Think Twice

She sped along, thinking of her parents, John and Vilna Co

She had grown up feeling apart from them, even before she ever heard the word “adoption.” She knew she didn’t look like them; she was blond and they were both dark-haired, and she surpassed them in height as early as middle school. The biggest difference was temperament; she was big, loud, and wanted everything, and they were small, meek, and wanted nothing. But every time she had asked them if she was adopted, they’d denied it, and even now, she wasn’t angry that they lied, just that they were so bad at it. And when they’d died together a few years ago, in a car accident with a drunk driver, she went to their funeral and could barely squeeze out a tear.

She reached into the messenger bag, fumbled around for a Kleenex, spit on it, and wiped off her makeup. Then she lowered the window to ruin her blow-dry, and by the time she got to Philly, her hair was as curly as Be

“Hi, I’m Be

She cut the ignition, grabbed her cloth bag and Be

She stiffened as the dog lifted its head from its paws, got to his feet, and walked slowly toward her. His toenails clicked on the hardwood floor. His head hung low. His tail wasn’t wagging, and he didn’t look happy. The dog knew she wasn’t Be

And in the next second, he started to growl.

Chapter Four

Mary DiNunzio was supposed to go down the shore for the weekend, but she was dying to meet her mysterious cousin, a widow named Fiorella Bucatina, in visiting from Italy. Everybody had crowded into her parents’ kitchen, stuffing it like a Marx Brothers stateroom, if the Marx Brothers were Italian-American. No matter how many people came over for di

The kitchen was humid because Mary’s parents didn’t believe in air conditioners, microwaves, or anything invented after the demise of the Latin Mass. An ancient coffeepot percolated on the stove near photographs of the Holy Trinity-Sinatra, JFK, and Pope John-and a cast-iron switchplate held laminated Mass cards and split fronds of palm. The DiNunzios owned the Kitchen That Time Forgot, and Mary wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fresh basil, frying meatballs, and locatelli scented the air, and Tony Be

Suddenly there was a noise, and everybody turned at the sound of footsteps coming downstairs. Mary couldn’t help but feel a tingle of anticipation. “Ma,” she said, “is that Fiorella, queen of the witches?”

“Basta!” Her mother’s brown eyes flared behind her thick trifocals. “No make fun. Do

“Not stronger than you, Ma.” Mary didn’t like her mother thinking that her superpowers were inferior.

“Sì, sì, yes. Her husband, he had the cancer. Do

“But he died, didn’t he?”

“Sì, a truck, it hit him.”

“VEET, I’M SO HUNGRY!” her father shouted, his hearing aid a plastic parenthesis behind his ear. He was dressed for the special occasion in his white short-sleeved shirt and baggy dark trousers. “WHY’S SHE TAKIN’ SO LONG?”

“Shhhh, Matty!” her mother said, brandishing her spoon like a lethal weapon.

“I’ve never met a witch queen,” Judy whispered.

“SHE’S NOT A WITCH QUEEN,” Mary and her father replied in unison, but only one of them was loud enough to be heard. A union tilesetter his working life, her father didn’t share her mother’s folkloric beliefs, but he loved her enough to tolerate them. Together a billion years, Mary’s parents were the Chang and Eng of married couples.

“Think she’ll look like Strega No

“No doubt.” Mary smiled. “I wish Be

Judy laughed. “She’s probably still at work. Why don’t we call her? She might like a nice home-cooked meal.”

“Nah, she’s too busy. She wouldn’t want to come.”

“Maria, shhh!” her mother hissed. She’d had her hair done at the corner beauty parlor, where they teased it into a stormcloud to cover her bald spot. She patted it into place as Fiorella Bucatina appeared in the doorway and struck a pose.

The sight of her silenced all the chatter.

Chapter Five

Be

Be

Pleased to meet you. I’m your twin.

Be