Here and Gone

Eleni

A week after Mama arrived, we walk along South Beach with our sandals in our hands, looking out over the water at the Verrazano.

“—and then Adriani said, ‘if you get another orange from that man, I’m going to nail them to his front door and let the streets run orange with the juices!’” Mama says.

I laugh so hard I actually have to stop walking. The sand burns my feet, but I don’t mind. Mama and I have spent nearly every day together since she arrived, and as much as she complains about Theia Adriani, she tells stories about her younger sister almost constantly.

“Theia Adriani should meet Tony,” I say when I get my breath back. “I think they’d either fall passionately in love or hate each other on sight.”

Mama smiles. “Tony is the one with the very stiff hair, yes? And those lovely eyes.”

I swallow down another burst of laughter and decide to tell everyone about the “stiff hair” comment later. “Yes, he is.”

She nods. “And he is the right hand. Capo supreme.”

“Caporegime,” I corre