The Godfather returns

The women had of course been doing dishes all day. Francesca was looking at ten minutes’ worth of plates, knives, stemware, serving bowls, and baby bottles. A jazz station played on a small console radio Kathy had found somewhere. On a creaking wooden chair in the corner, Zia Angelina snored. The twins were otherwise alone together. “Where’s Grandma?” Francesca said.

“Mass. She and Aunt Kay just left.”

“Twice? You’re kidding me.”

“Go look. Car’s gone.” Kathy bent her head toward Angelina. “Thank God she snores,” Kathy said. “Otherwise we’d have to be checking her all the time to see if she was dead. Don’t look at me like that. She’s deaf on top of her no English.”

“How much you want to bet she can understand more than she lets on?”

“Oh, you mean like Bee-Boy?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think everyone else is so blind-”

“I don’t think everyone is so anything.”

“-but you’re the blind one. That snotty little good ol’ boy in there, asleep in Grandpa’s office-that’s some nerve, don’t you think? Can’t you see he’s just using you?”

“Using me?” Francesca said. “What are you, back in high school? I took him in there.”

“What are you, the Slut Princess of Tallahassee?” Her glasses were half fogged from the steam from the tap, but she kept them on.

“You’ve lost your mind. It’s sad, actually. I feel sorry for you.” Francesca held up a fish-shaped porcelain platter and arched her eyebrows.

“No idea,” Kathy said, “just stack it with that stuff under the phone there. Can’t you see Billy’s just here to experience a gen-u-ine Mafia Christmas? To him, we’re a bunch of dirty Guineas. Something for him to laugh about over highballs at the yacht club with Skip and Miffie, the year he saw real dago gangsters with tommy guns in their violin cases.”

Anthony Corleone had brought his violin all the way from Nevada just to play “Silent Night” for them-not well, but it was sweet. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.”

Kathy clanked a wineglass against the faucet, and it shattered. She didn’t even curse. She was cut. It bled like mad at first but was really nothing. They cleaned it up, together, without saying a word. Francesca got her a bandage.

Kathy heaved a sigh, met her sister’s eyes, and said something in a voice so small Francesca had to ask her to repeat it. “I said,” Kathy whispered, “that it’s all true.”

“What’s all true?”

Kathy rinsed the scum from the sink and told Francesca to get her coat. They walked to the farthest corner of the yard, concealed behind a floodlight, and Kathy-an old joke they’d each done dozens of times-lit two cigarettes at once, in the ma

“To what?”

Kathy stood with her hand on her hip and blew a stream of smoke away from the light. “Do you know how long it takes to have someone declared legally dead? Do you know how long it takes to get an a

“A couple months, I guess.”

“You guess wrong, little sister.” Kathy was four minutes older. “Longer. That’s how it started.” When Aunt Co

“Oh, come on,” Francesca said. “Is that all? A donation to some judge’s campaign fund, another to the Knights of Columbus, and everything gets sped up. It’s the way of the world.”

Kathy shook her head. She looked away from her sister, into the darkness. “You don’t get it. She’s not getting an a

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Uncle Mike and everyone he controls.”

“You’re a retard,” Francesca said. “There was never even a funeral for Uncle Carlo.”

“There’s a death certificate on file,” Kathy said. “I went to the courthouse and found it.”

“I bet the New York phone book has a dozen people named Carlo Rizzi.”

Kathy stood in the darkness, smoking, shaking her head. “The human eye is utterly passive,” she said, obviously quoting some professor or textbook. “Only the brain can see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kathy didn’t answer. She finished her cigarette, lit two more, and started again. One Sunday, she’d met Aunt Co

Francesca burst out laughing.

Kathy’s eyes looked lifeless. “Co

“Aunt Co

“Just listen,” Kathy said. “Okay?”

Francesca didn’t answer.

“Pop’s bodyguards were on the scene right after he was killed, and they took his body to an undertaker who owed a favor to Grandpa Vito. Nothing about it ever got into the newspapers. Some cops took bribes to write the whole thing up as an accident.”

“Pop didn’t have bodyguards. No one-” She was going to say killed Pop but couldn’t.

Kathy tossed away her cigarette butt. “Come on. You don’t remember the bodyguards?”

“I know what you’re thinking about, but those were guys from his company. Importers.”

Kathy bit her lower lip. “Do you honestly think I’d joke about this?”

“I don’t think you’re joking. I just think you’re wrong.”

“This is hard,” Kathy said. “Just hear me out.”

Francesca, frowning, gave her an after-you gesture.

“All right,” Kathy said. “So then Aunt Co

“Stop it.”

“-and she stayed with him for another seven years. She fucked him for another-”

“That’s enough.”

“-seven years, and she had babies with that monster. But it’s so, so, so much bigger than even that. Co

“First of all,” Francesca said, “Aunt Kay’s not-”

Again, the hand. Not Kay, Kathy said. The other one, Apollonia, his first wife, in Sicily, about whom Kay knows nothing. She was blown to kingdom come with a car bomb.

Apollonia? Francesca thought. Car bomb? Kathy had enough imagination to invent things that wild, but Aunt Co