given that she used such a tiny gun.
So, on the first day of November, as the temperatures begin to plummet, I pull on my warmest sweater and my heaviest pair of slacks. Then I exit my apartment building with purpose. Today I’m going to visit Federica in prison.
Fifty-five minutes later, I sit in a dark, damp room with a single bulb dangling overhead to light the space. I try to stay upbeat despite the overwhelming starkness of the Northern Italy Correctional Facility for Women. But I can’t help thinking how pathetic Federica looks in her allocated grey jumpsuit.
“How did you know they were getting married?” I ask as she puffs away on a cigarette.
“Private detective,” she replies. “I hired one to follow the scumbag three months ago.”
She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray and adds, “I’m sorry about the boys. They must have been terrified to learn their father was shot.”
“They’ll be alright. They are in art therapy. Oh no, don’t make that sad face, Federica. The boys quite like it. Look, they’ve made something for you,” I say, handing her a large portrait of something that looks like a possum/mouse or a mouse/wombat or a wombat/fox. I can’t quite tell.
“It’s so lovely, Lily. Why, is it a bouquet of flowers?” she asks, turning the picture from side to side and squinting hard.
A bouquet of flowers? In what universe does it look like a bouquet of flowers? It’s clearly an animal of some sort with a red face and incredibly sharp fangs.
“Why yes, it is a bouquet. Primroses, I believe,” I say breezily.
“Primroses! I loved those flowers as a child. My father used to grow them in the garden. How thoughtful Luca and Matteo are!”
She stares down at her hands, denuded of the usual ostentatious rings that she once wore. “You know, I thought I would play a special role in their lives.”
“You will, Federica, you will. Maybe you will never be their stepmother, but they need an honorary aunt. Someone they can do things with. Someone who isn’t as boring and bossy as their own mother.”
“No, I can never see the boys again,” Federica says in a low voice. “I’m going to prison. Even my good family name won’t get me out of this one.” She stares miserably at the floor. Behind us a guard with a rifle shifts restlessly against the door.
“I’ll bring the children here to visit,” I say with an uneasy glance about the room. The Northern Italy Correctional Facility for Women is no place for small children. This place is so sad and forlorn, it is soul-sucking.
“No, Lily. Promise me you’ll never do that. I don’t want them to see me here, like this.” She tugs at her gray prison top as if its coarse fabric irritates her skin.
“Federica,” I start slowly, “there’s something I have to say, something I need to get off my chest. Enrico was never worth it. He was never worth going to prison over. You know that, right?”
“I know.” She wipes at the tears. “He’s been bad news since the day I met him, but for some reason I couldn’t let it go. Who knows what I ever saw in him.”
Well, that is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Who knows what any of us ever saw in him? Who knows what possessed me to marry him eight years ago? Of course, if I hadn’t married him, I never would have had my beloved boys.
I sigh over all of life’s little ironies and then bid a fond farewell to Federica. “I’ll return soon,” I call back from the door as the guard moves aside, “with more paintings of primroses. I promise. And I’m sure that the Italian justice system will come to their senses and you will be released in a few days.”
With that I flash her a forced smile and hope never to return to this awful place.
******
“Do your job and stop with all that staring off into space,” my boss says heatedly, several hours later.
Right, I’ll do my job. Except it’s a terribly slow day, and it’s really cold outside. Nobody wants ice cream.
So, on the first day of November, as the temperatures begin to plummet, I pull on my warmest sweater and my heaviest pair of slacks. Then I exit my apartment building with purpose. Today I’m going to visit Federica in prison.
Fifty-five minutes later, I sit in a dark, damp room with a single bulb dangling overhead to light the space. I try to stay upbeat despite the overwhelming starkness of the Northern Italy Correctional Facility for Women. But I can’t help thinking how pathetic Federica looks in her allocated grey jumpsuit.
“How did you know they were getting married?” I ask as she puffs away on a cigarette.
“Private detective,” she replies. “I hired one to follow the scumbag three months ago.”
She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray and adds, “I’m sorry about the boys. They must have been terrified to learn their father was shot.”
“They’ll be alright. They are in art therapy. Oh no, don’t make that sad face, Federica. The boys quite like it. Look, they’ve made something for you,” I say, handing her a large portrait of something that looks like a possum/mouse or a mouse/wombat or a wombat/fox. I can’t quite tell.
“It’s so lovely, Lily. Why, is it a bouquet of flowers?” she asks, turning the picture from side to side and squinting hard.
A bouquet of flowers? In what universe does it look like a bouquet of flowers? It’s clearly an animal of some sort with a red face and incredibly sharp fangs.
“Why yes, it is a bouquet. Primroses, I believe,” I say breezily.
“Primroses! I loved those flowers as a child. My father used to grow them in the garden. How thoughtful Luca and Matteo are!”
She stares down at her hands, denuded of the usual ostentatious rings that she once wore. “You know, I thought I would play a special role in their lives.”
“You will, Federica, you will. Maybe you will never be their stepmother, but they need an honorary aunt. Someone they can do things with. Someone who isn’t as boring and bossy as their own mother.”
“No, I can never see the boys again,” Federica says in a low voice. “I’m going to prison. Even my good family name won’t get me out of this one.” She stares miserably at the floor. Behind us a guard with a rifle shifts restlessly against the door.
“I’ll bring the children here to visit,” I say with an uneasy glance about the room. The Northern Italy Correctional Facility for Women is no place for small children. This place is so sad and forlorn, it is soul-sucking.
“No, Lily. Promise me you’ll never do that. I don’t want them to see me here, like this.” She tugs at her gray prison top as if its coarse fabric irritates her skin.
“Federica,” I start slowly, “there’s something I have to say, something I need to get off my chest. Enrico was never worth it. He was never worth going to prison over. You know that, right?”
“I know.” She wipes at the tears. “He’s been bad news since the day I met him, but for some reason I couldn’t let it go. Who knows what I ever saw in him.”
Well, that is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Who knows what any of us ever saw in him? Who knows what possessed me to marry him eight years ago? Of course, if I hadn’t married him, I never would have had my beloved boys.
I sigh over all of life’s little ironies and then bid a fond farewell to Federica. “I’ll return soon,” I call back from the door as the guard moves aside, “with more paintings of primroses. I promise. And I’m sure that the Italian justice system will come to their senses and you will be released in a few days.”
With that I flash her a forced smile and hope never to return to this awful place.
******
“Do your job and stop with all that staring off into space,” my boss says heatedly, several hours later.
Right, I’ll do my job. Except it’s a terribly slow day, and it’s really cold outside. Nobody wants ice cream.
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