The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Thursday, June 10, 5:00 p.m.

“I don’t see why you invited Mr. Harper to dinner tonight. I really needed more advance notice,” Nonna said as she stared into the mirror. “My hair is a mess.”

“It looks terrific. Delores just did it, and I’ve perked it up.”

As Nonna stared at her reflection, she whispered to herself, “I look so old. There was a time when I thought I would live forever. That I would always be fresh and lovely.”

“You’re lovely. And Mr. Harper will think so as well.” Maybe the timing of this dinner was not perfect, but time was slipping away too fast to waste any of it.

“The first time we met, we were so young.”

“Where did you meet?”

“In Rome.”

“How?”

“It’s in the journal. You will see.”

Her grandmother’s tone suggested that was all she would say on the matter. “What was he like when you first met him?”

“Brave. Bold. Daring.”

“And then he moved to Richmond?”

“Yes.”

“You and Papa were good friends with the Harpers. Do you see him much these days?”

“We used to have lunch from time to time after Papa died, but lately we haven’t seen much of each other.”

“I’m looking forward to talking to him about Rome.”

“I doubt he remembers much,” Nonna said as she fingered a diamond teardrop earring.

“I bet he remembers it all. Guys his age are usually dialed in to the memories from their twenties.”

Zara pushed Nonna’s wheelchair into the kitchen, where Gina held a match to a set of candles in the center of four place settings. Zara had set out the good china and polished the silver, and she had made handmade pasta and Signora Fontana’s sauce. It seemed fitting that they share the meal that Nonna and Harper might have enjoyed over seventy-five years ago.

When the doorbell rang, Nonna fiddled with her hair, trying to tuck the soft white wisps behind her ear. “I should have worn the blue dress.”

“This one is perfect,” Gina said. “You look stunning, Nonna.”

“Are you sure?” Nonna asked.

“Yes,” Gina said.

“Well, then okay,” Nonna said.

“I said you looked great too,” Zara said. “Why do you believe Gina over me?”

Gina and Nonna exchanged glances and then chuckled.

“Okay, I get it. Fashionably challenged Zara.”

Zara went to the door and opened it to Mr. Harper. He was dressed in a dark suit and had combed what remained of his thinning white hair. He held a bouquet of roses. “Zara. Am I early?”

“Right on time. Nonna and Gina are in the kitchen.” Zara leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Did you Uber?”

“Of course.”

“Come on inside.”

He stepped over the threshold and was greeted by her three dogs. “This is the crew you brought with you.”

“Billy, Gus, and Little Sister.”

He patted each on the head and then dug three dog bones from his pocket. “Can I give these to them?”

“You sure can. But I warn you—they’ll be looking for treats each time they see you.”

“So warned is so armed,” he said easily.

When they entered the kitchen, Nonna sat a little taller and absently straightened the knife and spoon at her place setting. “George,” she said.

He crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you, Renata?”

“I am good.”

“I think you look younger every time I see you,” he said.

“You’re a liar but a very sweet one,” Nonna said. “Are those for me?”

“They are.” He handed her the bundle of roses.

“You know my weakness.”

Zara took the flowers and reached for the blue vase she had cleaned out this morning. It had saddened her to throw out Nicolas’s flowers, but they had wilted as quickly as their romance or whatever it was called. She arranged the new roses. “Can I get you a drink?”

“A beer would be great,” Mr. Harper said. “My doc doesn’t like me drinking, but I’m not driving, and I feel like celebrating.”

Gina kissed him on the cheek. “What are you celebrating?”

“Seeing you lovely ladies. It’s been a while since I had such fine company.”

Zara set the flowers on the table while Gina poured a bottled beer into a glass. “Nonna, would you like a glass of wine?”

“Yes,” Nonna said. “It’s a night for wine.”

Zara served Nonna, herself, and Gina wine, though she deliberately poured a little less in Gina’s glass. The move did not go unnoticed by Gina, who arched an eyebrow as she studied the diminished portion. She said nothing.

They all settled in the living room. Gina chose what was now her favorite overstuffed chair, while Mr. Harper and Zara took the couch beside Nonna’s wheelchair. The dogs sat near Mr. Harper.

“We’ve had a really interesting discovery,” Zara said. “Nonna had me in the attic looking for a wooden box. It held Isabella’s journal and a rather large emerald broach.”

