Margherita's Notebook Read Online Free PDF

them in Rome . . .
    A voice from behind her drew her attention: “Margherita!”
    She had barely turned around when she found herself in a bear hug. And good old Italo, their next-door neighbor, a big man over six feet tall and weighing a ton, who was always armed with a warm smile, seemed like he had no intention of ever releasing his grip.
    â€œHow come time never passes for you, eh? It seems like yesterday that you were stealing figs from my garden . . .”
    Followed by more hugs and kisses. Then, suddenly, Italo checked out the car, and with a serious look on his face, said, “Where’s that damn fool of a husband of yours?”
    â€œHe stayed in Rome.”
    â€œWell, he’s always been an idiot!” he said judgmentally, shaking his head. “Who would let a young woman like you travel by herself? Now if I were your husband—”
    She smiled in spite of herself. No doubt about it, she was home, all right!
    She interrupted him. “Do you know where my father might be?”
    Italo glanced furtively at the windows of the house and then, in a low, conspiratorial tone, answered, “At this time of day, he’s at the recreation center . . .”
    Margherita gave him a probing look. “At the recreation center?”
    Since when has there been a recreation center in this town?
    â€œWell, that’s what we call it now,” Italo replied. “They’ve renovated it. I guess ‘senior center’ didn’t sound quite right.”
    Margherita looked at him incredulously.
    â€œPapa, at the senior center?” Oh, my God. Her father must have had a breakdown and she’d been too involved in her own problems to realize it.
    Italo’s roar of laughter caught her off guard.
    â€œHe’s fine, don’t worry! He’s the same as ever,” he said, winking.
    Margherita tried to puzzle it out. Knowing her father, he would never have let anyone drag him to the senior center, not even in chains, let alone voluntarily!
    â€œYou’re welcome to wait for him at my place, Margy.”
    â€œNo thanks, Italo, I’d like to surprise him.”
    The big man held one finger up to his lips: “You didn’t hear it from me, okay? Promise?”
    More and more puzzled, Margherita let her pets out of the car and into the garden, shut the gate, and set out to find her father.
    What she remembered as being the senior center was located in the new part of Roccafitta. To get there, Margherita had to cross the narrow road that ringed the town, with its shops and dark cellars that smelled of wine, onions, and cheese. The sun was starting to set behind the surrounding hills in a blaze of purple and orange tones. Margherita leaned against the wall of one of the houses and closed her eyes. The stones exuded all the warmth that they had captured during the day, and her heart was filled with a sense of peace. Rome, Francesco, Meg—everything seemed so far away, hazy, shrouded in a thick fog that absorbed the disappointment and bitterness she had been feeling. She felt rejuvenated, bursting with a newfound energy that flowed through her along with the light, the warmth, the sounds, and the scents that surrounded her. She would start over—from right there, from that place that belonged to her and that she belonged to, from her roots, from herself. She thought about her father and longed for him to hold her in his arms, console her, the way he had when she was a little girl whenever her mother scolded her for some mischief she’d gotten into. She moved away from the warm stone and continued to walk on to her destination.
    The old sign that said SENIOR CENTER had been replaced by a brand-new plate with the words RECREATION CENTER etched on it.
    Margherita opened the door.
    The heartrending melodies of Astor Piazzolla burst through the air. Cautiously, Margherita peered inside. Before her was a big room with dim lighting, where