Sweet Life by Linda Biasotto Page B

their conversation. Maria will speak to Lidia about it; it’s the wife’s duty to keep her husband happy.
    A drizzle rattles against the Fiat; Maria turns on the wipers.
    An hour later, she waits while an elderly shepherd guides his flock across a road on the outskirts of San Daniele. The man dips his head and winks at Maria through her window. She averts her eyes. The nerve. Yet after the last sheep scrambles to the meadow and she shifts the car into gear, she hums a tune, a love song she thought she’d forgotten.
    A few minutes later, she manoeuvres the Fiat into a space in front of a stone apartment building and parks with two wheels up on the sidewalk. The building’s wide wooden door is held open by a brick, and when she enters the cool hallway, another door down the hall opens and there is her Enzo, rushing forward to kiss her cheeks. “My dear sister. Come in, come in.” He takes her bags and sets them on the floor behind the kitchen table.
    Maria accepts Lidia’s peck, and then braces herself for Rico and Roberto.
    But Enzo says, “The boys are visiting their grandparents for the weekend.”
    “They are in Manna while I’ve come all the way to San Daniele?”
    “Lidia and I were afraid you would decide not to come, and you know how much we look forward to your visits.”
    Maria drops into a chair and says nothing while Lidia makes coffee. Enzo chats and smokes. He eyes the parcels she brought, no doubt waiting for her to produce the almond cake. Let him wait.
    By the time Lidia sets down the cups, Maria feels better about missing the boys, and they eat cake while she tells about the crazy one. Then Enzo launches into a diatribe about the stupidity of his work supervisor and the efforts of some employees to organize a union. When he passes his hand over his thick, black hair and touches his short moustache, Maria is filled with tenderness at the familiar gestures. Dear, handsome Enzo.
    Lidia moves stiffly about the kitchen, slides open the curtains along the bottom two cupboards, cuts chicken, washes lettuce at the granite sink. When she stirs the pomodoro sauce on the wood stove, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes makes Maria’s stomach growl. Such a treat to eat what she didn’t prepare and, she has to admit, Lidia is an excellent cook.
    Later, after a supper of cold cuts, gnocchi, chicken and salad, Enzo smokes and sips espresso with Maria. Lidia washes the dishes. Maria doesn’t offer to help; she’s the guest, the benevolent aunt who’s brought gifts.
    After Enzo finishes his cigarette, he stands. “Please forgive me for more disappointing news, but there are people I must see tonight. I hate to leave, but Lidia will be happy to have you all to herself.”
    “But Enzo,” Maria says. “This is the third Saturday evening in a row that you’ve gone out.”
    “No help for it, my dear sister. Men’s business.”
    Maria did not pack her bags and drive all the way from Manna to spend the evening with Lidia. Enzo knows this; Lidia knows this. All these gifts, the boys not here to thank her and now Enzo deserting. Maria has a sudden premonition of a future much different from the one she’s imagined. And they’re taking advantage of her good nature. Yet when she looks into Enzo’s brown eyes, she forgives everything. “You should take the Signorina ’s Fiat; it could start raining again.”
    “No, no, what if I damage it? I’ll be fine with an umbrella.”
    While Enzo is gone to the main floor’s common bathroom, Maria hands Lidia the coffee cups and spoons to wash. Enzo’s return fills the kitchen with the scent of Aqua Velva. He takes his toiletry bag to the bedroom, returns with a suit jacket and brown fedora, which he angles over one eye. He grabs an umbrella.
    “Goodnight, ladies. Don’t wait up.” A jaunty salute with the umbrella and he’s gone.
    Maria watches from a moisture-beaded window as he strides across the street and into the encroaching dusk. Whenever he walks away from her,