"Everyone did everything they could do. It was her time. She's in a better place now. No more pain. I mean, who knows what damage the stroke did. Your mother hated to have people wait on her, imagine the agony she would have gone through if she was contracted and bedridden."

"But what if she was scared, Mina? What if she knew she was going to die and she was scared and I wasn't there to comfort her?"

"Rosemary, I don't think Teresa was scared of anything...Gee, that sounds familiar, doesn't it? I think you got a lot of her genes."

Rosetti forced a smiled through her tears.

"If it's any consolation, I was with her when she passed. I whispered to her that you were here, too, and that you loved her and that it was okay to let go. She's at peace now. Try and take some comfort in that."

Rosetti bent down and kissed Teresa on the forehead. We stood there with our arms around each other, afraid to let go, afraid to let this moment end.

Before we left the room, I bent down and kissed Teresa goodbye. "Teresa, I'm sure going to miss you," I whispered. "I just want you to know that I'll take care of Rosemary and that I'll be with her always...if she'll let me," I said, unable to stop my tears.

Rosetti nodded and pulled me close.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

Rosetti's two brothers, their wives, and kids arrived from out of town late the next morning. Tony, the oldest, his wife, Kathy, and their sons Anthony Jr. and Michael drove in from Cincinnati, where Tony had been transferred a few years before when the steel plant he'd worked for as a foreman closed down. He was one of the lucky ones. A lot of the guys he worked with were still unemployed.

Gianni, the middle brother, and his wife, Ellie, and their daughters Katie and Sara lived in Akron, where Gianni worked in maintenance and Ellie worked as a nurse's aide at AkronCityHospital.

It had been a long time since they'd all been together under the same roof. Although Rosetti seemed happy her family was together again, she seemed uneasy, too.

She introduced me to her family. Gianni seemed nice, a quiet man, who had trouble making eye contact with me when we spoke. I couldn't help but wonder if he sensed the nature of my relationship with his sister and it made him uncomfortable.

Tony was a different story. When Rosetti introduced us, I felt his gaze roam all over me. By the look on his face, it was obvious what was on his mind. It felt like an assault.

Gianni seemed uncomfortable at best and I was afraid to think what Tony might be feeling. The vibe I got from him wasn't good.

"This house hasn't seemed this alive for years," Rosetti said as she watched her nieces and nephews run and play in the dining room and parlor. "Mom would have loved it."

Teresa's house was your typical Italian home. It was a home that had housed three generations of Rosettis at one time. The front door led into a small foyer where you were greeted by an eight-by-ten framed picture of President John F. Kennedy, the only Catholic president the U.S. ever had. Stuffed behind the picture of JFK was a bouquet of dried palms from Palm Sundays many years ago. The foyer led into the living room, or parlor, as Rosetti called it. You could almost hear the theme from The Godfather playing in the background. Heavy pleated gold muslin drapes hung from black wrought iron curtain rods over a large picture window. Thick clear plastic covered the gold lame couch and chair, both in as good a shape as the day they were purchased in the 1950s. The late morning sun glinted off the ornate gold framed mirror that hung over the back of the couch. Gold picture frames of the brothers' wedding pictures sat on top of the Zenith console TV.

The kitchen was large. A mahogany breakfast set sat in the middle of the room flanked by mismatched gold and avocado appliances and mahogany cabinets. The harvest gold Formica countertops indicated when the kitchen was last renovated.

A swinging door off the kitchen led to an even bigger dining room, which I'm sure hosted a lot of Sunday pasta dinners. On the dining room wall were pictures of Rosetti and her brothers at various milestones of their lives: baptisms, first communion, and high school graduation. On the opposite wall were framed photographs of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Pope Paul VI.

"I get the picture of the pope, but what's the deal with Frank and Dean?" I asked Rosetti as she rummaged through one of the drawers in her mother's china cabinet.

"They were my parents' favorite singers. Every Sunday, they would listen to the Italian program on the radio. That station would play polkas and a lot of Sinatra and Dean Martin. When that song about the moon that hits your eye like a big pizza pie came on, they used to sing it to each other. My dad loved Dean Martin. 'Dino's on tonight,' he'd say, and he never missed one of those Dean Martin roasts that were on in the seventies. You could hear him laughing at those shows all the way out to the garage."

