Page 19 of Look on the Bright Side

“Finally he found someone,” said Anita. “We’d all given up, but here you are, Lark. Poor Noni wants to see him settled before she dies.”

“Don’t say that out loud, Mom,” Lorenzo said sharply. “Noni, you’re in great shape.”

“We’re just hoping she makes it till Sofia’s wedding,” Silvio murmured. “But she’s ninety-nine.”

“So,” Anita said, “you’re dating my son. This is so exciting. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

“No pressure, Lark,” Silvio said. “Hon, maybe we feed her first before we call a priest?”

“Oh, Silvio, stop. I didn’t say a thing about weddings.” She sparkled at Lark. “But sure, weddings are on my mind.”

Silvio pressed a cold glass of something pink into Lark’s hand. “Cranberry and club soda, but I can add vodka if you want.”

“This is perfect, thank you, Mr.Santini.”

“Silvio, dear, call him Silvio. Tell us how you and Lorenzo met.”

All eyes were on her. We met over anal fissures. “At the hospital,” she said. “Here on the Cape, that is. I know Lorenzo practices all over Boston, too.”

“Are you a surgeon, too?” Henry asked.

Lorenzo snorted, and Lark cut him a look.

“Or even better, a nurse?” Izzy asked.

“Right now, I’m doing my residency in the Emergency Department,” she said.

Then someone came in the back door. “Dad, you said you wanted to grill the steaks, so I—oh. Hi.”

Lark looked up, and there was someone who could only be Lorenzo’s brother, staring at her, tongs in one hand. Connery ran up to him, twining through his legs, tail wagging furiously.

An odd, dark warning flashed through Lark. The Santinis were still talking, but it suddenly felt very quiet. Dante Santini did not look away.

He wasn’t quite as perfectly handsome as Lorenzo, but he was much, much more attractive. Around six feet tall, more bulk on him than his runner brother, broad shoulders. Brown hair lightened by the sun, dark, smiling eyes. His navy blue T-shirt had a logo over his heart that read Boston F.D. Rescue 2.

Hence the decal on the truck outside. Lorenzo’s brother was a firefighter. Suddenly, her entire body flushed.

“Hi,” Dante said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m the brother.”

“Hi. I’m the girlfriend.” They looked at each other, and then, to cover the awkwardness, Lark reached for Lorenzo’s hand. Almost to her surprise, he took it.

“Now that the meet and greet is done,” Lorenzo said, “why don’t we go outside and have some food?” He dropped Lark’s hand, grabbed the handles of Noni’s wheelchair and pushed her outside, maneuvering her expertly through the French doors onto the deck.

Everyone else grabbed a tray or platter and followed. The smooth wooden deck was sheltered by an arbor dripping with purple wisteria. A hundred yards away was the Atlantic, tucked against the curve of Chatham and its ever-changing shoreline. They sat around a large table, Noni unblinking and silent at one end, Lorenzo next to her, the rest of them sitting and moving and pouring and passing, questions about traffic, food, how people wanted their steaks and burgers. Lark knew the drill. She was from a big family, too. She passed and dished and smiled and said “Not too bad, just a little slow at the rotary” when Silvio asked about traffic. Connery, like the good boy he was, curled up on a chaise longue and went to sleep.

“That dog, he on the furniture,” Noni whispered.

“That’s okay,” Anita said. “He’s adorable, Lark. And very clean, Noni. His fur is so silky.”

“People sit on furniture. Not animals.” Noni glared at her. One of her eyes was deviated about twenty degrees off center—exotropia—but the one-eyed glare was enough to do the trick.

“I’ll get him a blanket from the car.” She smiled and stood up, but Dante was already folding a beach towel for the same purpose. He picked up Connery, who licked his hand, and put him down on the towel.

“Thank you,” Lark said.

“No problem.” He cut her a quick look, then petted Connery’s head. “What’s his name?”

“Connery. He’s Scottish.”

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