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“To peace and prosperity!” Uncle Louie said.

“To the lot of you with love!” Dad raised his glass.

“Spoken like an in-law,” my mother joked. “Cent’anni.”

“To the outlaw!” Aunt Lil toasted the family and winked at me.

I had been operating inside my family like a secret agent, carrying information between the warring sides hoping to find the path to peace. Now it was their turn to sustain it. I was done with all that. It was time to grow up—not just me, but my mother and Uncle Louie.

16

Saint Dymphna

I prop mylaptop on the folding table in Signora Strazza’s laundry room in the basement of number 19. I review a rendering for Mauro LaFortezza. I am about to press send when the wringer washing machine shakes. I turn off the water, reach inside the machine, and rejigger the drum as Signora Strazza taught me to do.

The wringer washing machine is so old it was probably used by Elizabeth Barrett Browning during the Risorgimento, but I am nothing but game to try it because my landlord explained that the traditional machine is better for the environment. As I feed each article of clothing through the rollers, I notice this machine gets the clothes cleaner, a revelation from someone who lived in a basement with a silent state-of-the-art front-loading washer from Maytag. I am piling the wet clothes into a basket to hang on the indoor clothesline when Signora Strazza pushes the door open.

“Signorina?”

“You know, you’re right about the wheel. It got jammed and I turned off the water and gave it a twist and now it’s fine!”

“Do you have a cat?” Signora Strazza stands back and folds her arms.

“Yes!Perdonami, per favore!” Her glare tells me it’s too late for forgiveness. “I meant to tell you about Smokey,” I say sheepishly.

“Absolutely no pets in the building.”

“She followed me home.”

“Nessun gatto!” Signora Strazza’s face flushes with anger.

“But she has no place to go.”

“Signorina.There are cats everywhere in Carrara. I don’t want them in my building.”

“But she’s quiet and small; she’s just a kitten. She won’t be a problem. I promise.”

“Get rid of the cat. If you refuse, you will have to find another place to live.” Signora Strazza slams the door behind her.

I’ve been evicted.

Smokey chases asmall rubber ball across the floor. I get up, pick up the ball, and roll it in the opposite direction. Smokey chases it, pounces, and rolls onto her back and wrestles with the ball.

I text Conor about the eviction. As much as I love this apartment and the view, and all it has done to heal me with air and light, I love the kitten more than I love the apartment. If this makes me sound crazy, then I’ll find a Thera-Me doctor to confirm the self-diagnosis.

I get up from the floor and go into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I’ve been evicted just in time for my two-year work visa to come through. In true Baratta fashion, I was also evicted beforemy paycheck cleared. Evidently, I inherited my father’s lousy financial timing, along with his unruly hair.

There’s an urgent knock at the door. I hear Angelo call my name from the other side. I throw themopeenover my shoulder and open the door.

Angelo’s face is as white as the wall behind him. “Can you come downstairs? It’s Mamma.”

I follow him down the stairs at a clip. When we get to his mother’s apartment, we find Signora Strazza sitting at her dining room table, struggling to breathe.

“Do you have a paper bag?” I ask Angelo.

“What?”

“A paper bag. You know. From the pharmacy. Small paper bag.” I make a rectangle shape with my hands.