Solitaria by Genni Gunn Read Free Book Online Page A

particular roles. Aldo, he knows, is a high-powered lawyer, an insuperable intellect they all rely on for important decisions, even Clarissa from a continent away.
    â€œWhere is Aldo, anyhow?” Clarissa asks.
    â€œHe had commitments he couldn’t get out of,” Marco says.
    â€œWe all have commitments,” Clarissa says. “Do you think it was easy for us to come from Canada?” And she begins to list the lessons and TV and recording dates she’s had to cancel or postpone. Mimí chimes in with her own list of missed appointments, and for once, includes Fazio’s too.
    â€œGlad to see you’re aware that I work too,” Fazio says.
    Mimí rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be smart,” she says, and throws a couple of crumbs down the table at him.
    â€œWe can’t bury him yet,” Teresa says, quietly.
    â€œAnd why not?” Mimí asks. “He’s our brother. We should decide.” She turns to Clarissa. “Don’t you think we should decide?”
    â€œHe was murdered!” Teresa says so loudly they all stop in mid-bite. “Until they find his killer, they’re not going to let us bury the remains.”
    They all look down at their plates and slowly resume eating, the only sound being the odd fork or knife scraping against china.
    â€œAnd anyway,” Teresa says, “ I’m his next of kin. I ’ ll decide.”
    The tension is palpable. Mimí crosses her legs and swings the lower half of one under the table, over and over, creating a small rhythmic vibration so that china and glasses begin to chime. Marco slides back his chair, clears all their pasta dishes, and sets them on a side table. He then hands out clean plates for the secondo . They all busy themselves: Clarissa wipes crumbs off the table; David removes the oriecchette serving dish; Marco disappears into the canteen to get another bottle of wine; Fazio climbs the stairs into the house to fetch a jug of water for them all; and Mimí dishes salad into their plates. Only Teresa sits, immobile, until they are all seated and still once more.
    â€œWe can’t go on like this,” she says, finally. “Something must be done. She can’t live alone any more. You’ve seen her.” She wipes the table in front of her, in quick, nervous movements.
    â€œOf course she can,” Clarissa says. “She has always been histrionic. This is just one more of her dramas.”
    â€œMom,” David says. “Not everyone is like you.”
    â€œI know my sister better than you,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
    â€œShe’s so sad,” David says. “I feel sorry for her.”
    â€œI’m not going to wipe her bum,” Teresa says suddenly. “I’ve spent my life humiliated by that woman, but I refuse to change her diapers and wipe her bum.” She crosses her arms and challenges them all.
    â€œI don’t think we need to worry about that for a few years,” Mimí says. “She’s not that old. She’s faking so she doesn’t have to tell the truth. And you,” she points to David, “are falling right into her trap.”
    â€œShe’ll talk when she’s ready,” David says.
    â€œAnd when exactly will that be?” Marco asks. “Are we to sit around forever, until she’s ready?”
    â€œShe’s playing up to you,” Clarissa says. “She knows her histrionics are not going to work on us.”
    â€œWait till Aldo arrives. He’ll get it out of her,” Teresa says.

    That night, after she’s had her supper, when David dims the light, Piera whispers, “Oh, how I’ve suffered.”
    He reaches across and takes her hand. “Zia Piera?”
    â€œHow many tears I shed when you went away,” she says. “When you took those planes for Canada, it was like a mutilation, as if a part of me were being cut off. I cried for days. You never wrote;