I looked at Rosetti, and I could see those were good memories for her.

"I wish you would have met my dad. He would have liked you."

She removed a small gray box from the sideboard drawer. We sat at the long dining room table where she manipulated the tiny combination lock. "When he and my grandparents were still alive, there used to be fifteen of us for dinner every Sunday. Everyone would talk at the same time. It was crazy. Boy, how I miss those days." The box popped open and she removed a small silver key.

"This key goes to her lockbox. Her will and other important papers are in there. She kept it hidden under her bed upstairs," Rosetti said.

She looked down and I could see just how hard this was for her. I slipped my hand over top of hers. "C'mon, I'll help you."

Rosetti looked up and smiled. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I just can't believe she's gone."

"I know this is hard, but Teresa trusted you to take care of things for her because she knew you would do it right and be fair to everyone involved."

Rosetti nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

"C'mon." I stood and mussed up Rosetti's always perfect hair. "Let's go upstairs and see what needs to be done. We still need to pick out something for her to be buried in."

While Rosetti's family sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and greeting friends and neighbors, who had already started the Italian tradition of coming over with food, Rosetti and I went upstairs to find the lockbox and to pick out a dress for her mother.

Teresa's room was small and neat. The double bed and dresser took up most of the space. On top of the dresser sat Teresa's wedding picture.

"Wow, your mom was gorgeous," I said as Rosetti filed through her mom's closet looking for an appropriate dress for her mother.

"Yes, she was a looker." Rosetti pulled dresses out of the closet and laid them on the bed.

"Teresa must have been taller in her younger years. She and your dad look like they were the same height," I said as I looked at the sepia picture.

"Actually, she was taller than him. He's standing on a wooden tomato crate in that picture. See, you can see it here." Rosetti pointed out a corner of the wood slat on the box behind Teresa's silk train.

"Oh, my God." I started to laugh.

Rosetti took the picture from me. "Yes, they were something else."

Rosetti wiped the dust from the glass with her hand and returned the picture to its place on the dresser.

"You know, the last time I visited her in the nursing home, she told me that when she got out of the nursing home, she was going to teach you and me how to cook."

Rosetti smiled and opened the top dresser drawer. "Let me guess. She thought we needed cooking lessons to catch a man, right?"

"Yep, it was hard for me not to laugh," I said, remembering the serious look on Teresa's face when she told me this revelation.

Rosetti removed a white slip from the dresser drawer.

"I can't begin to tell you all the times she told me that. I'm sure my lack of interest in men drove her crazy."

"So how come you never told her you're gay?"

"Because it would have killed her. No matter how I explained it, she would've blamed herself. I didn't want to put her through that."

"I understand what you're saying, but she was a great mom. I can't help but think that she loved you so much it wouldn't have mattered to her."

"I wish that was true," Rosetti said. "But when it came to things like sex, my mom didn't say a lot. She was very modest. Remember what I told you about her dressing in the closet?"

Rosetti and I laughed. The vision of Teresa Rosetti dressing and undressing in this tiny closet was hilarious. Apparently, there was more than one Rosetti who had difficulty coming out of the closet.

"My mother is a real hoot...I mean was a hoot..." Her smile faded.

"Your mom was great, Rosetti, and she raised a great kid." I put my arms around her.

"God, Mina, I just feel so terrible." Her voice quivered. "I can't shake this feeling like I let her down by not being there when she died."

"But you were there...she knew you were there..."

"But I wasn't right there, you know at her side."

"Did you ever think that maybe she wanted it that way?"

Rosetti sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe she wanted to spare you. Teresa was like that...always looking out for others. Maybe it was the only way she could go." I sat next to Rosetti and took her hands in mine. "You know, people do have control over when they go. I've seen it many times, especially with elderly or terminal patients. It's not uncommon for them to wait until their loved ones are out of the room to let go."

"Really? I never heard of that."

"Yes. It's pretty common. Your mother loved you and you were the best daughter anyone could have wished for." I looked into Rosetti's deep brown eyes and all I saw was pain and guilt there.

"Rosetti, you have to stop beating yourself up over this. This isn't what Teresa wanted."

