Say Ye by Celia Juliano

and ran out, tucking the photo away. She could stay with Lee—or maybe Lorenzo.
    She called a cab, which took her on the short ride to North Beach. Strolling along the last few blocks before Nick’s, where Lorenzo lived on the top floor, she took in the busy streets and sidewalks, the restaurants and compact shops, the tall spires of the Catholic Church on Washington Square, a neat patch of park in the middle of the bustling, crowded streets. The neighborhood seemed more alive and cooler from the bay breezes than hers though she wasn’t sure she liked the more boxy Victorians as much as the more well-known Victorian style of her own neighborhood. Yet it seemed a better place for Lorenzo. Somehow it all felt more masculine to her, though she shook her head, feeling she merely missed him.
    She walked up to Nick’s restaurant, which she’d heard about from Lee. She paused knowing Lorenzo lived there, on the top level of the old maroon building. But she didn’t know where the entrance to the apartments was—maybe on the side. She crossed to an alley and then to a small parking lot behind the building. There was the door. With quick steps, she went inside and up the carpeted stairs. The building was clean, nondescript. There was only the one apartment at the top—she knocked on the door. No one answered, so she knocked again. Still nothing. The emptiness of the hollow echoes sank into her. She decided to walk around outside and come back.
    About a block up, she passed a small grocery store-café. The scents wafting from inside were too enticing to miss, so she stepped in. Metal shelves lined one part of the space, a few café tables and chairs stood nearby the counter. She went to the bakery case, an array of lightly browned breads, a few types of fruit-filled pastries, and a couple trays of cookies lined the shelves. A tall but stocky man with steely blue-green eyes greeted her. She asked for a couple amaretti and a cappuccino. Then a beautiful, serene older woman came out of the back carrying a tray of fresh amaretti. The scent delighted Lita, so almondy and sweet.
    “Good afternoon,” the woman said. “Frank, have you helped this young woman?”
    “’Course, Mom.” He smiled at Lita. “Maybe give her a couple of those while I make her coffee.”
    The woman nodded. “How are you today, dear?” she said as she slid some cookies on a plate and pushed it toward Lita.
    Lita smiled, for some reason at ease. The woman had a soothing presence. “Fine, thanks, and you?”
    “Well, thank you. What brings you in on this lovely day?”
    “I was hoping to find my friend at home, but he’s out. He lives up the street, above Nick’s.”
    “You mean Lorenzo Calabra?” The woman kept smiling, but the man, who Lita assumed to be her son, clattered a spoon to the floor behind her. Lita nodded. “Lorenzo used to come in here often in high school, with his friend, Lee. They were quite a pair.”
    “Lee’s my older brother,” Lita said, brightening.
    “Lita Lawson? My, I would never have guessed, you’re very different. I haven’t seen Lee in years. How is he?”
    “Fine, thank you.”
    “I’m Celeste D’Angelo, by the way, and this is my son, Frank.”
    Frank gave Lita her coffee with a nod.
    “Pleased to meet you,” Lita said.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. D’Angelo said with a motion toward the back.
    Lita nodded and smiled before taking her cookies and coffee to a nearby table. Lita almost wanted to follow Mrs. D’Angelo; there was something so reassuring in her Mona Lisa smile and her calm but animated manner. Lita breathed deeply, comforted by the mellow yeasty and pungent coffee aromas.
    As Lita sipped her cappuccino, she spotted Lorenzo entering the shop behind an older man who looked like he should be his father, but Lita knew he was his great uncle Enzo. She’d met him and Lorenzo’s late mother at his and Lee’s college graduation. She stared at Lorenzo. He stopped short as his eyes met hers.