Solitaria by Genni Gunn Read Free Book Online

throws up her hands and stomps down the hall to find Clarissa and Teresa.
    This is David’s first encounter with Mimí, and he is both astonished and amused. Teresa has prepared him with a couple of anecdotes. When Mimí comes to visit, Teresa told him — which is so seldom, and for such a short time, it can hardly be called a visit — instead of inquiring about Piera’s health, she wanders from room to room pointing at this painting, that chair, those candlesticks, saying, “This is mine. Give me this when you die. I want this,” as if Piera were already dead. Mimí is the baby of the family, still stamping her feet to get her way, acting as if she’s owed something. As if Piera owes her something — Piera, who pampered and sheltered and indulged her as a child. (Clarissa refutes this version, saying that Piera did not nurture anyone at any time, that she is bossy and self-centred, and always has been.) Teresa and Piera’s version, however, is that Mimí has a selective memory, and what she chooses to forget doesn’t exist. What she chooses to remember is a lack of something, a negative energy, a constant dissatisfaction. She exudes melancholy like others exude confidence, while accusing Piera of being maudlin and sentimental.
    On Mimí’s fortieth birthday, Teresa told him, Piera gave Mimí a delicate, gold, enamelled rose on a chain. Mimí lifted the rose, stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly put it back into the satin lining of the box, her face mournful, pained.
    â€œThis chain is so… thin,” she said, closing the box and sliding it across the table to Piera. “I had my heart set on a pearl.”
    Had Piera given her a thicker chain, she would have wanted a different shape; had Piera given her the largest pearl, she would have wanted a precious stone.
    At midday, they all go downstairs for their main meal in the outdoor garden. Piera is still locked in her room. Clarissa and Teresa have prepared oriecchette with peas and prosciutto, veal medallions and artichokes, green salad, and pears for dessert. Mimí and Fazio have brought the fresh legendary bread from Lecce. They are seated at either end of the table, with Clarissa and Teresa on one side, and David and Marco on the other. They pass the oriechette around, and Teresa begins eating without waiting for everyone to be served. Marco pours red wine out of one of the large bottles filled from casks they buy from local estate producers. They make small talk, as if afraid to discuss the issue at hand.
    â€œHas the service been arranged?” David asks finally, and they all stop speaking and look at him.
    â€œNothing’s been arranged,” Teresa says. “Aldo should be here tomorrow night.” She finishes her oriecchette , and looks around to see if others have as well. No one has, so she sets her plate to one side and waits. She has forgotten to remove the flowered apron she tied on over a patterned blouse while cooking, so that she looks gaudy beside Clarissa, who is impeccably dressed in a tailored blue silk shirt and cream pants.
    â€œWhy do we need Aldo for everything?” Mimí says, her voice sharp. “Why can’t we decide?” She slaps her fork onto her plate for effect. A small splatter of tomato sauce lands on the right cuff of her pink cotton blouse. She licks it off.
    Fazio looks at her from across the table. “Mimí…” he begins.
    â€œOh, be quiet. This is between us siblings,” Mimí says crossly.
    Clarissa looks up. “You and I are the only siblings here, Mimí. ”
    Mimí sighs loudly. Everyone looks away, at their plates, at the garden, anywhere but into the eyes of the people around the table.
    Marco picks up the bottle. “More wine, anyone?”
    Fazio holds up his glass, despite Mimí’s withering look.
    David watches them all, afraid to say anything. It’s as if they’re all scripted into