"I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you to look out for her while I was gone." Rosetti pulled me into her arms.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Rosetti's brother Tony yelled from the bedroom doorway. Rosetti and I jumped back, breaking our embrace.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in our mother's bedroom?" Tony demanded.

Rosetti stood up. "Back off, Tony."

"What if one of the kids came up here and saw that? What am I supposed to tell them? That their Aunt Ro is a big dyke?"

"Tony, shut up!"

"Look, I don't care what you do behind closed doors, but I don't want to see that and I don't want it around my kids," Tony said, his round face red with anger.

"Well, you better get used to it," Rosetti said as Tony disappeared into the stairwell.

"What?" Tony asked as he reappeared in the doorway.

"I said you better get used to it," Rosetti said. "Now that Mom's gone, there's no one I have to protect. This is who I am, and this is who I love. You better get used to it."

Tony's face was on fire now, and I was positive his head was going to explode from the pressure.

"All that Catholic education Mom and Dad paid for didn't teach you that what you're doing is a sin?"

"When the hell did you get so religious all of the sudden?" Rosetti shot back.

"Hey, I go to church every Sunday. I bet you don't...you're out there doing God knows what to God knows who."

"Cut the crap, Tony, you're no saint, either. Does Kathy know about the little press operator you've been having 'coffee' with after work? Didn't think I knew about her, did you? People talk no matter how far away you move. You should be more careful if you're gonna keep a puttana."

Tony barged into the room. His body heft made the floor boards squeak in distress. Tony's face was inches from Rosetti's, but she didn't back down. I sat on the bed helpless, my heart pounding with fear in my chest.

"Go ahead, Tony, you want to hit me, big man that you are, that you think you are," Rosetti said.

"Shut the fuck up," Tony said.

"I don't want to hear your holier-than-thou crap. Where were you when Ma needed you? Huh? Mina took better care of your mother than you did. You couldn't even come to see her when she got sick, even when she'd ask where you were. I'd have to make up excuses on a daily basis. Didn't it even occur to you that someday she might not be here?"

"Are you trying to say I wasn't a good son? You don't know what my life is like. You don't know the crap I gotta put up with every day just to make ends meet."

"All I'm saying is don't fuck with me. Ma is gone. I did the best I could for her and I don't need you dumpin' your shit on me and judging me about the way I live because I got stuff on you that will turn your life upside down. You got that?"

Tony backed away. Slowly, the crimson color drained from his face. He breathed heavily as he looked at me, then back at Rosetti. He lumbered back downstairs.

Rosetti let out a big sigh.

"Jesus, what was that all about?" I asked.

"Ever since we were kids...he walks around here like he's king shit," Rosetti said. "He's been holding this stuff over my head for years now, and I'm tired of it. He's not going to tell me how to live my life."

"I'm proud of you, Rosetti, proud of how you stood up to him."

"Well, he has no room to talk," Rosetti said as she got on her hands and knees and felt her way under Teresa's bed. A few minutes later, she pulled the fireproof box out from under the bed and laid it on the bed along with Teresa's dress, under things and shoes that Rosemary had picked out to bury her in.

Rosetti sat on the bed beside me and rested her elbows on her thighs. Her hands shook as she cradled her head in her hands. "Would you mind if I stayed at your place tonight? I don't want to be here. As much as I love my family, I just don't want to be around them tonight."

"Sure, no problem." I picked up Teresa's clothes from the bed. "We can drop these off on the way back to the apartment."

Rosetti nodded, but before we left Teresa's room, she stopped and looked around as if looking at the room for the last time. I'm sure a lot of memories lingered here. This was the room her parents shared for over forty years. This was the room her mother carried her to when she was sick in the middle of the night or had a bad dream. This is the room where she and her brothers were conceived. Yes, at one time, this room was full of life. Now all that remained were faded memories.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

Teresa looked beautiful in the floral dress Rosetti had picked out for her burial. The receiving line at the funeral home snaked down the hallway and out the front door of Morelli's Funeral Home. I stood next to Rosetti at her insistence, even though the funeral director cautioned that it wasn't normal protocol to have non-family members in the receiving line.

"You are my partner and I want you here," Rosetti said.

"I know, but what will your family think? I'm sure Tony isn't thrilled about this."