Every Sunday

by Peter Pezzelli

Genres: Cultural Heritage; Family Life; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Peter Pezzelli's remarkable debut, Home to Italy, won the hearts of readers and critics alike.  Now, with Every Sunday, Pezzelli has created another unforgettable tale about life, love, family and friendship. In Providence, Rhode Island, everybody knows Nick Catini. Street smart, with a quick wit and a larger-than-life personality, Nick is the go-to guy, the owner of Catini's Hardware who's there to score friends tickets to the big game or fix his daughters' problems. Every Sunday, Nick presides over the family dinner, dishing out sauce and advice with equal abandon. It is a time for family, for grandchildren, for men watching football in the living room while the women gossip and plan in the kitchen. It is a time to remember what matters most in life. Sunday is the best day of the week, and nobody can imagine it without Nick. But when Nick is suddenly gone, that is exactly what they have to do--go on without him. For his girls--Maria, Nina, and Gina--it means learning to stand on their own feet while arguing about whether or not their mother, Teresa, can date again. For Teresa, it means trying somehow to keep her family together, even as she wonders what it would be like to find love again. And for her carefree son, Johnny, it means making good on his father's last request, a secret with the power to heal Johnny's guarded heart, if it doesn't destroy his family in the process. Now, as the first leaves of fall stick to the wet streets of New England, as the winter snow melts into the pastel hues of spring, and everything seems new and different, the Catinis will be tested and changed as never before. For what seems like an insurmountable loss just may be the beginning of the best part of their lives. . . At once both funny and heartwarming, with one of the most unique, unforgettable narrators to come along in years, Every Sunday is a warm, winning novel rich in hope, wisdom and the surprising strength of second chances. Outstanding Praise For Peter Pezzelli And Home To Italy A BookSense Pick! "A beautiful novel.  .  .Peter Pezzelli captures the warmth of Italy--family, friendships, and food--invites us into the world of his wonderful characters, and takes us full circle on a journey of life and love." --Luanne Rice, New York Times bestselling author "A delightful story of second chances." --Desert Morning News "Big-hearted and wise, Home to Italy is a charming ode to the romance of new beginnings and the Italian gusto for life. Peter Pezzelli's tale of a widower who returns to his childhood town in Abruzzo to rebuild his life, only to be struck by the legendary thunderbolt of love, is a continuous delight." --Louisa Ermelino, author of Joey Dee Gets Wise "With heartwarming touches of humor, Home to Italy reaffirms that life can always be renewed. This is a wonderfully satisfying romance that brings to life the sights, sounds, and tastes of Italy." -- Romantic Times "A warmhearted novel, perfect for an autumn evening in front of the fire." -- Litchfield Enquirer

Release date: September 1, 2005

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 320

Sample

Sit down, let’s talk. Relax. I’ve got a few things on my mind to tell you about, so pay attention. Who knows, you might learn something. For starters, the word around here, that nobody dares question by the way, at least not too loudly, is that God has some sort of master plan that He’s using to keep things in order. Don’t believe it. Between you and me, sometimes you can’t help feeling that the Big Guy’s just making it all up as He goes along, know what I mean? It’s like He’s one of those performers who’s trying to keep all the plates spinning up in the air over his head. He keeps trying to put more and more of them up there, except in this case some of the plates fall and break now and then no matter how hard He concentrates. So He tries to do the reverse, to not think about it while He’s doing it, to just go with the flow so to speak. This doesn’t necessarily make things any better, but it doesn’t seem to make them worse. The same number of plates, more or less, get broken. Anyway, it’s hard to know for sure what God’s up to, He never talks much about it, but that’s the way I see it. How else can you explain life and the never-ending lunacy we all put ourselves through? You just do the best you can, I guess, and hope it all works out in the end. But hey, nobody ever said it was gonna be easy, right?

Whatever.

So, it’s like this. I’m having this off-the-wall nightmare about a dinosaur. You know the kind of dream I’m talking about, the kind that leaves your skin crawling and your whole body feels like a wet rag. It’s brutal. The dinosaur’s this big son of a bitch of a thing. It’s huge and hideous and snarling and it’s stalking me through the city, tearing down telephone wires and tossing cars and buses out of its path as it stomps along. I mean, it’s coming for me, you know?

So there I am, running down the sidewalks just ahead of it, and suddenly all these people are calling to me from the doors of the shops and offices. Friends and family members and people I’d done business with over the years, some who had died long ago and others I haven’t seen in ages, they’re all there shouting, “Yo, Nicky, you stupid bastard! Hide in here where you’ll be safe!” But before I can make a move, the beast appears at the corner, looming over me, and now I know it’s no use. My fate’s sealed.

