THAN ZIPS AND BUCKLES, JERKING HIS SHIRT closed. “Give us a minute,” he barks over his shoulder at his parents.

They obey frantically, almost falling over each other in a stampede to the door. “We’ll be right out here!” Marie calls, as if reminding us that they’ll be listening should Ethan and I decide to finish the deed. The door slams shut behind them.

“Forget to mention something?” Ethan bites out, buttoning his shirt with sharp, almost violent movements.

“No!” I snarl. “I didn’t know they were coming! They just moved!”

“Tell me about it,” Ethan growls. He won’t look at me. “I’m guessing you haven’t told them about us.”

Dang it! “No, I didn’t,” I answer, wincing.

“Well, this is just great,” he snaps. “Thanks, Luce. They weren’t going to approve under the best of circumstances. Now they think I’m a rapist.”

“Oh, Ethan, they do not,” I say, feeling the dangerous wriggle of laughter flopping around in my stomach.

His shirt is buttoned wrong, and seeing Ethan disheveled, he who’s usually so perfectly dressed, I feel a rush of tenderness. “Don’t worry, Eth. I’ll handle this.”

“Will you? That would be great, Lucy. Thank you so much.”

“This is not my fault,” I whisper. “I’m not your enemy here.” Ethan doesn’t seem to agree. “Now, are you ready? Can I let them in?” He glares in response.

Swallowing repeatedly, I open the door as if I’m letting in the Grim Reaper.

“Hi,” I say. My father-in-law, his expression as mad as Ethan’s, rubs his chest and doesn’t look at me. Message received, Gianni. I’m killing you. Fat tears drip from Marie’s face. “Come on in,” I say. Ah, jeepers. Their luggage is in the hall. A lot of luggage.

“Ethan, how could you?” Marie demands, pushing past me. “Shame on you! Your brother’s wife! And Lucy, I have to say, we’re stunned! Stunned!”

“We never expected this of you, Lucy,” Gianni growls.

“But you expected it of me?” Ethan suggests tightly.

“Well, yes! You’ve always wanted what your brother had!” Gianni shouts.

“For Christ’s sake, Dad!”

“It’s just not decent,” Marie sniffles.

“Okay, settle down, everyone, settle down,” I say. “Look. This is awkward for everyone, right?” Three sets of eyes glare at me, two brown, one Mediterranean blue. Even Jimmy seems to glare at me from our wedding picture. Marie sees my glance.

“In front of Jimmy, even!” she sobs, fumbling through her giant black purse for a hankie. “Ethan, we’re so disappointed!”

Ethan presses his fingertips hard against his forehead. My mother is giving me a brain tumor.

“Why don’t you sit down, Gianni, Marie?” I suggest. They obey, blatantly avoiding the couch where, moments before, Ethan had been defiling their dear little Lucy. “Eth, could you make some coffee? Guys, would you like something else? Wine, maybe?” I ask. “I have some almond pound cake I just made today.”

“I couldn’t eat,” Marie lies staunchly, clutching her purse against her stomach.

“I’ll cut a few slabs, just in case,” Ethan says, not very nicely. But he goes into the kitchen, and some of the tension leaves with him.

“I’m very sorry you had to walk in on that,” I say quietly, taking a seat on the, er, couch.

“Not as sorry as we are,” Gianni growls. From the kitchen comes the sound of a cupboard slamming.

I swallow again. “Well, first tell me what happened. Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming for a visit?”

Gianni sighs. “We’re not visiting. We’re back.”

I nearly choke. “Back?” I squeak.

“Arizona…it was so hot. So dry,” Marie says, frowning.

“Um, yes, it does have a bit of a reputation,” I murmur. “But by ‘back,’ what exactly do you mean?”

“We’re back!” Gianni practically yells. “That idiot Luciano, what does he know about anything? He’s running my restaurant into the ground! So yesterday, the ditzy broad who runs Valle de Muerte, she just happens to mention the waiting list to buy into the place, and I says to Marie, I says, ‘Marie, what are we doing here? We don’t belong out here with these dried-up cactus people!’ And the woman, she says she could sell our condo for ten grand more than we paid for it, and I says, ‘Do it, lady. We’re going home.’” He pauses for a second. “Besides, we missed the little guy.”

I hope Ethan heard that last little bit, but he’s slamming around in the kitchen with a vengeance.

“You could’ve called,” I say with a little smile. “Or knocked.”

“We thought you’d be sleeping, with the hours you keep!” Marie cries in her defense. “You gave us a key! Aren’t you happy to see us?” Her face oozes betrayal and a crushed heart.

