Page 124 of What Doesn't Kill Her

The cluster of elderly Italian relatives seated around the kitchen table fell all over themselves cackling.

Sarah Di Luca from California sighed. “Salvatore. Hush. You’ll embarrass her.”

Kellen wasn’t exactly embarrassed. Or at least not embarrassed for the reasons the relatives thought. Verona had stuck her in here until Max had been hustled to his room in the bed-and-breakfast, knowing full well the elderly relatives would keep them apart. As she’d been told multiple times today, it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the day of the wedding. To which she had finally said, “Then we should have been married in the morning and avoided all these machinations.”

All she got for that were blank stares. The relatives were greatly enjoying themselves.

“They can have more children.” Bisnonna Benedetta took Kellen’s hand, turned it palm up and traced her fingers over the skin. “Look at her lines!”

“Show them to Bisnonna Debora,” Leo said. “You know she reads palms better than anyone.”

“Leo!” Annie turned her wheelchair toward him. “What is wrong with you?”

“What? Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean I don’t.” Leo waved his hands at Kellen. “Go on. Let’s see what Bisnonna Debora says.”

“Verona won’t like it,” Annie warned, but she moved closer.

At age seventy-two, Bisnonna Debora wasn’t the oldest here, not by a long shot, but when she was three she’d fallen ill of polio, leaving her with a twisted spine and a limp. Recently, as her overstrained breathing muscles had rebelled, she’d had to go on oxygen, and now it seemed as if her vitality was fading. But the life spark still glowed in her eyes and everyone in the family accorded her a special place of honor at the head of the table. Now, as Kellen presented her hands, she took them and smiled into the palms. “What a life! You’re right-handed?”

Kellen nodded.

“So rare to see a palm marked like this. So many lines. Rare lines. Two marriages? One when you were very young.” Her brown eyes sharpened. “It ended in flame and horror.”

“Yes.” Cynical Kellen supposed Bisnonna Debora might have heard that story from Max or Verona.

“I am sorry. But here’s our Max.” Bisnonna Debora pointed at the side of Kellen’s hand. “Such a good solid dependable line, like Max himself.”

Kellen found herself nodding along with everyone else.

“Here is Rae. What a healthy happy girl. So smart. We adore her.” Bisnonna Debora patted Kellen’s palm. “Other children are here. Two more. Maybe...no, two more.”

“Only two,” Zio Salvatore said mournfully.

“Not everyone wants to have so many children they can’t remember their names!” Zia Giorgia said.

“Shut up, woman!” Zio Salvatore gestured vigorously. “I remember their names eventually. I start at the top and shout. Sooner or later I hit the right one.”

More laughter and nodding heads.

Bisnonna Benedetta said, “Shhh! Bisnonna Debora isseeing.”

A hush fell over the room.

“Seeing what?” Kellen asked, then realized they meant precognition. She didn’t like that; she’d seen some scary examples overseas.

Bisnonna Debora smoothed Kellen’s palm, smoothed it again, leaned her ear close as if to hear it speak, ran her finger from Kellen’s wrist to her middle finger. “War in your past. Strife. Struggle and mistakes. Still. You aren’t whole in yourself. Divided into two. And this—” she tapped the line under Kellen’s thumb “—this is—” She caught her breath, looked around, looked down and lied. Everyone knew it, especially Kellen. “This is good luck. It’s good luck. You have good luck and happiness in your future. I see it. A sleep, a rest and a new dawn.”

The back porch door slammed. Verona walked into the kitchen, took in the scene with one glance and spoke Italian, fast and angry. The older people jumped guiltily and cleared their throats and smiled with as much false gaiety as Kellen had ever witnessed.

Bisnonna Debora listened without expression, then traced a cross on Kellen’s palm and kissed the spot where the lines intersected. In a low voice, she said, “God has graced you so far. He will not abandon you now.”

“Thank you, Bisnonna Debora.” Kellen cupped Bisnonna Debora’s hand in both her own. “We’ll trust in Him.”

Verona grabbed Kellen’s wrist and pulled her away. “The bride needs to put on her wedding dress. It’s time! The makeup! The hair. You know!”

The relatives clucked and shooed at them, and when Verona and Kellen had exited the house, they burst into loud voluble exclamations of...something. Protest or horror, Kellen didn’t know which.

“Bisnonna Debora is a lovely person, no? But old. All of the family from the Old Country is superstitious.” Verona dismissed superstition with a wave of her hand.

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