The Lost Art of Second Chances Read Free Page B

pillow made Bella’s hands sweat, the cloying scent of roses and jasmine coating her throat and choking her.
    After what seemed an interminable parade, the procession entered the tiny village church. The sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows turned Maria’s dress into a brilliant jewel colored patchwork. Inside the medieval church, thick stone walls cooled the interior, even in the worst of summer’s heat. Intercessor candles, lit for someone’s special intention, flickered under the statues and artwork of various saints lining the walls. Candles, cloaked with red globes, burned perpetually next to the tabernacle and on the altar. The heavy scent of the incense clogged the air. A sense of timelessness and eternity pervaded the tiny chapel. They could have been medieval shepherdesses singing songs of praise to the Mother of God or worshippers in some distant, unimaginable future.
    After the townsfolk filed in, the priest sprinkled them with holy water, spattering the front of Bella’s hated pink dress and her cheeks with the cool droplets. The altar boys carried the statue of Mary into the Ladies Chapel, off to the left of the main altar. First, the May Queen would place her bouquet of roses in front of the pride of Ali d’Angelo—a painting of the coronation of Mary as the Queen of Heaven done by some Renaissance master nobody’d ever heard of. Her conscripted handmaiden handed off the small wreath of flowers from the pillow. The May Queen would secure the tiny circlet of flowers—always pink rosebuds twined with white jasmine— on the statue’s head before the young men of the village, dressed in their altar boy outfits, would hoist the statue up into the niche carved for her. They’d file into their pews, still singing, waiting for Mass to begin.
    Bella extended the pillow toward Maria, who grasped the crown of tiny flowers, her hands shaking. She stepped forward to place the crown on the lowered statue’s head but her heel caught in the little dip in the rug marking the entrance to the underground crypt below. Every child in Ali d’Angelo knew to avoid the divot, just as they knew the stories of the wicked things living below. Maria stumbled and the miniature crown slipped from her fingers, toppling toward the sacristy floor. Maria froze with horror. Without thinking, Bella darted forward and snatched the blessed crown in mid-air, before it could hit the unblessed floor. The overstrained seams under her arms give way when she moved. She handed the crown back to Maria who gave her a shaky smile before turning away to place the diadem on the statue’s head.
    Bella rolled her eyes. The altar boy stared at her, his chocolate brown eyes dancing with mischievous glee. Maria’s brother, Tommaso. Nearly 15 now. When had he gotten so handsome? His dark hair flopped over his forehead in a wavy fringe. He grinned at her and then, as Bella watched him, flushing with a heat she did not yet understand, he winked.
    He actually winked.
    Bella smiled. Suddenly the day didn’t seem so awful after all.

Lucy
    Applebury, Massachusetts
Present Day
    When Lucy spotted the shiny black loafers, she stepped backwards, banging her hip on the stove controls. She clutched the dirty wooden spoon to her chest, spattering her tattered T-shirt with red sauce. Jack Hamilton stood in the doorway, holding a small moving box, his battered black leather briefcase resting on top of it. He grinned at her, amusement lighting his green eyes, boyish and carefree, more like the Jack she remembered than the careworn adult from Nonna’s funeral. As heat crept up her cheeks, she smiled back automatically, hoping he hadn’t heard her ridiculous wish.
    “I knocked. It was open.” He pressed his lips together as though trying not to laugh. He didn’t meet her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was due to amusement or embarrassment—probably a little of both. Her cheeks grew warmer. “I brought those estate papers for you. The bequest I