.

I tip my baseball cap back and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Annie prefers that I use the word perspiration. But I am dripping with sweat from the heat. Even the gelato I am eating doesn’t cool me down that much.

I’m not getting cooler, but Italians sure do make delicious gelato, I say.

They certainly do. It’s such a beautiful day, says Annie, looking down at me and then back up at the sky.

Hmm.

There are two scruffy cats sitting on the edge of the curb and staring at me. Odd. They have the same color eyes as I do. One is blue, and the other violet. Just like my father. My dad is the one person I know who has two different-colored eyes. Had.

I’d like a pet. But we travel too much. Annie says that they don’t fit our lifestyle. She’s right. It’s not practical, although I’d still like one.

The cats and I glare at each other. At least I think they are glaring at me. I look from the fluffy ginger calico to the black-and-white one who looks as if he is wearing a tuxedo. The calico seems hungry and ready to lunge for my cone. The tuxedo cat stands back a bit and flutters his eyelids. He looks like he’s smiling. It’s so weird because cats do not smile.

And that's when something incredible happens. I hear the calico exclaim in English, I want to eat a gelato like that little girl on the bench.

I immediately glance toward Annie to see if she heard what I heard. She is still daydreaming, looking up at the sky and watching the clouds. I’m sure she did not hear.

A cat speaking—that’s plain nuts.

The Roman sun must be getting to me. I tip the cap forward over my eyes. Annie bought it for me on our first day here. It has an image of the Roman Colosseum stitched above the rim. I’m tired. That’s it. I am exhausted from the flight out of JFK. My ears still feel blocked from when we landed. Annie tells me to hold my nose and swallow hard when this happens. It usually works. That must be it, stuffed ears and jet lag. I glance back at the cats.

And it happens again.

The least that little girl can do is drop some of her gelato for us to share, says the ginger calico.

That’s when I make a decision. I let my cone plop to the ground and the cats lunge for it. Oh, no! I cry, pretending to be upset.

The calico licks fast and tries to stuff her nose into the tip of the cone.

Annie pops up from the bench like a slice of bread from a toaster and gives me a handy wipe to clean my sticky hands. Yes, she carries wipes all the time. Don’t worry. I’ll buy you another, Laura, she says, hurrying over to the vendor, who is scooping gelato and ices into cones and cups.

I almost smile because the calico looks like the cone is a party hat growing out of her nose. When she finishes crunching the last bit of cone she yawns and her tongue rolls forward. Her body rises slightly and out of her throat comes a thunderous Burrup. "Octavius, that was de-li-zi-oso."

Livia, it’s bad enough when you burp in my presence. It’s downright impolite in front of company. Excuse yourself to the little girl.

Octavius. Livia. They are calling each other by name.

Octavius, the tuxedo cat, casts a dreamy glance from me to Livia, the calico.

Livia, please excuse yourself, says Octavius.

"Per piacere, mi scusi."

Jumping turtles! They have names and they’re speaking to me! It’s definitely my ears, jet lag, or even the sun. Until now, I thought animals spoke only in films or books like Dr. Doolittle. I love that movie; Dr. Doolittle talks to animals and they answer him. Maybe, just maybe, animals really do speak . . . if only humans would take the time to listen.

The Octavius cat looks up. Please forgive Livia. She forgets her manners.

I excused myself, Livia repeats with annoyance.

No wonder we don’t have any friends, Octavius says, turning to Livia.

I wonder. No. It’s not possible. Or is it? Maybe.

What about me? I offer. I’ll be your friend?

Livia waves a paw at me. See! We have a friend.

"Un piacere. It’s a pleasure," says Octavius.

I swallow. My mouth is dry. I inhale and then the words rush out all at once. "It is a pleasure. You know, I speak to animals all the time. But never, ever, have they spoken back to me, until now. And you speak English!"

Octavius concentrates on licking his front paws—first one, then the other, and stops.

Livia leaps up on the bench and sits next to me. Her tail swishes from side to side, as if she’s dusting the wooden slats of the bench.

I pet the top of her head and she starts to purr.

We learn all of our languages from you tourists, says Livia.

I’m not a tourist, I blurt out. We just moved to Rome, and besides, I’ve visited this city lots of times. I’ve traveled with my mother Annie, all around the world.

"Really. What school do you go to?" asks Octavius, swiping his ear.

I am home-schooled. My school is where we live.

Just like us, says Livia, yawning so wide that I can see the roof of her mouth.

We learn things all the time and we don’t go to school either, says Octavius.

What are you studying now? asks Livia.

Annie likes it this way, home-schooling. I’ve had my share of tutors and babysitters. Most of them were boring and only interested in being on their cell phones. Gosh, I’m dying for a cell phone. Annie says I have to wait until I’m thirteen. Maybe twelve. In the meantime, she says that I have to be satisfied with the computer in her room to speak via Facetime when I don’t go on a trip with her. It’s not even a laptop. My tutors like to show me off to their friends as the kid who travels with her airline pilot mother, sits on the jump seat in the cockpit. Only on cargo flights, though. They ask me to tell them stories about all the places we have lived. I accommodate them.

My favorite tutor turned out to be Maddy. Last summer, she taught me how to drive. I’m not kidding. Now, that made me smile. I am tall for my age. My feet can reach the gas and brake pedals. One day in a beach parking lot, Maddy asked me if I wanted to learn. Of course, I said yes. And best of all, we never told Annie. I was sorry when the summer was over and she had to return to her university. I miss her.

Interrupting my thoughts, Octavius asks, Did you hear what Livia said?

What? Oh. Studying. I study things. The planets. The tides. History. Art. And Annie is looking around for an Italian tutor for me. I should say for us, since she is the one who wants to learn Italian.

Don’t you want to learn it? says Livia.

Sure. But not with Annie. I’d like to learn it with other kids. You know, kids my own age.

How old are you? Octavius asks.

Today is my birthday. I am ten years old.

You’re American. I can tell by your accent, Livia says.

I am. We just came from New York City. We’ve moved three times in ten years. Three years divided into ten make 3.33333. That’s how long Annie and I have stayed in one place.

Octavius scrunches his face. I wouldn’t like that. I like staying in one place.

Not me, says Livia. You’re lucky. I think I would like traveling.

How come you move around so much? asks Octavius, standing on his hind legs, stretching his front paws, and flipping in the air like an acrobat. He lands next to me on the bench. Almost in my lap.

"My