Giovanna filled the silence. "The nights are becoming chilly. Soon we won't need to make so much. Rocco was already talking about switching to selling chestnuts."

When Teresa handed Giovanna the cream, their eyes met, and Giovanna's curiosity got the best of her. "What is it?"

"You know I still see my friends from Elizabeth Street."

"I know. You went this weekend, yes?"

"They told me that Lucrezia is dying."

Giovanna shut her eyes, put down the gallon of cream, and turned from Teresa.

"Giovanna, I didn't know whether to tell you. I know that you don't see her anymore, but I thought you should know."

Giovanna could never explain to Teresa. When she had lied over and over again to Lucrezia during Angelina's kidnapping, she felt that she had violated their relationship and that it could never be the same. It was as if Lucrezia was her lover and Giovanna had cheated on her. She did love Lucrezia, in fact she knew that she still did, but she had forsaken the friendship because she was overwhelmed by fear. When Angelina was returned, she was embarra.s.sed to confess and admit that she hadn't trusted her.

"Why don't you go see her, Giovanna?" suggested Teresa softly.

"I want to go for a walk. Can you finish up?"

"Of course."

Giovanna hugged Teresa and walked into the parlor. Mary was on her hands and knees cleaning the black-and-white checkered floor. Her baby sister, Concetta, was asleep in a cradle braced against one of the wire-backed parlor chairs.

"Mary, that's clean enough!"

"I like it to gleam, Zia."

No one took as much pride in the ice cream parlor as Mary. She had become an artist at making sugar cones. In fact, she did it with such flair that Giovanna had set up her cone-making apparatus in the window, and she never failed to draw a crowd.

"I must go out. I fed Concetta. And please, when Angelina and Anthony get home from school, see that they do their ch.o.r.es."

Giovanna walked a full lap around Hoboken's square mile. She headed up First Street, pa.s.sing what she called her hometown fish market-the one with a swordfish for a sign. She went north along the waterfront, past the ships, which were being loaded and unloaded by swarms of dockworkers. She shivered at the sight of the big German ship that had just been seized by the Americans at the pier. Her nephew Antonio was already fighting for Italy in the war. She prayed every day for his survival, because she knew that either fate or her will would bring Antonio to America to marry Angelina.

Turning west at the north end where the ships were in dry dock for repair, Giovanna avoided the hustle and bustle of Washington Street by walking south on Willow Avenue. She pa.s.sed the library with its copper dome and the new high school that Mary had just graduated from. When she walked back east toward the river, this time she kept walking straight onto the ferry.

She was shaking, in part because she was going back to New York City for the first time in five years, and in part because she didn't have a clue what to say to Lucrezia or whether she would even see her. She didn't even know if Lucrezia was in a hospital.

Giovanna had seen the Madonna in the harbor four times. The last time was when they moved to Hoboken. She remembered wondering whether the watery distance created by the river would keep them safe. It was like looking from Scilla across the Strait of Messina at the black smoke of the volcano. On the Hoboken sh.o.r.e, New York became a distant but visible threat.

New York City had never been her choice. And possibly because of that, she didn't trust the place. How could one piece of land support so much weight? How could they keep digging tunnels and not have the streets collapse? How long would it take before one of those trains fell from the overhead tracks? In her search for Angelina, she had traveled all over the city without really seeing it. With her daughter abducted, Giovanna felt every square inch of New York had become inhospitable. Even after Angelina was returned, the metropolis continued to overwhelm her, and she could no longer take comfort in the privacy of its crowded streets because she knew how many eyes were really watching. She had come to, and left, New York City as a foreigner. Hoboken was her home now. She had chosen it.

Pacing the perimeter of the ferry, she tried to sort through her conflicting emotions, starting with guilt but always ending in deep sorrow. She came to the heartbreaking realization that this might be the second time she would lose Lucrezia.

Walking off the boat, Giovanna was struck by how accustomed she had become to life in Hoboken. New York City seemed so crowded and fast-far more than she remembered-possibly because there seemed to be so many more automobiles competing for street s.p.a.ce with the trolleys and horses. Anxious to escape the streams of people surging through downtown and exhausted from her walk in Hoboken, Giovanna took the train.

When she got to Lucrezia's block, it felt as if nothing had changed. She could have been arriving after delivering a baby, or coming to visit her friend with a newspaper in hand. The same old woman sat on the stoop next door.

"Did you come to see the signora?" She greeted Giovanna without missing a beat.

"Yes. Is she upstairs?"

"She is."

Giovanna started up the stoop but turned to ask, "Is her husband with her?"

"I saw him leave. But her daughter's up there."

As she opened the outside door, Giovanna became aware that she was visiting empty-handed. She'd been so determined to get there and unsure of whether she would even see Lucrezia that bringing something hadn't crossed her mind. She hesitated, but knew that if she left now, she might never come back. Instead, breathing deeply, she walked up the stairs and knocked on Lucrezia's door.

"Yes?" said Lucrezia's daughter, opening the door slightly.

"Buon giorno. You must be Claudia. I am Giovanna, an old friend of your mother. I was hoping I could see her." Claudia looked exactly like Lucrezia and was just as stately.

"Come in, signora," greeted Claudia, opening the door and looking at Giovanna's work clothes. "Please have a seat."

Catching Claudia's glance, Giovanna mentioned, "Your mother and I used to deliver babies together."

"Oh, yes. I remember her talking about you."

"How is she?"

"Not well. The doctors think it is only a matter of days."

"I'm so sorry, Claudia. Can I see her?"

