“Ayyy, I know all about these things,” Anthony assured him. “Trust me, you’re better off keeping your distance from that one.” He paused, and looked at Giancarlo with sympathetic eyes. “But you know,” he said, shaking his head, “Celeste and the others will just keep digging up new women to fix you up with until they find the right one—or until you get on the stick and find someone on your own. It’s just the way they are.”

“I know,” said Giancarlo with a shrug. “But just for the record, I am doing my best.”

Anthony gave a little laugh and patted his cousin on the shoulder. “You’re a tough one, Giancarlo Rosa,” he said. “No question about it.”

Just then the first rocket of the fireworks display lit up the night sky with an enormous boom, prompting oohs and aahs from the gathering out front. It seemed a fitting close to the subject, and the two men walked around the house to watch the rest of the show.

Later, when the fireworks were over and Giancarlo had driven home, he sat at the kitchen table ruminating, as he often did at night, about the day’s activities. A warm breeze was puffing through the window, and from off in the distance came a cracking of firecrackers, like a burst of gunfire. Giancarlo turned to the window and listened for a moment, trying to guess from exactly which direction the sound had come, but he heard it no more.

For some reason, as he gazed out the window, his thoughts drifted moodily to his last Italian lesson with Carter. Thinking back, he very much regretted his dreadful behavior of that afternoon. It was inexcusable. He had known full well that the boy was just kidding him. Why had he reacted so? It would not have surprised him if the young man had chosen to never return. Dejected by the thought of it, he passed a hand across the back of his neck, turned from the window, and reached for the cloth pouch sitting in the center of the table that held the gold pocket watch. Sliding the watch out into his palm, he stayed there for a time, turning the watch over and over again, his thoughts as always carrying him to some other place and time, until at last they carried him back to the inescapable present.

He gave a sigh.

“Her name,” he murmured, tucking the watch back into its pouch, “was Antonella.”

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16