Chapter 14: Two Pink Lines

Our thirtieth anniversary was in June, and my children conspired against me. They rented the whole north lawn, and they put four hundred chairs on it, and they told me it was "a small dinner." Leo gave the toast. He's thirty-six now, and he stood up in front of everyone and said: "When I was five years old, a woman poisoned me because she wanted to prove I wasn't a Moretti." The lawn went silent. "I don't remember much of it," Leo said. "But I remember my mother on her knees, and I remember...