Later that evening, Marco and Serena were on the deck of their hillside apartment overlooking La Spezia’s harbor, sipping chilled Sciacchetrà from Cinque Terre after dinner while their children paddled in the little pool next to Serena’s herb garden. Marco had given her Gianni’s note and told her about the stressful conversation while Davide was throwing a temper tantrum.
Serena studied the note as Marco gazed at the fiery orange sun ball descending across the azure Ligurian Sea.
Sparrows and other songbirds were swirling overhead, settling in the eucalyptus trees and oleander bushes as the evening air cooled and crickets chirped in the garden. It was a peaceful end of a hot, humid summer day.
“That poor family,” Serena said, laying down the note. “Every day they have a new crisis. It grieves me. I don’t know what to say. They have so many problems . . . poor little Davide; I think he’s autistic or has Asperger’s syndrome. How are they going to handle that as he grows up? Poor Anita seems lost; all her parents’ attention goes to Davide. She needs more affection; she seems needy. Betta is overwhelmed, trying to be a nurse, mother, and wife, with little support from Gianni. Michele’s weekend visits all end in disaster, with the children crying, Betta and Gianni arguing, and Michele scowling and angry. He can be so mean. Do you know what he called Betta one night when he was leaving? He called her ‘brutta puttana.’ The nerve of that dreadful boy! I don’t see how Betta can put up with all the chaos.”
“What can we do?” Marco said. “I’ve given them money. We see them once a month . . . what else is there? I feel hopeless. My heart aches for Betta . . . and the children.”
Serena changed the subject. “What kind of trouble is Gianni worried about? Is it serious, something legal, or just family problems? Their marriage is in trouble; we know that. Is there something else?”
“It probably is serious,” Marco said with a sigh. “But I don’t think he wants to talk about their marriage. God, I hope he’s not losing his job. What a disaster that would be.”
Serena pressed her lips together and then sighed. “Could be. . . . Poor Betta.”