distance, instead of a siren, the piercing sound of two-pitched horns indicated that at least one fire truck and certainly the police were on their way.
What if this was all part of the ongoing drama that had begun yesterday, starring Marco? What part would she play? The innocent tourist who was drawn unwittingly into a dark, dangerous intrigue? No one knew where she was. What if they really had been followed this morning and now the police were coming to round them all up and take them to some dark, dank prison where no one spoke English. She'd be put in a cell with prostitutes who would laugh at her clothes and her innocence. She'd try to call the American Embassy, but her calling card wouldn't work, and her passport would be taken away along with her purse. Her heart pounded.
“Marco is very upset,” Rocco said, sidling up to Anne Marie and jostling her out of her reverie. “He loved his Alfa Romeo very much. More even perhaps than he's ever loved a woman.”
By the look on Rocco's face, Anne Marie gathered this was saying quite a bit. “What happened?” she asked.
“Someone hit him from the rear,” he said. “It looks serious. The trunk is crumpled, his gas tank ruptured and maybe even his rear axle is damaged.”
“The way Italians drive, I'm surprised there aren't more accidents,” she said.
Rocco shook his head. “This was not an accident.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? Why would anyone rear-end a parked car on purpose?”
“Marco has more than a few enemies,” he said.
“Really? He seems so...” What could she say, seems so friendly, so solicitous, so generous... On the other hand there was a mysterious side to him. Among other things, there was that altercation in the restaurant last night. But it was one thing to slap your boyfriend and quite another to ram his car.
“Ah, yes, 'seems,'” Rocco said with a smirk. “Marco seems many different things to many different people. I've known him all my life, but only Marco knows who Marco really is.”
Before she could get any more information from him, Marco walked over to them, his expression stern. “Go in the house now,” he said to both of them. “The fire truck is going to spray some foam on the engine to keep it from catching on fire. Everyone must get off the street. My grandmother is anxious about the food getting cold. I will join you as soon as I fill out some forms and make a report to the police.”
“How did it happen?” Anne Marie asked, still wondering if someone would really destroy his car on purpose.
Marco shrugged. “Just an accident. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious? Your car is ruined and Rocco said...”
Marco shifted his gaze to his cousin and raised his eyebrows. Immediately Rocco changed his story.
“I only said you were lucky you weren't in it when the accident happened.”
Anne Marie was amazed at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue and how easily Marco accepted it. There was an undercurrent here that she didn't understand. Maybe because she wasn't Italian or because it was a guy thing. Whatever it was, soon they were back at the dining table, everyone but Marco, and it was hard to tell there'd been a disaster outside. Marco's grandmother was ladling sauce onto the pasta and urging everyone to eat. Rocco was pouring wine and Magdalena's baby had fallen asleep in her lap. As far as Anne Marie could tell, listening to the babble in Italian with Rocco translating from time to time, no one spoke of the accident, or the non-accident, whatever it was.
When Marco came in, his grandmother passed him a plate of pasta and he began to eat as if nothing had happened. Only the set of his jaw and a deepened line between his eyebrows hinted that anything was wrong. After a few minutes of trying to follow the conversation Anne Marie felt bold enough to ask a few questions of her own.
“Is everything straightened out?” she asked Marco who was seated across from her. “I mean with the police and so
What if this was all part of the ongoing drama that had begun yesterday, starring Marco? What part would she play? The innocent tourist who was drawn unwittingly into a dark, dangerous intrigue? No one knew where she was. What if they really had been followed this morning and now the police were coming to round them all up and take them to some dark, dank prison where no one spoke English. She'd be put in a cell with prostitutes who would laugh at her clothes and her innocence. She'd try to call the American Embassy, but her calling card wouldn't work, and her passport would be taken away along with her purse. Her heart pounded.
“Marco is very upset,” Rocco said, sidling up to Anne Marie and jostling her out of her reverie. “He loved his Alfa Romeo very much. More even perhaps than he's ever loved a woman.”
By the look on Rocco's face, Anne Marie gathered this was saying quite a bit. “What happened?” she asked.
“Someone hit him from the rear,” he said. “It looks serious. The trunk is crumpled, his gas tank ruptured and maybe even his rear axle is damaged.”
“The way Italians drive, I'm surprised there aren't more accidents,” she said.
Rocco shook his head. “This was not an accident.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? Why would anyone rear-end a parked car on purpose?”
“Marco has more than a few enemies,” he said.
“Really? He seems so...” What could she say, seems so friendly, so solicitous, so generous... On the other hand there was a mysterious side to him. Among other things, there was that altercation in the restaurant last night. But it was one thing to slap your boyfriend and quite another to ram his car.
“Ah, yes, 'seems,'” Rocco said with a smirk. “Marco seems many different things to many different people. I've known him all my life, but only Marco knows who Marco really is.”
Before she could get any more information from him, Marco walked over to them, his expression stern. “Go in the house now,” he said to both of them. “The fire truck is going to spray some foam on the engine to keep it from catching on fire. Everyone must get off the street. My grandmother is anxious about the food getting cold. I will join you as soon as I fill out some forms and make a report to the police.”
“How did it happen?” Anne Marie asked, still wondering if someone would really destroy his car on purpose.
Marco shrugged. “Just an accident. Nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious? Your car is ruined and Rocco said...”
Marco shifted his gaze to his cousin and raised his eyebrows. Immediately Rocco changed his story.
“I only said you were lucky you weren't in it when the accident happened.”
Anne Marie was amazed at how easily the lie rolled off his tongue and how easily Marco accepted it. There was an undercurrent here that she didn't understand. Maybe because she wasn't Italian or because it was a guy thing. Whatever it was, soon they were back at the dining table, everyone but Marco, and it was hard to tell there'd been a disaster outside. Marco's grandmother was ladling sauce onto the pasta and urging everyone to eat. Rocco was pouring wine and Magdalena's baby had fallen asleep in her lap. As far as Anne Marie could tell, listening to the babble in Italian with Rocco translating from time to time, no one spoke of the accident, or the non-accident, whatever it was.
When Marco came in, his grandmother passed him a plate of pasta and he began to eat as if nothing had happened. Only the set of his jaw and a deepened line between his eyebrows hinted that anything was wrong. After a few minutes of trying to follow the conversation Anne Marie felt bold enough to ask a few questions of her own.
“Is everything straightened out?” she asked Marco who was seated across from her. “I mean with the police and so
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