The Lost Art of Second Chances Read Free Page A

certain of her victory.
    “Won’t be me, then,” Teresa laughed. “Did you do the reading . . .”
    When the old Mother Superior made her slow, creaky way to the stage, Bella smoothed her hair with her hand and shushed her friend, cutting their homework discussion short. After several Hail Marys, the elderly nun smiled at the girls and said, “You must be anxious to hear who your May Queen will be. The sisters and I struggled with our decision, as we do every year. The girl chosen must be an example of a true Catholic woman, a model for the others to fashion themselves upon. This year, we’ve chosen . . .”
    Bella uncrossed her legs to stand. She twined her shaking fingers in her uniform skirt and half rose out of her chair when the name the Mother Superior said registered.
    “Maria Innocenti?” She gasped, dropping back into her seat with a bounce. “Did she say . . .?”
    “Figures.” Teresa nodded sagely. “The Innocenti’s store is doing well since they started selling that chestnut spread. They made a big donation to the school, my mom said.”
    “But Maria?” Bella said. There was nothing wrong with Maria Innocenti, a little round dumpling of a girl, her uniform always perfectly straight, never a hair out of place. Though she wasn’t at the top of the class, she did her schoolwork and spoke respectfully to the sisters. Dutiful and sweet. Everything that Bella—independent, headstrong, intelligent—was not.

* * *
    Toscana bloomed in every direction. The day of the May Festival dawned bright and clear, with just a few puffy clouds for contrast in the perfect blue sky. Trees limbs waved in the spring breeze, delighted with their new jade colored coat of leaves. The fields faded from the intense emerald of early spring into the washed out chartreuse of summer. Bright red poppies dotted the fields like angel’s blood. Yellow wildflowers filled the valley below, interspersed here and there with purple sage blooms. Olive groves and vineyards tumbled down the side of the mountain like Lady Bountiful’s skirts.
    And, at the moment, Bella loathed every single bit of it.
    For today, Maria Innocenti would steal her rightful place as Queen of the May. Bella glared out her window at the perfect spring day. With a deep sigh, she turned away from the repulsive view of the verdant valley and struggled into her old pink dress. She detested pink. Over repeated washings, the vibrant salmon color dulled to a color paler than cherry blossoms.
    Her mother, working by candlelight over the last several nights, let out the bust and down the hem so Bella could squeeze herself into it today. The hated dress flattened her generous bust and she couldn’t lift her arms above her shoulders. Bella spent the morning with her arms crossed over her flattened chest, glowering at everyone. Maria Innocenti wore a perfect white eyelet dress, her glossy hair in ringlets over her shoulders. Looks like a snowball. Mother Superior caught sight of one of her sharper glares and with a sweet smile, roped Bella into holding the pillow containing the tiny floral crown. Though Bella knew the Mother Superior’s intentions were kind, Bella now had to walk next to Maria, in her new spotless white dress, with her flawless hair. To add insult to injury, now she had to play handmaiden to the dumpling.
    The seven-year-olds, dressed in their First Communion finery, led the procession on a circular route through the town, past all the shops, the tiny homes at the edge of the village, before winding their way around the outer perimeter. The children picked their way along the mountain path, their voices raised in praise. Bella kept her mouth tightly screwed shut. She didn’t feel much like singing.
    Florence was a dark gray smudge on the horizon. Babbo told her it was only about thirty miles but, to Bella, it might as well be on the moon. She wished herself there. Anywhere other than here, next to the usurper who even sang perfectly too. The silk