Chapter 7 - The Mother Who Knew Nothing
“Then why is her name on the agreement?”
Luca's question hung over the dining table.
Vanessa stood motionless.
Pryce reached for the paper, but Luca moved it out of reach.
“I'm asking Vanessa.”
She shook her head.
“Celia isn't supposed to be involved until the financing is settled.”
Rosa stared at her.
“Financing for what?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“My mother's shop.”
I didn't understand.
Neither did Luca.
Vanessa looked toward the empty chairs.
“My father left debts when he died. Celia has been trying to keep the store open, but the bank won't extend her credit.”
Luca frowned.
“You told me the store was doing fine.”
“I didn't want you thinking I needed your money.”
“So you used Rosie's?”
Vanessa flinched.
“I thought the arrangement would give everybody something.”
Rosa's expression changed.
“What arrangement?”
Vanessa looked toward Pryce.
He stood.
“Financial negotiations are confidential.”
“Sit down,” Luca said.
Pryce slowly lowered himself into his chair.
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“We're going to speak to your mother tomorrow morning. Until then, nobody is authorized to begin work.”
Pryce gathered his papers.
“Your objections have been noted.”
“Make sure they are.”
He left through the main dining room.
Only after the door closed did Vanessa begin shaking.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Then I remembered Rosa standing beside an untouched plate.
And my own name on a document I'd never seen.
The next morning, Rosa came to the restaurant wearing a dark green coat.
She'd been awake most of the night.
I knew because she admitted she'd baked two loaves of bread at four in the morning.
“When I'm worried,” she said, “my hands need something to do.”
Luca arrived carrying the original blue-tile photograph from the restaurant's archives.
He'd also brought the copy of my employment form.
The signature was identical.
Even the little break in the ink where my pen had skipped across the paper.
He laid both pages beside each other.
“Grace, these appear to be the same image.”
I stared.
The crossing of the G.
The uneven underline.
Every mark matched.
“Somebody copied it.”
Luca nodded.
“That's what it looks like. But we'll have it examined before making accusations we can't prove.”
It was the first sensible thing anyone had said about that document.
I felt my shoulders relax.
Just a little.
Then we went to Celia Bellini's shop.
It stood beneath an old brick apartment building in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood.
The windows displayed formal dresses Celia had altered herself.
She was sixty-four, with short brown hair and a measuring tape around her neck.
When she saw Luca with Rosa, she stopped working.
“What's happened?”
Luca placed the transfer summary on her cutting table.
“Celia, did you agree to purchase half of Moretti's?”
She stared at him.
“Purchase what?”
Vanessa stood near the doorway.
Her mother looked toward her.
“Vanessa?”
“I was trying to help.”
Celia slowly lowered herself into a chair.
Then she looked at the paper again.
“My name is on this?”
Rosa nodded.
Celia covered her mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart. What have you done?”
Vanessa began crying.
“Pryce said he could clear the loan.”
“What loan?” Luca asked.
Celia looked ashamed.
“My husband borrowed against the store before he died. I thought we could pay it down. Then business slowed.”
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“Pryce offered to buy the debt. He said he'd give us time if I found him a property he could develop.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“And you offered him my restaurant.”
“I offered him a way to buy into it.”
“Without Rosie's permission.”
Vanessa didn't answer.
Celia stood.
“Rosa, I didn't know. I swear I didn't know.”
Rosa studied her face.
Then nodded.
“I believe you.”
Celia began crying.
Vanessa stepped toward her mother.
“Mom, I thought I could save everything.”
Celia shook her head.
“You can't save our home by taking someone else's.”
Those words stayed with me.
Because they were spoken without anger.
Only disappointment.
After leaving the shop, we went to Saint Anne's.
Rosa insisted.
The building smelled of coffee, furniture polish, and homemade soup.
At the rear entrance, a woman in a wheelchair greeted her.
“Rosie! I heard they're closing your restaurant.”
“Not if I can help it, Mrs. Alvarez.”
The woman smiled.
“That's my girl.”
Inside, a little girl sat at a table drawing with blue and yellow crayons.
She looked up.
“Grandma!”
Rosa opened her arms.
Nine-year-old Maggie Romano ran to her.
Her mother, Elena, Rosa's eldest daughter, followed from the kitchen.
Elena hugged Rosa tightly.
“Mom, you should've told us what was happening.”
“I didn't want you worrying.”
Elena sighed.
“You've been saying that my whole life.”
Maggie held up her drawing.
It showed the old restaurant window.
Blue tiles.
A yellow sun.
Two people standing beside it.
“That's Grandpa Sal,” she explained. “And that's Grandma when she was young.”
Rosa smiled through tears.
“It's beautiful, sweetheart.”
Elena turned toward Luca.
“Dad wanted the city to protect the building. He spent months gathering photographs before he got sick.”
Luca looked surprised.
“Did he submit anything?”
“He asked the neighborhood preservation office to review it. Saint Anne's has the meeting notice.”
Elena went into the office and returned with a printed appointment schedule.
Monday.
Nine in the morning.
A historical site inspection.
Luca stared at the page.
Pryce had scheduled demolition for three hours earlier.
Now we knew why.
The original wall mattered because it could help establish the building's historical significance before the buyer demolished it.
Then Saint Anne's coordinator hurried into the room carrying the latest contractor schedule.
It had been slipped through the center's mail slot that morning.
She handed it to Luca.
“I thought you needed to see this.”
He opened it.
His face went pale.
The equipment removal was no longer scheduled for Monday morning.
Someone had changed the date.
Rosa whispered, “Luca?”
May you like
He looked at the new instructions.
“They moved the demolition to midnight tonight.”
