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I also took care of any loose ends for Aunt Lil, including sending the thank-you notes from the funeral. I cleaned out the basement and packed up my old clothes (anyone who wears a size eight and prefers an all-black wardrobe is in for a haul at Goodwill). I boughtsome new clothes at T.J. Maxx and Target and donated my car to Kars4Kids. (I figured if their annoying television jingle is true, they deserve the heap.) I didn’t make the rounds to say goodbye to my relatives because I’d just seen them at Uncle Louie’s grief buffet. I haven’t seen Bobby since we took a walk after Uncle Louie’s reception; it’s as though I left him in the mist on Lake Como forever. But the truth is, I have so much to sort through, I can’t think about Bobby right now.

The cellar windowshave a thin layer of ice on the glass like the white frost on a cocktail shaker. I check the clock: 4:10 a.m. I zip my suitcase closed. I pull my tote over my shoulder. I don’t look back at the neatly made bed, where I have slept for a total of ten percent of my current natural life; instead, I climb the stairs to the kitchen. As I go, I tuck a letter, stamped and addressed to Aunt Lil, in my pocket, which I plan to mail from the airport.

October 23, 2024

Dearest Aunt Lil,

It’s almost time for your trip to Florida with Carmel and Marina. Uncle Louie would want you to head south. Get in the ocean once you’re there; it’s the great healer. Uncle Louie taught me that, among the many lessons I learned from him. He loved you with all his heart. I will let you know my plans when I’ve made them. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I love you for understanding and so much more.

Your niece,

Jess

My mother has left a small lamp in the kitchen window on, a habit from when we were teenagers. By the glow of the lamp, I roll the suitcase through the shadows of the dining room, through the living room, and out to the foyer. I order an Uber on my phone and step outside. I lock the door behind me and leave my keys under the front mat.

The breezes off Lake Como are downright frigid at this hour. I look down the street to Grandma Cap’s dark house. It’s sad to see it that way when it was once a home full of life. I look in the other direction to Aunt Lil’s. The glamorous house shimmers in the dark, illuminated by garden lights staggered throughout the prim landscaping. Her home has always made me feel secure. I snap a photo of Aunt Lil’s house, one of the lake, and a third one of our front yard. I post them:Big changes.

I hear the click of the lock behind me as my mother opens the front door. She wears a coat over her bathrobe and a twisted look of worry on her face. “I wish you’d let us drive you to the airport.”

“It’s okay. I got an Uber.” I pat the cross-body purse on my hip and look down at my suitcase.

“It’s bad luck to have a stranger drop you at the airport,” she says.

“You’re making that up.”

“You want me to take you, Jess?” My father joins my mother in the doorway. He yawns. He wears a Phillies baseball shirt and sweatpants. His unruly hair comes to a point on his head, like a party hat.

“I wish you would talk to us. We meant no harm,” Mom says sadly.

“And even if you had, the results would have been the same.”

Mom winces. I’m half Cap and I know how to land a punch, but the Baratta side is ashamed that I hurt my mother’s feelings. But this is not the time to indulge and buckle under the weight of myfilial guilt. As far as I’m concerned, my parents are on the Island. The Uber pulls up in front of the house.

My father carries my suitcase down the walkway and places it in the trunk of the Uber. He opens his arms to me, and I give my father a quick hug—an awkward moment for both of us. For whatever reason, I don’t blame him as much, though Dad was half of the team that approved the scheme that hurt me. He breaks the silence. “What about your mother?”

I choose not to argue with my father. I turn, walk back up to the porch, and embrace my mom.

“Will you tell us where you are when you get there?” Mom cries.

“Okay.” I am lying. No one in my family ever sent postcards to the Island. It’s just not done.

I walk back to the car, where Dad holds the Uber door open. “I love you,” he says.

I climb in, closing the door behind me.

“Confirming the airport. Newark? Terminal C?”

“Yes, sir,” I tell him. We drive off in the predawn darkness, one last half loop around Lake Como. The sun is coming up over the water in a ribbon of gold along the horizon. I look to the light, and I don’t look back.

10

Crying on Airplanes

I clasp my handsin my lap in seat 32E on Italia Trasporto Aereo flight 987 to Milan, Italy. When I called the airline to book the flight, I turned in Uncle Louie’s ticket and gave Aunt Lil the refund. I asked her to keep my plan a secret, and she agreed. I am trying my best to be brave. I summon a bit of courage knowing Uncle Louie would want me to take this trip.

There are three seats across on either side of the aisle in economy. I’m in the middle seat on the right side of the plane in the back row. The smells of cafeteria beef stew and hot coffee waft from the galley behind me, oddly comforting scents, like a potluck in the church basement. A few overhead reading lights are on, smattered through economy like a defective string of white lights on a Christmas tree.

There’s a fidgety man to my left in the aisle seat and a sweaty woman wedged into the window seat; at her feet, a large purse, an oversized carpetbag, and a paper bag stuffed with whatever didn’t fit into the purse and carry-on.