So I run and run and run, a hundred percent sure I’m going to be eaten alive at any moment. Last thing I remember is that my lungs and legs feel like they’re burning up, like somebody’s filled my body with a bottle of crushed red pepper. I can hardly run and the dinosaur is gaining on me fast and it’s right at that instant when I feel the hot, steamy breath on the back of my neck—that gut-twisting realization that those terrible jaws with their daggerlike teeth are about to snap shut on me and snuff out my puny little life forever—that I wake, open my eyes, and look about the room.

No sign of the dinosaur, just my wife and daughters hovering over me.

“Azzo, what is this, a staring contest?” I grumble. “I’m not dead yet.”

At that the four of them burst into sobs. A nurse comes in and helps my wife to the chair while the other three keep carrying on. Teresa looks awful, worse than I feel. Eyes swollen and bloodshot, her hair a tangled mess. I sigh and close my eyes once more. The constant wailing’s giving me agita and I’m thinking, why couldn’t I have just gotten run over by a bus or something? At least then it would all have been over with quickly. And where the hell’s the priest? Would the whole thing ever end?

You have to understand that this scene of constant lamentation has been going on for the three days since the surgeon opened me up, took one look at the sorry state of affairs inside me, and decided there was no point in even trying. He sewed me right back up and told the family it was only a matter of days.

Like the doctor was telling me something I didn’t already know. I’m no fool, I knew my number was up weeks ago. You can just sense these things. But I went through the motions, the endless tests and consultations, just to appease everyone. Otherwise they would have driven me crazy. But it was all for show, I knew it was a waste of time. These things happen; you can’t live forever. And who’d want to? Besides, I’ve had a full life, watched the kids grow up, seen my daughters married off, have children of their own. I have no complaints.

The dream about the dinosaur, though—that still bothers me. What the hell was all that supposed to be about anyway? Thinking about it really pisses me off.You’d think that on my deathbed, God might grant me a dream about Raquel Welch or Gina Lollabrigida or any woman for that matter, just as a farewell gift, if you know what I mean. Instead I have to get the crap scared out of me by the Creature Double Feature.

So I keep turning it over and over in my head, trying to figure out what it was that scared me so much about it. Tell you the truth, it wasn’t the fear of death. I never bothered to worry about things over which I had absolutely no control. So maybe it’s something deeper, I’m thinking. Then my son comes to mind, and like a beam of sunlight bursting through the clouds, it all becomes clear to me. So I open my eyes and scan the room for him.

“Where’s Johnny?” I grunt.

“Downstairs, Pop,” says my daughter Nina. “He went for a smoke.”

“Well, get him up here,” I tell her. “We need to talk.”

Let me introduce you to Johnny. At the moment, the poor kid’s a wreck. This I know because he’s smoking a cigarette and the only time he does that is whenever he’s really nervous. Calms him down. He’s thinking, how could Pop be dying? What’s to become of the family and how would he ever run the store all by himself? He crushes out the cigarette and blows a last puff of smoke into the air. He’s sure it’s gonna be a disaster.

Johnny’s the youngest of the four kids, my long-awaited heir after three girls. It never mattered to me that he was the baby of the family; he’s my only son. Fathers love their daughters to distraction, but there’s something special between a father and his son. I can remember joking about it with people in the shop while Johnny, who was just learning to walk, used to toddle around like a little demon, tearing everything off the shelves. All I could do was laugh and pat his head.As far as I was concerned, God’s sun rose and set on my son Johnny. He was the future. The business, I always figured, would need a man to run things one day after I was gone, and the only man in line was Johnny.

Of course, no one ever told him or me that I’d be checking out so soon. So Johnny starts thinking of his sisters, knowing full well that they’re not going to be much help to him in the business. All of them are married with kids, except for Gina who, God willing, will probably have some before long. Their husbands all have jobs of their own, so he can’t rely on them either. Not that he would have in any case. I was very fond of my sons-in-law, still am, but I always taught Johnny not to trust them completely. How could he? They aren’t part of his blood. Of course, you can never be sure even when somebody is part of your blood. Best thing to do is not trust anybody on a regular basis, I guess.

So, you see, it was ordained from the day of his birth that one day Johnny Catini would be running the show, that is, if he ever found time between shooting pool and chasing skirts. I mean, he was still going through that stage guys go through when it seems like there’s nothing to life but booze and broads. Some guys go through it faster than others. Some guys never get all the way through it. So you can understand then why this whole thing is giving Johnny a pain in the gut. He figures he’s just not ready for it, you know?