"She's resting. She gets so little sleep that I would appreciate it if you could return at another time."

Giovanna stood, ready to bolt out the door, embarra.s.sed that she had come. "I'm sorry, I understand..."

"Claudia, who are you talking to?" Lucrezia's thin voice drifted from the bedroom.

"An old friend of yours, Mamma." Turning to Giovanna, Claudia said, "She's awake. Would you like to see her?"

Giovanna was waving her hand in an attempt to say, "No, I'll go," but Lucrezia's daughter was leading her by the arm to the doorway of the bedroom.

Lucrezia turned her head, and Giovanna felt like her shoulders fell to her knees. Lucrezia's face and body were skeletal. Her body barely dented the bed.

Lucrezia stared back at Giovanna and smiled. "Sit down next to me."

Giovanna looked to Lucrezia's daughter's face for permission, and when Claudia nodded and left the room, Giovanna did as she was instructed. Awkwardly, and without speaking, she took Lucrezia's hands, which lay on top of the bedcovers, and held them in her own.

"I bet you heard from Teresa," kidded Lucrezia in a voice that sounded like it only fluttered over her vocal cords.

In seconds, Lucrezia had cleared the air. Giovanna laughed hard and remembered why it was so easy to love this woman. "Yes, you're right! She told me this morning."

"I'm glad you came, Giovanna."

Hearing Lucrezia say her name unleashed a torrent of emotion. Cupping and kissing Lucrezia's hands, Giovanna said over and over, tears streaming down her face, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lucrezia."

"Giovanna." Lucrezia lifted her bony hand to Giovanna's face and caught a tear. "I knew," she said.

Giovanna was not at all surprised but wept harder. "I couldn't tell you."

"I wanted to help."

"I was afraid."

"Were you afraid of me?"

"I was afraid of everyone. I was even afraid of myself."

Giovanna's head collapsed onto Lucrezia's chest, and Lucrezia entwined her fingers in her hair.

"I don't want to lose you again, Lucrezia," moaned Giovanna.

"You never lost me. And with the way you pray, you never will."

Giovanna's laugh became a snort through her tears, and it brought Lucrezia's daughter into the room.

Claudia looked at them, surprised and concerned. "Perhaps you should rest, Mamma?"

"Yes. Lie with me a while, Giovanna?" asked Lucrezia.

Giovanna got up and rearranged the blankets around her friend and then went to the other side of the bed and lay on top of the covers next to her. Lucrezia reached for her hand, and Giovanna held it tighter than she should have.

Giovanna left that evening after Lucrezia had fallen asleep. She returned the next day as she had promised, but Lucrezia had died that morning with her husband and daughter by her side.

"She asked that I give you this," said Lucrezia's daughter, holding out her hand and crying. Giovanna took the small medal of Saint Anthony from Claudia's palm. "It's odd, because my mother wasn't religious. But she said this would be meaningful to you. She also said to tell you that when people love each other, they always find each other in the end."

That night, Giovanna closed the store near nine o'clock but didn't get upstairs until after ten. Not yet ready for bed, she leaned out her first-floor window into the late summer heat.

The store looked so quiet, yet only a few hours before, there'd been a line around the block. Lorenzo was talking about opening his own ice cream business and going to Newark, which was a good thing, because now that Clement was married, there were so many adults in the business that they were stepping on one another's toes. Domenico still helped in the store, but he had started working at the German-named factory on Third and Grand that raised spiders in the bas.e.m.e.nt to supply the crosshairs for submarine periscopes. He had also become a fixture around Hoboken's many social clubs.

Rocco came up behind Giovanna and put his arm around her waist. "I can't sleep either. Let's go downstairs and play cards."

Giovanna smiled. "You set up the table, and I'll be down in a minute."

A moment later, Angelina was in the room. "Mamma, I can't sleep. It's too hot."

"Come here by the window with me."

Angelina was too big for her mother's lap, but she sat on it anyway. Giovanna ran her hands through her daughter's hair.

Below on the sidewalk they could see Rocco setting up the card table and pouring two gla.s.ses of wine.

"Mamma, will you rub my back like you did when I was little and had nightmares?"

"In a minute. First I want to give you something."

"What?"

"I know you are responsible, so I am going to ask you something important. I want you to promise me that when I die, you will put this in my coffin." Giovanna reached into the pocket of her dress and handed Angelina the Saint Anthony medal that Lucrezia had left her.

Angelina looked at the medal and then at her mother. "Mamma, you're scaring me. Why are you saying this?"

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Angelina. You won't have to do this for many, many years."

Angelina looked at her mother with tears welling in her eyes. "Promise me you'll never die."

"I promise I'll never leave you. That's the reason I want you to bury me with Saint Anthony." Giovanna put her hand over Angelina's, which now clutched the medal. "When I'm gone, if you need me, or if your children need me, or even their children, you'll always know that I am there. You see, Angelina, people who love one another always find each other somehow."

EPILOGUE.

HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY, 1985.

"Nanny, why is Uncle Anthony called Cakey?"

"Because when he was a kid, he liked cake. Aren't you hungry?"

As soon as I graduated college, ignoring my mother's disbelief that I was moving back to the ghetto, I rented an apartment in Hoboken that Uncle Cakey helped me find. Uncle Cakey had also shown me the best places to shop, and now, five years later and a regular, I had visited each and every one to prepare the feast that was in the kitchen.

"I made shrimp scampi." I put another tape in the video camera.

"How did you know how to do that? You don't cook."

"I used a recipe."

"They have recipes for that?"