The Queen of the Big Time by Adriana Trigiani Read Free Book Online

and even sent a nice Italian priest, Father Impeciato, to run the parish and to keep us happy.”
    “That sounds so crazy.” I laugh.
    “It was. My papa says it’s all about the money. He says the bishop figured out how much collection money he was missing when the Italians turned Presbyterian and that’s why he built the church. Mama thinks it’s terrible when Papa criticizes the Church, but that’s how he feels.”
    I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Ricci debating about the Church and the neighbors joining in for a lively discussion. That sort of conversation could only happen in town. “When I’m on the farm in Delabole, I feel like I’m missing something. It’s so quiet on the farm, nobody ever drops in, it’s always arranged. Here, you have conversations on the street, you hear people laughing. You have nice stores. The bakery. The butcher shop. The grocery store. Places to go, like church. People everywhere. You can go for days on the farm and only ever see your own family.”
    “Not here. Every night after dinner we walk through town. Everyone does. It’s called La Passeggiata , but Papa calls it ‘stretching our legs.’ ”
    “That must be wonderful.”
    “It is. That’s when you hear all the gossip, like which husbands have girlfriends—we call them comares; they visit on Saturday nights while the wives sit home waiting—and which wives spend too much at the butcher, and funny things, like Mrs. Ruggiero, who goes to Philadelphia to get her hair done and gets her poodles done at the same time in the same style. Stuff like that.”
    “Do you think you’ll live here forever?” I ask her.
    Chettie thinks for a moment. “Yes, because I’m the oldest. The oldest always has to stay near the parents.”
    “Why?”
    “Because being the oldest puts you in the chain of command. Isn’t Assunta like a boss?”
    “Yes, always has been.”
    “See? She knows she would have to run things if your parents weren’t around or, God forbid, got sick or something. It’s a curse to be the oldest. I wish I wasn’t.”
    This is what I love about Chettie: besides the fact that she makes me laugh and I can tell her anything, she is sensible. She sees order in the world, and she fits her dreams into that order. She doesn’t have high hopes or expectations that can never be fulfilled. She’s practical. Practical is the best thing to be; when you aim too high, you will be disappointed. I wish I was more like her. I haven’t told her about my crush on Renato, but I’m eager to know if she thinks it’s a crazy dream to like someone who is so much older, so I ask her, “Have you ever been in love?”
    Chettie laughs. “Not yet. I don’t think so anyway. What’s ‘in love’? Butterflies in your stomach, bees on your brain? I get the vapors when I think of Anthony Marucci. I like him, but he’d never go for me. Not now, at least.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he likes the girls from West Bangor.”
    “Are they special?”
    “Let’s put it this way: they are much friendlier than the Roseto girls, if you know what I mean. But then, when it’s time, Roseto boys marry us.”
    “My sister is betrothed to an Italian.”
    “From the other side?” Chettie shakes her head. “That never works. My mama’s sister married a man from the other side and he spent all of the family’s savings on a roofing business. Then they had to move in with us, and then he and my pop got in a fight and they ended up going to Philly, where, guess what, he started another business, and now they’re making the sòldi hand over fist, Mama says. Can you believe it? You gotta watch the ones from over there.”
    “They can’t all be bad. We were all from the other side at some point.”
    “I just don’t trust them. I’m sorry.” Chettie shrugs. “How about you? Do you like a certain boy?”
    “I only met one I liked.”
    “Only one? Is he in our class?”
    “No. He’s older.”
    “How much?” Chettie’s eyes narrow.
    “Seven