Johnny sighs and leans against the wall, watching the people hurrying in and out of the hospital. It’s one of those weird days that late August sometimes gives you to remind everybody that summer’s just about history and fall is coming. It’s damp and chilly out and the dark clouds rolling through the afternoon sky are all twisted and gnarled like a loaf of Sicilian bread. A steady drizzle is falling. Shivering a little, Johnny digs his hands into his pockets and wonders why the hell they don’t allow smoking inside anymore where he’d at least be warm.

Johnny’s in a tough spot now. You know, I’d always did my best to take care of things for him, especially whenever he got himself into a little scrape.You know how it is. Little things, like I had a few friends downtown in the traffic court to take care of his speeding tickets; otherwise he’d be paying through the nose for his car insurance. And I was pretty friendly with most of the city police, so I smoothed things over for him whenever he and his friends got a little too rambunctious at the bars. I mean, routine stuff, nothing major. Johnny’s always been a good kid.

But it’s time for the kid to start acting like a man and it’s sinking in that he doesn’t know nobody except the bunch of coconuts he likes to pal around with. They’re good at helping get him into trouble, but not so hot at helping him get out. Not like his old man who, Johnny figures, knew just about everybody in the state of Rhode Island. It’s funny, but I can see how he would think that. I mean, Rhode Island’s a pretty small place. You stick around long enough and pay attention, you get to know who’s who and what they can do for you—and what you can do for them.

“Johnny!” someone calls from behind him. It’s his sister Gina, waving for him to come inside.

“Azzo,” he mutters. He shrugs himself away from the wall and trudges to the door. Gina takes him by the arm and leads him toward the elevators.

“What are you doing out there all by yourself?” she says tersely.

“I wanted to be alone for a few minutes so I could think. That a crime?”

“No,” she says in a gentler voice. “I guess we all could use some quiet time to ourselves. Things have been pretty crazy, haven’t they?”

“Uff,” Johnny grunts. “What’s goin’ on up there now?”

“Pop wants to see you,” she says, her eyes getting misty. “I don’t think it’s gonna be too much longer.”

Johnny lets out a sigh and puts his arm around her shoulder. “Come on,” he says as the elevator opens, “let’s go up and see what the old man wants.”

So everyone—aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, relatives, and benefactors—is milling around outside my room when the two of them come down the corridor.They all turn and look at Johnny.

“Where have you been?” his mother cries.

Johnny’s got that look on his face—you know the one. It’s like you see him thinking, here we go again. “I was out having a smoke,” he answers.

“Mary mother of God!” she explodes. “Your father’s dying of cancer and you’re out smoking cigarettes!”

Teresa’s probably got a point, but it’s a tense situation, you’ve got to give the kid a break. As a matter of fact, he even says it.

“Gimme a break, Ma, will ya?” he says, rolling his eyes. Wrong thing to do.

“I’ll give you a break,” she screams. “I’ll break your head for bein’ so stupid!” She turns to the others. “He’s just like his father, thick in the head!”

Teresa can be a force of nature when she’s worked up, so Johnny knows better than to argue with her. Instead he just turns away and heads over to the door to my room, where his Uncle Victor is standing guard.

“What’s goin’ on, Uncle Vic?” he asks. “How come everybody’s hangin’ around out here?”

Victor lays a finger aside his lips. “Shh,” he whispers, “the priest just went in.”

That’s my cue. “Hey, Johnny, is that you out there?” I call.

Johnny sticks his head into the room. “Yeah, it’s me, Pop.”

“Come on in,” I tell him.

Johnny comes in and sees the priest making preparations to perform the last rites on me. The priest gives him a kind smile then goes about his business, setting the vestments, prayer book, and a bottle of holy water onto the bedside table.

“Johnny, this is Father Giuliano,” I tell him. “You’d know him if you ever showed your face at mass on Sunday.”

Johnny gives this nervous little cough and shakes his hand. “Hi, Father,” he says. “Thanks for comin’.”

Father Giuliano nods and turns to me. “I thought you might want to make your confession, Nicholas,” he says in that solemn voice that only priests can do. “I assume you will want some privacy.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Father,” I tell him. “Would you mind waitin’ outside while I talk to my son?”

Before the startled priest can even respond, Johnny’s got him by the arm, ushering him to the door. “Don’t go away,” he tells him, “this shouldn’t take long.” With that he pushes Father Giuliano out into the corridor with the relatives. The poor guy doesn’t know what to make of the situation, so he looks at the others and shrugs.

