I looked at her. She cradled our two-month-old son with one arm while her other hand clutched her ginormous sunhat against her head. The wind was tearing relentlessly at the ugly thing. I’d made peace with her quirky clothes, but some things were beyond my tolerance.
“Love?”
That word wasn’t a casual endearment born out of habit coming from Giulia’s lips. Every time she said it, it held meaning.
Giulia encompassed that word “love,” that feeling, in every action, every smile, every fiber of her being.
I headed down to her, sand clinging to my bare feet as I crossed the dune to the beach. Simona and Daniele were taking a dip in the cold ocean, chasing each other and laughing. It was warm for late October, but the water was freezing cold. Back in Philadelphia these moments of childish carefreeness were few and far between for Daniele. At twelve, almost thirteen, he was only a little over a year away from becoming a Made Man—his fourteenth birthday would mark the day of his induction. His eyes found me briefly, and he gave me a boyish grin before Simona tossed water into his face and their chase continued. I joined Giulia, wrapped an arm around her waist, and grabbed the hand holding her hat down to pull her against my body, Gabriel between us. A gust of wind carried the straw hat away until only the bright yellow of its one big sunflower flashed in the distance.
Giulia gave me an indignant look. “You did that on purpose.”