The Chocolatier

Chapter 1-3

Lizzie sat up, hugging her knees through black tights. She’d just come from theater practice and wore a leotard with a dance skirt topped with a black leather jacket. “Don’t you have anything in there that’ll razz their berries?”

“This isn’t a holiday,” Celina said, feeling a little dowdy in comparison. Still, she couldn’t help but smile through her sadness at Lizzie, imagining what it would be like to be that carefree age again. Actors, artists, musicians—Lizzie’s flat was a haven to free-thinkers who had different outlooks on life and unique ways of expressing themselves.

“You should at least try to have some fun after... Why, where I grew up, we had old-fashioned wakes that went on until sunrise. And the drama between all the kin was more than you can imagine.” As if struck by inspiration, Lizzie pushed off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Celina watched her rush out. Lizzie was like the younger sister she’d never had. Her friend had never known Tony or his extravagant laughter and generous smile, so Lizzie couldn’t possibly understand the depth of her loss.

Marge was the only one Celina could confide in, after all, Marge had liked Tony from the beginning when they’d met at La Petite Maison du Chocolat, but even a good friend grew tired of misery. Grief was a perpetual yoke to the past, and she was worn out, too.

Stepping out of her shoes and sliding an embroidered robe she’d bought in Chinatown over her slip, she padded down the hallway to check on Marco, who was being awfully quiet in his room. He loved to draw, and she had implored Tony to buy him art supplies for Christmas. His Santa Claus gift was a shiny bicycle, and on Christmas Day Tony had helped Marco onto the bike, trotting alongside him on the lane in front of their old home.

She still recalled everything about those last happy days. After basting the turkey, mashing the potatoes, and making individual chocolate pot de crème for their holiday supper, she’d changed into the emerald green silk dress Tony had surprised her with and stood in the doorway watching, just as she was now, never imagining it would be one of the last times she’d see the two of them together and full of joy.

Marco looked up from the small pine desk Tony had made for him. She crossed the room and peered over his shoulder. He’d been drawing the three of them again. Daddy was in every picture, and it broke her heart each time he showed her his artwork.

She paused, swallowing a sudden surge of emotion. Every day she pushed aside her feelings in an effort to function, superficially, like everyone else. “That’s really nice, honey.”

Sucking in his lower lip in doubt, he looked up at her. “Daddy’s eyes were blue, weren’t they?”

“Like yours.”

“I’m forgetting what he looked like.”

Another stab to the heart. She hugged Marco and rocked him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her neck. “You don’t have to have a picture to remember his love for you.”

Though visual mementos would have helped, that much she knew. How she wished she’d insisted on taking photos with Tony. But he’d always ducked away from cameras.

How could such a self-possessed man be so sensitive to photographs of himself? Tony’s scars were part of who he was, not what she saw when she looked at him.

“Get a load of these,” Lizzie hollered as she burst through the hallway. “And look who I found coming up the stairs.”

Celina kissed Marco’s cheek and released him to continue his drawing. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw Marge huffing toward her.

“I swear, that girl has enough energy for the two of us,” Marge said.

Pushing her wispy, gray-shot brown hair from her forehead, Marge plopped a weathered brown leather suitcase onto the bed and opened it. She still wore a dark blue cotton dress, her uniform at La Petite Maison du Chocolat, but she’d removed the crisp white apron.

“You might as well have this suitcase,” Marge said. “It needs to get out and travel, do what it’s meant to do. Lord knows I ain’t going anywhere any time soon.”

“Thank you,” Celina said, embracing the older woman who had been like a mother to her. “We’ll only be gone a couple of weeks.”

“Just bring me back something Italian, like a handsome man.” Marge sighed. “But chocolates will do.”

“Promise I will.”

Lizzie crowded into the small bedroom, and in her arms was a riot of colorful satins and silks. “The party has arrived.”

“Gracious,” Celina exclaimed. “What on earth is all this?

“The costume mistress was cleaning out the old costumes.” Lizzie flung a white feather boa into the air. “Get a load of these. Bound to be something here you can wear to liven things up. It’s Italy, after all.”

“Lizzie, I can’t possibly...” Celina began, but she had to admit some of the dresses were stunning.

A flaming red flapper dress, a sleek black dress with full, satin purple sleeves and a matching flounce, a summery cotton frock with a cheerful red poppy print, and a musketeer’s gold-trimmed jacket tumbled out of the pile of clothing. A mound of scarves fluttered onto the bed.

Marge fingered the frayed, tasseled edge of a silk jacquard scarf in shades of amethyst and emerald green. “This is lovely. It’s easily mended.”

“Perfect for her.” Lizzie tossed it around Celina’s shoulders. The fringe added drama, sweeping almost to the floor. “Voila!”

“That’s a showstopper,” Marge said, her eyes growing wide as Lizzie swept Celina’s hair high onto her head.

“You’re a star,” Lizzie said. “Start acting like one.”

“Listen to you. You’ll be a director in no time.” Glancing at herself in the mirror, Celina burst out laughing at the sight of herself in a Chinese robe and a scarf that could only be called theatrical.

Marge and Lizzie joined in, and soon the three friends were chuckling together.

It was the first time Celina could recall laughing since last New Year’s.

“I haven’t room in that suitcase for much,” she said as Lizzie folded a couple of garments and whipped the scarf from her neck. “Where would I wear that?”

“You could take the train and go sightseeing with Marco,” Marge said. “Italian women are very stylish.”

“The men, too,” Lizzie added, pursing her lips. “Maybe you’ll come home with a handsome fella.”

“I’ve got first dibs on the fella,” Marge said.

“Wow, you have to take this.” Lizzie reached into the closet for an emerald green silk dress.

“But not the boa.” Celina plucked the feathery mound from the open suitcase.

“Why, this color is beautiful,” Marge said, running her hand over the rich silk fabric with reverence. “You must take it. I’ll fold it for you.”

Celina grew quiet, watching as Marge carefully folded the dress Tony had given her, and she’d worn only that one day. She didn’t protest.

It’s what Tony would have wanted. He would have liked her wearing his last gift to her to meet his parents.

Or would he?

She couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that threaded through her, stretching her nerves taut with apprehension.