Back in the room, Johnny closes the door and comes over to my side. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks me straight in the eyes. Funny, but just then I get this flashback to when Johnny was just a little kid, maybe five or six. He used to come over to the side of my bed every morning at the crack of dawn and wake me up. I can still see him staring at me with those big eyes, trying to get me out of bed to play with him or make him breakfast or something. All of a sudden I get this big wave of guilt over me because I’m thinking about all the times I just rolled over and pulled the covers over my head when maybe I should have got up and spent some more time with my boy. But hey, you do the best you can do, right?

“What’s the matter, Pop?” says Johnny.

Before I can talk, I get hit with one of these coughing fits. It’s horrendous, like my whole body is going into convulsions or something. It makes Johnny wince just to watch, but it doesn’t last too long.

“What’s the matter?” I finally start wheezing. “Well, for starters, how about the fact that I’m about to roll a seven any minute?”

“Pop, why do you gotta say things like that?”

“Why? Because it’s true.”

“Believe me, I know that,” says Johnny. “But you don’t have to rub it in. So what is it you gotta talk about that you can’t tell me in front of the others?”

One thing you can say for Johnny, he likes to get straight to the point. So I sit up and look past him to the door. “You sure that door is shut?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Eh, what difference does it make,” I sigh, settling back onto the pillow. “They probably all have their ears to the door anyway.”

Johnny’s also a little short on patience. “Pop, are you gonna tell me what this is all about or what?” he says.

“All right, sit,” I tell him, pointing to the chair next to the bed. “What I’ve got to say is important.”

Johnny gets off the bed and pulls up the chair. “Okay,” he says, “now I’m sitting.”

Now I’m just studying him for a time, and I can feel the furrows in my brow deepening. You’ve got to understand, I got things on my mind at this moment and I want to make sure it all comes out the right way. So I start rubbing my chin, which is an old habit of helping my mouth form the words I want to say when things get tight. Sounds strange, but it works. At last I take a deep breath and figure it’s time to forge ahead.

“What the hell,” I begin,“I’m about to die anyway, so what’s to worry about?”

“You tell me,” my son answers.

“Okay, here it is,” I say. “There comes a time when a father has to talk to his son like a man, to teach him about the important things in life, to ask—”

Johnny holds up his hand. “Hold on, Pop. I think we already had this one about fifteen years ago when I turned thirteen.”

I don’t know what it is about this kid, but sometimes he makes me want to slap him in the head. Two seconds and he’s got me all agitated. Know what I mean?

“This is something different!” I yell, throwing my hands up. “Why don’t you just sit and listen for once?”

“All right, all right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Just get on with it.”

“Okay,” I say, starting over again, “let’s make it easy. I got two things I wanna ask you before I croak.”

“Will you stop talkin’ like that!” he cries. Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“Look,” I tell him, “the first thing is simple. I want you to find somebody, a good woman, and settle down.”

“Ayy,” sighs Johnny, turning away. Now I’ve got him squirming a little.

“I’m serious,” I continue. “You can’t go on forever chasing all these little putannas around like you do.”

“Hey, they’re not all putannas,” says Johnny.

“You know what I mean. Now shut up and listen to what I say. It’s time to start thinking about marriage and having a family and children to carry the name forward.You’re my only son, the one who’ll carry on the name.These things are important. If you wait too long, nobody’s gonna want you. Before you know it, you’ll be an old man all by yourself and then you end up ex-tinct like these dinosaurs you read about.”

He looks at me. “What do you mean, stink?”

I can’t help it, I slap myself in the forehead. “EX-tinct, capo-dosso!” I cry. “While you’re at it, maybe you should go back to first grade for a while.”

“Stink, stank, stunk, who cares?”

“I care.We’re talking about your future here.”

“I thought you were talkin’ about dinosaurs.”

The kid can be dense, no question about it. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” I say in exasperation. “Just try to understand what I’m telling you for a second. I want you to be happy, to have someone to take care of you. I want you to have children because, otherwise, your life comes to nothing in the end. Just promise me you’ll think about these things, that you’ll at least try to settle down.”

“Yeah, all right,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” I say, a little bit relieved. If I can get him thinking, at least it’s a start, I figure.

“So what’s this other thing you wanted to talk about,” says Johnny.

The heat’s on now and I got a knot the size of an oil tanker in my gut.Who knows how Johnny’s gonna take this. I glance at the door and gesture for him to come closer. “All right,” I say in hushed tones, “what I’m about to tell you stays between you and me and you take it to the grave. Capisc’?”

Johnny just shrugs.