“Well, uh, sure, I’m happy,” I stammer. “I’m very happy to see you! It’s just…well…you know. The circumstances.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Marie says with a little pout.

“And you sure did!” I reply, forcing a smile.

Gianni closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That Ethan. What did I do wrong? First, that schifoso milkshake. Now, he’s arrapato for his brother’s moglie.”

A crash comes from the kitchen.

“He’s not a bad person,” Marie whispers, reaching over to pat her husband’s arm.

“Okay, look. Um…you’re right. Ethan’s not a bad person,” I begin. Talk about damning with faint praise. “He’s a very good person. And you know, he’s been so wonderful to me since Jimmy died—”

“And now we know why,” Gianni snarls.

“No! It’s not like that. He…” I pause. “Look. I love you both. And you knew I was, um…trying to find someone.” I resist the urge to look at my wedding picture. “Is it such a stretch to think that Ethan would be—” A contender, I’m thinking, but Marie jumps in.

“The next best thing?” she suggests. Her face wrinkles with the onset of tears. “When you put it that way, maybe it does make sense.”

“Well, no, Marie, I’m not looking for another—”

Gianni snorts. “If you’re looking for another Jimmy, you’re not gonna find him in Ethan, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not looking for another Jimmy,” I say slowly, blinking at my father-in-law. “Ethan’s nothing like Jimmy.”

“Tell me about it!” Gianni shouts. “His whole job is to get people to stop eating! That’s a slap in my face, an insult to my life’s work.”

“Maybe people don’t like your life’s work as much as you think,” Ethan bites out from the kitchen doorway. He carries in a tray of coffee, cups and a plate of cake slices and slaps it down on the table. “Maybe a milkshake is a welcome change to overcooked pasta and leathery veal.”

“You’re an ungrateful little—”

“Okay! Stop!” I order. “Ethan. Your parents are upset, okay? Settle down.” He glares at me. I turn to Gianni, who also glares at me. “Gianni, please don’t say things you’ll regret later. Ethan’s your son, too.”

“Just not nearly as good as St. Jimmy,” Ethan snipes.

“Stop it,” I whisper. Ethan, all bristling anger and mis-buttoned shirt, sits next to me, deliberately close. I take a deep breath. “So.” I glance at Marie for a little solidarity, but she’s eyeing the pound cake. I push the plate closer to her, and she takes a piece. “A few weeks ago, Ethan and I—”

“Lucy and I are together,” Ethan interrupts. “You can have a problem with it—you already do, I gather—or you can accept it. Obviously, it would be easier if you thought I was good enough for her, but then again, that would negate your little Italian melodrama. Still, if you want to stay on good terms with your one surviving son, who happens to be the father of your only grandchild, you might want to mind your manners.”

“Watch how you talk to your mother,” Gianni growls.

“Ethan, you can’t blame us for being shocked,” Marie tuts. “We just found you doing God knows what with Jimmy’s wife.”

Ethan closes his eyes briefly, and I reach out without thinking and take his hand. He looks at me, his eyes unreadable.

“This is just…ah!” Gianni says, rubbing his chest with vigor. “Isn’t it against the law or something? A man can’t just…” He pauses, giving his son a condemning stare. “Can’t just take his brother’s wife.”

“She’s not anyone’s wife,” Ethan growls. “She’s a widow.”

“Your brother’s widow,” Marie adds.

“Thanks, Ma. I forgot.”

“Always with the sarcasm, you,” Gianni snarls. The muscle under Ethan’s eye ticks.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. “So let’s change the subject a little,” I say, since it’s clear no one is going to leave happy tonight. “You’ve come back to Rhode Island. What’s the plan?” I pause. “I’m guessing from the suitcases in the hall, you’d like to stay here.”

“Not if we’re not welcome,” Gianni grumbles.

“You’re welcome. Of course you are,” I assure them, my heart sinking even further.

“I’d be happy to put you up in a hotel,” Ethan offers.

“What would we do in a hotel?” Marie asks. “Hotels are for rich people. You might be rich, Ethan. We’re not rich. Hotels are for people with no family.”

“Then you’ll stay at my place,” Ethan orders, and I mentally thank him with all my heart. I love my in-laws, but God in heaven, I don’t want to live with them. And while Ethan probably feels that sentiment a million times more, they are his parents.

“You can stay here,” I whisper to him.

“Oh, so now you’re living in sin?” Gianni asks. “Nice, Ethan. At least Jimmy married her.”

A THOUSAND YEARS AND FIVE SLICES of pound cake later, the Mirabellis depart for Ethan’s apartment. “You guys go ahead,” Ethan says. “I need to talk to Lucy.”

“Sleep well,” I call to their backs.

