Worn Masks by Phyllis Carito Page B

that Aunt Maggie, like the women Mary Grace had seen in the
nursing home previously, was just living now in her own world of memories. Aunt
Maggie and Uncle Paul had done their best to give Mary Grace a family and
better memories. But, Aunt Maggie couldn’t take on anything more.
    Back at her apartment that night, Mary Grace looked at the
painting she had on the wall in her bed room.
It was of the chiesa , the one Uncle Paul had hang ing on the wall
in his otherwise stark room. The church he had sketched over and over again in
his books. Mary Grace couldn’t form the words to explain what it meant to her. The aging ochre
stone surrounded by the tall cypress, with the open fields behind it, the
church rose large and stately.
    She felt lighted-headed at the sight of it. It was so
familiar. She had sat on the floor in the attic room and looked at it so many
times. She had gone up to it and run her hands along the lines of the church,
the spirals of the trees. Mary Grace felt
emotional, what was hap pening to her?
    Then she realized there was nothing to hide about Uncle Paul, or
that she had been in Uncle Paul’s room and had taken the painting of this church from
there. She didn’t have to keep any one’s secrets anymore. All the worn masks
were being let go.
    Elena sent another letter with photographs she had gotten from
Giuseppe, photographs of Uncle Paul when he was in their town before the
war.
    Elena explained, “He was Guiseppe’s amico . He cared a great
deal about your uncle. He talked about the beautiful pictures that your Uncle
Paul would draw. Guiseppe said your uncle loved Caterina and loved you, Maria
Graziella, more than anyone else. He wanted you to be happy.”
    Mary Grace felt her breath catch, her eyes filled with tears.
Uncle Paul had seen what was happening between Teresa and her. He was watching
her more than she knew. Had anyone ever grieved for Uncle Paul, for his losses?
Had she ever grieved for Uncle Paul? And, had anyone ever known her so well as
he knew her?
    Suddenly Mary Grace remembered. The memory
flooded in. Uncle Paul was walking on the avenue with her and she was crying.
They were walking away from a girl, a woman, and a strange man with her mother.
It was her mother who told Uncle Paul to take Mary Grace home. “Take her out a’
here. No reason for her to know them.” But Mary Grace had wanted to play with
the little girl. She had cried. Teresa had lifted her hand in warning toward
Mary Grace, but Uncle Paul had circled his arm around her and taken her home.
    Then, Mary Grace remembered Giuseppe. She saw him, young, with a
full mustache smiling at her, and holding the hand of the little girl.
    And now she knew that he and Uncle Paul had made a pact, had kept
the Giordano family attuned to Mary Grace’s
life. Mary Grace felt at once exhilarated and sad dened. This was what
she had to know, that someone had always watched over her.
    The nursing home had called and suggested she make final plans for
Aunt Maggie. Aunt Maggie would be leaving soon. There would be no one left that
Mary Grace had lived with, no one who knew her.
    She refused a Skype invitation from Elena. Mary Grace stared at
the blank screen for a moment and then went into her room, collapsed on the bed
with thoughts of all of the family she had learned about floating now in her
head and her heart. Mary Grace was thinking about Uncle Paul and how he led her
to all this, but what did it mean now for Mary Grace? After all, wasn’t she her
mother’s daughter?
     
    The movers arrived early and walked around the rooms with Mary
Grace. She pointed to the items that she was
taking, and those that would stay for the auc tioneer who would take the
rest, really the bulk of it, to sell. When they got to the living room Mary
Grace paused at the piano, she had thought she would take it, but now she had
decided to leave it. She had all that she needed to know. She couldn’t live her
parents’ lives; she couldn’t connect with