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Angelo goes around the front of the car and opens the passenger door. “You’ve been gone all day. Your mother took us to the Paramus Mall.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Why are you sitting in the car?” Angelo asks.

“Thinking. Where’s Mauro?”

“Your mother took him to see Saint Catharine Church. I begged off,” he says.

“But it’s built of Carrara marble. There’s all kinds of gilding inside. You would appreciate it.”

“I couldn’t spend one more hour with your mother. Forgive me.” Angelo puts the passenger seat back on recline. “This is very plush.”

“Uncle Louie only drove the best. You’re in my seat.Shotgun, we call it.”

“I see. Have you thought about what we talked about before you left?”

“All the time.”

“Are you coming back to Italy?”

“Will you miss me if I don’t?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming back.”

“Mamma wanted to know.”

“Oh, now it’s what Mamma wants. She sent you all the way to America to confirm my plans?”

“It’s almost the first of the month,” he teases.

“Tell your mother not to rent my apartment.”

“Why did you go to Carrara in the first place? You could go to Milano or Roma or Firenze. Why our village?”

“Some girls grow up on fairy tales. I grew up on family stories of cutting marble, surviving on chestnuts, and being so poor you had to leave the place you loved to survive. I had to be a part of it. I didn’t know if I would be accepted or if I would like it. I went to Carrara looking for love. Not the kind of romantic love that sweeps you off your feet, but the other kind. The love of life, where you can’t wait to get up in the morning to see what the day will bring.”

“Did you find it?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I ask Angelo, “Why did you come to America?”

“I came to America looking for the love of a good woman.”

“Have you found her?”

“If she’ll have me.”

Angelo takes my face in his hands. His mouth finds mine. I put my arms around him, and soon we’re entwined in a kiss that seems to last for the entirety of a rainy afternoon. There’s tapping on the window. I turn and let out a silent scream when I see my mother’s face pressed against the glass. She attempts to peer through the car’s fogged-up windows. We lost track of time. I clear a circle of fog from the window with my sleeve.

Outside, Mom makes the rolling motion with her hand, just like Uncle Louie. I roll down the window. My father, brother, and Mauro stand behind her like the Untouchables perusing the scene of a crime.

“This car has not been inspected since Louie died.”

“Ma. Please.”

“It’s dangerous. But nobody listens to me. You could be sucking carbon monoxide in there unaware and you’d turn blue and die and you wouldn’t even feel it.”