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Angelo drives up on his turquoise scooter. He rides into the scene as he has into my life. We have work to do. The farmhouse is the beginning. I plan to open an architecture firm in Carrara, on the piazza next to the bakery, because I want a freshcornettowithmy coffee every morning for the rest of my life. I will continue to take work from Mauro on the mountain, but now, instead of rendering other people’s ideas, I will design for clients.

I have a new enterprise with Conor. I’ve designed a collection of marble and granite floors that Conor will sell around the world. We will call the company Capodimonte Marble and Stone, because, after all, the stone is Italian, and so is my family name. But this time, things will be different. I won’t hide my ambition or put a good man’s happiness ahead of my own, because now I know what brings me joy. Is it possible that there’s equality in this matter? You bet there is, and Angelo Strazza understands.

Signora Strazza joins my parents, tying a scarf over her hair and under her chin. I won’t forget that she showed me the old farmhouse for the first time, revealing a dream. Angelo kisses his mother on the cheek.

“I’ll be right down!” I holler. I grab my sketchbook and take the stairs down to the main room of the house. I welcome my family inside, where the blueprints are displayed on two horses. Without furniture, the fieldstone room seems big, certainly large enough to accommodate my family. They gather and look over my shoulder as I explain the redesign and renovation of the house.

Dad studies the blueprints with interest. “You drew these plans?”

“I did.” I fold my arms and stand back.

“You were smart to go back to school,” Dad says. “You were born to do this.”

When I forgave my parents and let go of my anger about Rutgers, it made a space for me to find happiness. I might have lost one dream, but a new one arrived. In another year, I’ll have my architecture degree from the University of Pisa. It was meant to be; I needed more knowledge and new skills as the commissions through theLaFortezza quarry became more and more complex, so did my need to learn how to build.

“School is one thing, but living alone in the woods?” Mom stands at the window and looks out. “Jess, I don’t know.”

I point to the emerald tree line and a small slice of the gold-leafed Duomo of Sant’Andrea visible through the forest. “Have faith. I am surrounded by churches.”

“I see, when in danger, you run to the church. Say it’s a Tuesday when you are robbed or violated. Nobody there. That duomo gives me no comfort.” Mom’s eyebrows form two black triangles of doom.

“Ma, Jess is close to the piazza. She doesn’t even need a car. It took us ten minutes to walk here,” Connie reminds Mom.

“A lot can happen in ten minutes.” Mom’s voice breaks.

My father, brother, Connie, and I groan.

Mom throws up her hands. “You people don’t take me seriously.”

“She’s hardly isolated.” Connie shoots me a look of reassurance.

“You’re my strangest child, Giuseppina,” Mom says. “Why do you have to do everything alone?”

“Because then I know I can do it,” I tell her.

“This means you’re never coming back to New Jersey,” Dad says softly.

Oh, Dad, I think to myself,you tried so hard to make me happy in Lake Como. You tinkered constantly. When you weren’t repairing things, you painted. You tried to make the cellar look like a real home. You installed a gas fireplace in my newlywed apartment that I never turned on. I didn’t show you the Hoboken apartment because that was a dream that was never meant to come true. I never left the deposit. Some other woman will savor that view of the Manhattan skyline.

Dad walks around the room, surveying the Montini farmhouse, floor to ceiling. “Good for you, kid.”

Dad’s greatest joy is to see his children happy. He sacrificedeverything for us. He held us together, putting aside his own dreams, whatever they were, to give us what we needed. Now that he can see my dream on paper, and in reality, he is happy for me. Dad and I know that he was always on my side. How can I tell my father what it means to me to have him here, in Carrara, as he approves the rendering of my new dream, the one that was meant to come true, in the place I’ll live for the rest of my life? I can’t. I’m a Baratta and we don’t share our feelings.

“I wish I was a young man, kid,” Dad says. “I could help you.”

“I was hoping you could paint the place.”

My father smiles and claps his hands together. “You got a deal.”

I will live inside the house where my grandmother was born a Montini. I felt something when I first saw Grandma Cap’s childhood home in the snow, and the feeling has not left me. Somewhere along the way, in these thirty-five years, someone said to pay attention to those feelings because that is where your bliss lies. And it was true; I would think about the house no matter where I was, whether on a train, in a meeting, or right before I went off to sleep at night. I couldn’t shake this house. The things you cannot live without are the only things you need. I knew somehow the house belonged to me. I was moved by its fading beauty, and even though it was falling apart, despite decades of abandonment, it was still standing, a kind of miracle, as if to say,This is your home. I’ve been waiting for you.

“I think it’s a great investment. Hardly will cost you.” My practical brother approves.

“The town gave it to me. I couldn’t believe it. My first lucky break since Uncle Louie died.”

“Louie would be so proud of you.” Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “He was a prince, my brother.”

Diego looks at Katie, who looks at Connie, who looks at Joe; all look to my father.