Page 20 of Look on the Bright Side

“Like Sean. Got it.” He smiled and sat back down, and that dark, unpleasant jolt, like cold electricity, zapped her again.

There was green salad, burrata with beefsteak tomatoes, potato salad, pasta salad, a charcuterie board full of cured meats and cheeses, grapes and crackers. That was just to start. Then came a huge casserole dish of eggplant parm, a platter of burgers, pulled pork, hot dogs and steak, three loaves of crusty bread. A quartet of olive oils, two pitchers of water with lemon slices, and bottles of wine crowded the table. In a giant copper tub filled with ice, there were more bottles of wine, and beer and soda. Silvio filled up her glass with rosé, and Lark thanked him.

“What if we go hungry?” Izzy asked, tilting her head.

“We can always hit Kream ’n Kone after,” Sofia said, smiling at Lark. “You’re from the Cape, right?”

“Yes. Wellfleet,” she said. “I’m happily familiar with Kream ’n Kone.”

“Did you grow up here, Lark?” Silvio asked.

“I did, and my parents and siblings are all still around. I have three sisters, including an identical twin, and a brother. My mom owns an art gallery. My dad retired from nursing last fall—maybe you know him, Isabella? Gerald Smith? He worked in the ER.”

“Can’t say the name is familiar,” she said. “I’m mostly at South Shore.”

“Got it. And let’s see…my oldest sister and grandpa own the bookstore in town. Open Book. Have you ever been?”

“I don’t think so,” said Anita, “but we’ll have to take a drive. I love Wellfleet. Haven’t been for ages.”

“Where do all of you live?” Lark asked. “Is everyone on the Cape?”

Cape Cod was somewhat oddly divided into quarters—since the peninsula was shaped like an arm flexing a bicep, the towns closest to the mainland were considered the upper Cape—the upper arm, as it were. The next chunk moving eastward was the mid-Cape, where the hospital, big-box stores and mall were. Then came where they were now—Chatham was the elbow, considered part of the lower Cape, along with Brewster, Harwich and Orleans. Then came the most romantic and beautiful part (to Lark, anyway)…the Outer Cape, where she had grown up, where the national seashore began, where the best beaches were and fiercest storms hit.

The Santinis all lived in the upper Cape area. Silvio and Anita had recently moved from the house where they’d raised their kids in Sandwich to a bigger house near the water. “Lots of bedrooms for the grands, if we’re so blessed, please, God,” Anita explained. “That was our thinking, anyway.” She sparkled at Lark, potential provider of said grands.

Sofia and Henry were renting in Falmouth but hoped to find a starter home soon. Izzy shared a house with two other nurses and lived in pretty Barnstable. Lorenzo, of course, had the house here in Chatham and the apartment in Beacon Hill.

Only Dante was no longer a Cape Codder. “I live in Boston,” he said.

“Quincy,” Lorenzo corrected. “You live in Quincy. I live in Boston.”

“Sorry, Lark,” Dante said easily. “I should’ve been more specific. He’s right, I live in Quincy.”

“In a two-family house,” Lorenzo said, not looking at his brother.

“He’s on a roll. Correct again,” Dante said, unperturbed. “I think Lorenzo is trying to point out that he lives in a much nicer area because he’s a doctor, and I’m a lowly public servant.”

“Boston’s bravest,” Sofia said, smiling at Dante.

“That wasn’t what I was trying to say, but you’re not wrong,” Lorenzo said. “And I don’t apologize for having money. You’ll be glad I do, if you ever need a loan.”

Okay, then. Lorenzo obviously had something to prove. Dante sighed. Izzy rolled her eyes.

“Henry, do you have siblings?” she asked, and Henry told her he had a half sister thanks to his dad’s second marriage, fifteen years younger than he was. The conversation drifted to the wedding, which Lorenzo was funding. He made that clear by saying, “Just send all the bills to me.” On the one hand, so nice. On the other, so obnoxious, too. Noni seemed to be asleep. Or dead. But no, no, a little snore escaped her.

The sun was hot and lovely, and Lark took off her sweater.

“Oh, you have a tattoo,” said Isabella, tilting her head as she stared at Lark’s arm. “I’m thinking of getting one.”

“Over my dead body,” said Mr.Santini with a smile. “You might be twenty-eight, but you’re still my baby. No offense, Lark. Yours is quite pretty.”

“ ‘We loved with a love that was more than love,’ ” Izzy read.

“Guess it’s not about Lorenzo,” Sofia quipped, grinning at her brother. He almost smiled back. They were closer, Lark realized. Lorenzo seemed to like her more than Izzy or Dante. Interesting family dynamics.

“What’s it from?” Izzy asked.

“It’s from my favorite poem,” Lark said. The words were stacked in two lines on the outer side of her bicep. She ran her hand over the tattoo, which was discreet as tattoos went, just two lines of black cursive handwriting.

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