“You, too, sweetheart,” Marie answers. “Thank you for the pound cake. It was just lovely.”

“We’re glad you’re back,” I say, knowing this will eventually be true.

“Leave the luggage, Dad,” Ethan says. “I’ll bring it up in ten minutes.”

Gianni gives him a baleful look and grabs the handle of the biggest bag and begins dragging it toward the elevator. I’d rather have another coronary than let you help me, whippersnapper.

The door finally closes behind them. Ethan picks up the cups and carries them into the kitchen, and I follow with the plate of pound cake (sneaking in a bite of the remaining piece, not wanting Ethan to know I’m starving, since it seems insensitive).

“Gosh, that was fun,” I say, hoping to get a smile from my buddy there. I don’t. “So,” I continue. “What’s it like to be arrapato for your brother’s moglie?

“Not funny, Lucy.” Ethan folds his arms and stares at me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, my figurative tail dropping between my legs.

“You said you were going to tell them,” he reminds me.

“I didn’t,” I answer.

“Yes. I got that.” His jaw looks like he’s grinding diamonds between his molars.

“Well, Ethan, I certainly wish I had,” I say with undeniable sincerity.

“So why didn’t you?” he asks, looking over my head to burn a hole in the wall.

“I…I don’t know.” I sag against the cool granite of the counter at my back.

“Then I’ll assume you didn’t tell them because you’re either a coward or you’re not sure we’ll work out,” he says evenly.

“Or both,” I suggest, wishing I had the kind of sense of humor that would disappear, rather than mushroom, during tense events.

He drags his eyes to mine. Funny how they can look as inviting as a warm cookie sometimes, as forbidding as granite at others. They’re definitely on the stony side now. “Have you told your family?” he asks.

“Well, I tried. Today, actually, at our meeting. But then Rose wanted to talk about her skin tags, and Mom brought up Botox…you know how it is.” He looks as if he doesn’t know how it is. Not at all. “I told Jorge, though,” I offer.

“You told your mute assistant. Anyone else?”

“Um…”

“I see.” His jaw is so tight I won’t be surprised if he spits out chunks of his own teeth.

“Ethan, why don’t we sit down and—”

“I’m fine standing, actually.”

“Okay.” I consider putting my hand on his arm, then reconsider. “Ethan, here’s the thing, and I know you don’t like to talk about it, but here it is.” He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m scared.”

“That’s clear, Lucy. When do you think you’ll get over that?” Then he seems to realize how harsh he sounds, because he looks down. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

I take a deep breath. “Ethan, look. When Jimmy died,” I say now, my voice near a whisper, “it changed me. I loved who I was back then, this dopey, happy bride, half of a couple. I loved thinking about the rest of my life. And when he hit that tree…”

Something flickers through Ethan’s eyes and he gives a half nod, asking me to continue.

“Ethan, you know—you know better than anyone—how hard it was to crawl back from that sloppy mess you used to scrape off the floor every weekend. I had to…I don’t know. Grow scar tissue over my heart, just so I could get through the days. And there have been so many days, Ethan.” My voice grows rough with tears, and I clear my throat.

“Lucy, I do know all this,” Ethan says. His voice is quiet, but still tight. “But you have to decide when you’re going to…deem me worthy or whatever.”

I swallow. Again. “You are worthy, Ethan. The thing is, when I lost Jimmy, I lost me, too.” I pause. “I’m just not sure if I can do that again. It’s not that I don’t…”

It’s not that I don’t love you. The words are obvious, if unspoken. “It’s not that I don’t care about you, Ethan. You know I do.”

He seems to know it’s the best I can do for now. His gaze drops to the floor.

“You said you’d be patient,” I whisper.

“I’m trying,” he says. “But I can’t wait forever, either.”

“I’m trying, too!” I blurt. “Can’t you see that? The whole thing on the couch just now, and on the sailboat…I’m trying, Ethan!”

He jams his fists in his pockets. “Well, thank you so much, Lucy. I’m sorry if it’s such a trial for you.”

“It’s not a trial! Please, Ethan. I’m doing this because I want to. But it’s hard. And it’s hard for your parents. Tonight they saw their dead son’s wife with someone else. Even if it was their other son, Eth. Put yourself in their shoes.”

The muscle under his eye jumps. He looks at me, waiting for me to say something else. But since everything I’ve said tonight seems to be wrong, I just reach out and press my hand over his heart.

And after a few beats, he puts his own hand over mine. “I’d better go upstairs,” he says finally. “Make sure my dad’s blood pressure has come down.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “See you tomorrow.”

“More than likely,” he says. Then he lets go of my hand and walks out, leaving me feeling like I’ve let him down, when all I’ve done is told the truth.