Mr. Harper paused with the beer glass close to his lips. “That so, Renata?”

“I sent them looking for it,” Nonna said. “I thought it was time they knew.”

“We’re convinced Nonna is Isabella, but she isn’t giving us any details beyond the journal,” Zara said.

Nonna sipped her wine but remained silent.

Mr. Harper regarded Nonna. “I remember Isabella well. She didn’t like me when we first met. But looking back, I can’t much blame her, given what our bombs did to her neighborhood.”

“You were a pilot?” Gina asked.

“Yeah, I’d been piloting a B-17 out of Sicily and later Foggia Airfield. We had targeted lots of the Italian towns. We did the best we could not to hit homes, but it was a war.”

“How did you get shot down?” Gina asked.

“I was copilot on the crew that day. It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky, and winds were almost nonexistent.”

“We called days like that una giornata da B-17. A B-17 day,” Nonna said.

“I didn’t know that.” He sipped his beer. “On the run to Rome that day, the pilot was Lieutenant Bill Lyndhurst. He and I never got along too well. He was an arrogant son of a bitch. Excuse the language.”

Gina winked. “We’ve all heard worse. Go on with your story.”

“Lyndhurst and I always put our differences aside on the missions. Saved our fights for later in the barracks. Anyway, our mission date was March eighteenth, and our target was Rome. We dropped our bombs and hit the city pretty good and were returning to Foggia in southeast Italy when we got hit by antiaircraft shrapnel. It tore us up. Killed our nose gunner immediately.” He was silent for a moment. “Our hydraulics system was shot up good, and the flight controls became really heavy. It took both Lyndhurst and me to keep the plane up.”

“That must have been terrifying,” Zara said.

“Yeah, it was humbling as hell. Our flight crew had made it the last eight months without getting shot up, and suddenly we were going down.”

Nonna sipped her wine. “I’ve never heard this story before.”

“Like you, I’m not always anxious to talk about it,” Mr. Harper said.

Gina shifted in her seat, as if trying to get comfortable. “How did you get out of the plane?”

“Lyndhurst ordered the guys to jump. One after the other, the men spilled out of the back of the plane. The yoke was getting heavier, and my arms were on fire, and I knew neither one of us was going to make it much longer. When all the guys were off, Lyndhurst ordered me to go next. He said he would be right behind me.”

Silence settled over the four of them.

“I argued with him, but he made it an order, so I went. Last I saw him, he had both his feet on the control panel and was pulling on the yoke for all he was worth. I jumped and hit the ground hard and looked up in time to see the plane crash into the mountainside.”

“Did Lyndhurst jump?” Gina asked.

“Naw. No way he could have let go and made it out the door in time. And I know he figured if he crashed into the mountains, he’d not be taking out any farmers. We were always told to look out for the farmers because they usually hid downed airmen.”

“Was Lyndhurst ever found?” Nonna asked.

“His body was recovered by farmers and buried until he could be moved home.”

“How did you get to Rome?” Zara asked.

“I found Martinelli, our tail gunner. He had landed on his feet, but that crazy bastard always did. We ditched our parachutes, took off the flight suits, and stripped to white T-shirts and pants. Even then we didn’t blend in so well. Anyone who saw us would have pegged us as Americans. I’m not proud to say it, but I took a couple of old jackets two farmers had left behind while they worked in the fields. We knew Rome was due west, so we started hoofing it.”

“How did you get into Rome?” Nonna asked.

“Luck. A farmer spotted us, and he motioned for us to hide in the bed of his truck under sacks of potatoes. Neither one of us was sure about him, but my arm was hurting so bad I couldn’t walk much farther, so we took the chance. The old farmer kept smiling, saying something like, ‘Don’t worry.’ He hid us in caves near his farm for weeks and then one day loaded us up back in his wagon. He said we were going to Rome. We were stopped at Rome’s city limits, and one of the Germans poked around the bags with a bayonet. Missed my leg by a half inch. When we arrived into the city, he dropped us off at Padre Pietro’s church. Told us to find him.”

“Padre Pietro seems to have hidden a lot of people,” Zara said.

“He was a quiet guy and didn’t look like the type to take the chances he did,” Mr. Harper said. “But in my book that old priest was a badass.”

