author’s note: I have this bizarre thing where if up there it says 4. is Chapter 3, it bothers me, so I was going to make this 4 and 5, but I can’t seem to work it all out right, and it’s been ages since I updated, so hopefully I can get 5 and 6 together so it will all be worked out.

And on last chapter: “It seems like every day I wonder at least once what would be happening if Luca hadn’t been killed,”. Funny that Luca is wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t been killed. My fault. I gather you figured out that meant Lucio. Not the first time I wasn’t up to par on my editing skills.

The Exchange

Chapter Four

“What did he do to you?” Rachele asked once I came out. She looked worried sick.

“Nothing, just started talking. I think he needed to get some stuff out, you know, off his chest,” I replied calmly. “It was actually a little odd. I felt like a therapist, except I didn’t give any bullcrap advice.”

“What did he talk about?”

“I don’t know, some random things. About your dad, and his brother, mostly.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was thinking.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just... Uncle Luca has always seemed to keep everything inside, he never shows what he’s feeling about the whole... business thing. And he’s always been sensitive about his cousin.”

“Well, like I said, I think he just needed to get it off his chest, and I just happened to be the one there.”

So naturally, that night Rachele called her parents and told her father what I’d said. When she handed me the phone I gave her a puzzled look.

I expected her father, asking about what Luca had said about his brother, but it was actually her mother. “I hear you talked to Luca?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“What did he talk to you about?”

“Mostly his – your husband. And his brother.”

“Lucio.”

“Yeah. Mostly wondering what would have happened if Lucio hadn’t been killed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be married to Joseph, that’s for sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But that’s a very long story. Remind me next time I visit, and you can be the first person I’ve told. Besides Joseph.”

I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. But it seemed like I was lining up patients for my less-than-professional psychiatric analysis. Which was certainly unexpected.

O

When our family – plus Rachele, naturally – became regulars at her uncle’s Sunday Dinners, it very quickly came to the point where Rachele had to help with the cooking, seeing as she was family too. Her aunts (or whoever else was running the kitchen) wouldn’t let me help at all. They said it was because I was a guest and couldn’t be expected to do that work, even though putting up Rachele for a year made us almost-family. Rachele said that eventually I would have to work in there with her and would not be so quick to offer to help.

I didn’t see that time coming any time soon. My parents got caught up in a conversation with some relative that was very, very pregnant, which was apparently one of few excuses to get you out of the kitchen. I decided not to stick around, knowing that conversation would turn awkward for me all too quickly.

I was going to go off and find some of Rachele’s male cousins who were banished from the kitchen because they were more likely to get in the way than help. (Although one or two, apparently, could cook. Not that the skill was terribly rare in a family like this.) I’d come to find that basically everybody in Rachele’s family was pretty cool. And her guy cousins were really amusing.

But on my way towards the basement, where I figured I’d find someone, I walked by Luca’s office and saw he was slumped down with his face in his hands.

“Mr. La Fetti?” I asked, cautiously entering.

He looked up. “Adrianna. Come in.”

“Something wrong?” I sat down across his desk from him.

He took a deep breath. “My uncle... Rachele’s grandfather. He’s sick.”

“Sick? How?” I asked.

“They’re not sure. He’s in the hospital, he’ll be undergoing tests soon. They think it might be cancer, though, stomach.”

“That’s so sad. Have you told Rachele?”

“No, she doesn’t know yet. It doesn’t look good. I figured I should wait till the end of the night to let her know. So it doesn’t ruin her whole night.”

I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Usually these types of one-on-one conversations with adults could be kind of awkward to me, especially with adult guys. But I surprised myself with the fact that I was fine with talking to Rachele’s uncle.

Yeah, I could feel completely uncomfortable talking with people like my friends’ parents, or my parents’ friends, yet I was fine with listening to the problems of a Mafia boss.

“I guess we’re going to have to fly out there. They think it might be bad.”

“Oh. Rachele would go with you, then,” I said, more of a question.

“Yeah. That means you would too, right?”

“Well, technically, she’s not supposed to leave her host family. Though come to think of it, that doesn’t really make much sense if she’ll be going back home to her actual family.”

He nodded. “But who wouldn’t go on a trip to Italy, right?”

“I guess so,” I laughed.

“This is just one more thing,” he said, sounding tired. “Agostino had a stroke already this year.”

“This year?” I asked, surprised. It was barely February.

“Yeah, it was a minor one, a few weeks ago. We didn’t tell Rachele, though.”

“Will you tell her now? I mean, if you end up having to go over there?”

“Yeah. Her parents wanted to from the start. But I think this year over here... it should be a chance for her to get away from everything and experience something new. Her grandfather’s health has been bad for a while, her grandmother’s memory’s going. Things have looked bad for a while, and when she signed up for this, I thought it was her way of saying she wanted to get away and live her own life, for at least a little while.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Rachele had always seemed so happy, how could so much bad be happening at her home?

“I think we owe it to her,” Luca concluded.

O

I heard Rachele crying in her room shortly after we arrived home. She’d held it in when she’d found out, and now (at least I figured as much) she couldn’t anymore.

I listened for a few minutes, waiting to see if she’d stop on her own, or maybe fall asleep, but she didn’t.

I walked in and sat beside her, with my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t do anything for a while except keep crying. Eventually she was able to talk. “I don’t get it,” she said quietly. “My mother said he was getting better, that things looked good!”

My first thought was that they’d said he was getting better – from the stroke that she didn’t know about. I took a deep breath and said, “Nothing’s certain yet.”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time,” she said sadly. Her accent seemed thicker now, as she wiped away tears.

“Don’t say that,” I said, feeling more and more sad by the second.

“He’s old. If he’s diagnosed, he doesn’t stand a chance!”

I wondered what I was supposed to say. Everything happens for a reason? Maybe it’s just his time? Neither of those seemed to be able to offer any kind of solace right now. “Have faith,” I said quietly. “Things will turn out okay.”

I didn’t believe the words as they came out of my mouth, and I couldn’t even convince myself to believe them as time passed. I’d like to think they helped Rachele, though. They at least helped enough that she was able to act a little better from there on out.

author's note: shock of the year, no I'm not dead! Finally an update, thank you so much to everyone that patiently waited!!