“Now what I have to tell you, I tell you as one man to another. And what I ask you, I ask as one man to another.”

“Get to the point, Pop,” says Johnny. “You’re wastin’ so much time here that I’m gonna be dead of old age myself before you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “Here it is.You know I’ve always loved your mother. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful wife. I would have become nothing without her.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, something happened a few years ago.”

“What?”

“Something.”

“What is this, Pop? You’re like talkin’ in code here. Spit it out!”

“There’s been another woman,” I finally blurt out.

You know, I really couldn’t predict how Johnny’d react to this thing. Wasn’t what I’d hoped. He just stares at me for a minute, and little by little his eyes start to pop out of his head. He cocks his head to one side, like maybe he hadn’t heard me right.

“A what?” he says.

“A woman.”

Now he’s out of the chair with this astounded look on his face and he’s just staring at me, shaking his head. “Are you tellin’ me,” he starts, “that for all these years while Mommy was cookin’ and cleanin’ and sewin’ your socks that you were out scorin’ some putanna?”

I have to offer some protest here. “She’s not a putanna,” I yell. “She’s a nice woman!”

“She’s a putanna!”

“You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t have to.All I know is that you’re a married man and any woman who screws around with a married man is a putanna in my book.”

“Ugh,” I groan.

Johnny’s beside himself now, pacing back and forth. “How could you do this to Mommy?” he’s saying. “After all she’s done for you.”

“What do you want me to say?” I sigh wearily. “These things just happen. Nobody plans them. I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Yeah, right, Pop. And how long has this been goin’ on?”

I squirrel up the corner of my mouth, which is another habit I have when I’m in a spot. “I dunno,” I tell him. “Three, three-and-a-half years maybe.”

“Whoa,” is all he can say. He collapses back onto the chair and stares out the window. For a long time neither of us says anything. The silence is almost deafening. So I close my eyes for a minute and, I don’t know, I guess I nod off for a second because all of a sudden Johnny’s shaking my arm to wake me up.

“What’s the matter!” I snap.

“Geez,” says Johnny, breathing a sigh of relief. “I thought for a second that you were—you know . . .”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not. Not yet anyway.”

Johnny sits back down and rubs his eyes. The whole thing is blowing his mind; I can see it in his face. I can understand. I mean, hell, this kind of thing can turn your world upside down.

“Why did you even have to tell me about this?” he grouses.

“Because I need you to do something for me,” I say. “Just one last favor.”

“I don’t even know what you’re goin’ to ask me and already I don’t like the sound of it.”

“Just listen,” I tell him, “and try to understand. I love your mother, but these things are beyond people’s control. They just happen. Blame God. He arranged it so that I met this other woman, the sparks flew between us, and that was that. But I don’t want you to think it was something cheap, because I really care for this person and she cares for me. That’s why I want you to do this favor.”

“And that is?”

My back is starting to bother me, so I shift around uneasily in the bed and settle back down on the pillow. “Obviously,” I begin, “she’s a little upset about what’s happening to me just like everybody else. The thing is, it all happened so fast that I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her and say goodbye. She hasn’t been able to come to the hospital because your mother and sisters have been here night and day, and once I’m gone, she’ll probably be too scared to come to the wake. I haven’t even had two seconds to myself to call her on the phone. So, you see, it’s like I’m just disappearing from her life.You know what I mean? Now, I know how you feel and it’s understandable. What I’m asking you to do is to set aside your feelings for just a while. Think of her as just a person with all the same human faults as you have. All I want you to do, just once after I’m gone, is to stop by, knock on her door, and check on her. See how’s she’s doing. See if she needs anything. Just tell her that I was thinking about her and that I wanted to make sure she was all right. Tell her I’m sorry that things worked out this way. We’re talkin’ five minutes here, Johnny. You’re in, you’re out. That’s all. If you could do just that for me, at least I’ll have a little peace of mind. What do you say?”

Johnny shakes his head. “I dunno, Pop,” he says. “I don’t even know this woman. I’d feel stupid.”

“Please,” I beg him. “You’ve got to do it for me.”

“But who is she, what does she do?”

“She’s a schoolteacher in the city,” I tell him. “Her name’s Victoria Sanders. Vicki, I call her. She lives on the East Side. You’ll find her address in the phone book.”

“But—” he starts to say. Before he can finish, I’m like in convulsions again, retching up my lungs. I reach out to him.

“Please, Johnny,” I start pleading. “I’m on my deathbed here! Just say you’ll do it. I haven’t got much time and you’re the only one I can trust.”

Johnny throws up his hands. “All right, all right,” he finally agrees. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take . . .