“You just walked in the church?” Gina asked.

“We went in a side door. A priest saw us, took one look, and hid us in the church basement. We cooled our heels there for a couple of hours, and Padre Pietro came and introduced us to Isabella that night. I can tell you she was none too happy to see us. Argued with Padre Pietro, waved her arms, and looked like she’d storm out and then made a crack about my ankles.”

“Too white,” Gina said.

He grinned. “And she said my Italian was lousy. We ended up hiding at her place until the Allies came a couple of months later. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“What was Isabella like?” Zara said.

“A real sharp lady. Pretty too. Not in a classic kind of way, but she had a bearing that made her hard to ignore. Like I said, she wasn’t too fond of us, I’ll tell you that, but she looked out for us better than anyone.”

“And you ended up in Richmond working for Papa,” Zara said.

“Funny how the world works.” He was silent for a moment, and Zara sensed he had said all he wanted to about Rome. “I smell something good on the stove.”

“It’s Signora Fontana’s recipe,” Nonna said.

“Hell, I remember her. Whatever happened to her?”

“She died in a bombing,” Nonna said quietly. “She was a very kind and patient woman.”

A silence settled over the room as Zara stood. “If you’ll follow me into the kitchen, we can eat.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mr. Harper said.

When Gina rose out of her chair, her face tightened a fraction, but when her gaze met Zara’s, she smiled and held up her wineglass. “I hope there’s more of this. It’s a great red.”

“There’s more,” Zara said, studying her like a nurse would a patient.

Zara pushed Nonna to the head of the table, and Mr. Harper took the seat to her right. Zara waved Gina away from the stove. “Gina, sit. This is my show.”

“I adore being waited on,” she said.

“I hope you all like it,” Zara said.

“It’s home cooked, so it must be great,” Mr. Harper said.

Zara set out a large bowl of pasta along with her red sauce, bread, and salad. They all accepted large portions and marveled at the rich garlic-roasted-tomato smell of the sauce.

The four spent two hours laughing about stories involving Papa and Nonna when they’d first arrived in Richmond with their infant son. And there were stories about Mr. Harper’s wife, Stacey, who had been a friend to Nonna.

Papa, they learned from Nonna, had had enough money to put himself through law school, but because his parents had not approved of Nonna, they’d given him no extra money. He’d been two years into law school when Harper had reconnected with him. Papa had helped him get set up in Richmond and connected at the law school.

Zara mentioned Isabella several times, but Mr. Harper, though always polite, avoided her questions.

Gina had done a good job of pushing her food around her plate, but she had not eaten much or drunk her refilled glass of wine. Gina was getting tired, and as much as Zara wanted to continue, her sister had hit her limit.

Mr. Harper seemed to notice the change as well, and he reached for his phone. “Ladies, it’s been wonderful, but it’s time for the Uber to take me home. I can’t go all night like I used to.”

“It’s been lovely, George,” Nonna said.

“Anytime you need me, Renata, I’ll be there for you.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Gina, always good to see you. You get prettier every day.”

She smiled and stood slowly. “And you’re the perfect southern gentleman.”

Zara walked Mr. Harper to the curb and waited with him for his car. “Thanks for coming. That was fun.”

“Sure. Anytime.” He glanced at his phone and checked on the car’s status. “What’s going on with Gina?”

“You noticed?”

“She looked okay at first, but she was pale as a ghost by the end of dinner.”

“She has pancreatic cancer, Mr. Harper.” Saying the words out loud still sounded foreign. “I’ve got an appointment for her to see a second doctor on Monday, but I’m not too hopeful.”

“Damn it,” he said. “I’m sorry as hell to hear that, Zara. What can I do?”

“Be a friend to Nonna. It’s going to be a rough couple of months.”

“I can do that. Your nonna saved my life once, so that is the least I can do.”

“That’s a story I would like to hear.”

“She’ll have to tell it to you.” A black four-door sedan pulled up. “My ride.”

Zara walked him to the car and opened the back door. “You take care, Mr. Harper.”

“Don’t you worry about me; worry about yourself, Zara. I’ve seen all my friends die and my wife. It’s hard being the last man standing.”

“How do you do it?” she said.

“Some of us are meant to endure, sweetie.”