The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. Read Online Free

Passini is there with his cocker spaniel.
    “Ah, come stai, Gianna?”
    “Bene, grazie, e tu?” I tell him I’m well and ask how he is. That’s about as far as I can go on the Italian that Nonna’s taught me, though. Mr. Passini understands.
    “Just fine. Your grandmother hasn’t found you yet?”
    “We thought she’d be here.”
    “No, we were out of eggplant, so I sent her to Hassan.” He points to the next row of vegetable sellers, past a display of cornstalks and pumpkins.
    “Thanks.” Ian snaps a photo of Mr. Passini waving.
    “Grazie!” I try to grab the phone from Ian, but he’s too quick. “Quit it! Mom’s going to be mad.” He follows me across the aisle.
    “But I like taking pictures, so I can remember important stuff.” He holds the phone up to get a shot of some rutabagas.
    Hassan, it turns out, still has eggplant and tells us Nonna left with one of them about fifteen minutes ago. She should have met us at the bakery.
    Ian and I walk up and down the aisles looking for Nonna until we end up in a big booth bursting with pumpkins. She’s not here either, so we start up the last row of vendors.
    My heart’s pumping faster, and my stomach feels all tight. What if she fell? What if it’s her hip again, or worse? I look at the cell phone in Ian’s hand and wish Nonna had one that we could call.
    “Let’s go find Mom and Dad,” I decide, pulling him away from a plate of pineapple samples. A car horn blasts on the street next to us and makes me jump. When I look, I see an old lady scurrying out of the way of a delivery truck. A man in a green wool hat shouts something in another language from the driver’s window. When the truck passes, the woman is standing at the side of the street. She looks scared and confused. Wisps of gray hair drift out from under her scarf, and one of her shoes is untied. She looks down the alley one way and then looks up toward the bakery, like she can’t remember where she is or where she’s supposed to be. Her jacket hangs over one arm. In her other arm, she’s cradling an eggplant.
    “Nonna!” Ian pulls away from me and runs across the street without checking for cars. When I catch up, Nonna is already shaking her finger at him, warning about city traffic.
    “What happened?” I ask her. She still looks confused, and somehow, it makes me a little angry. I want her to tie her shoe and fix her hair.
    “I picked up the eggplant and then I couldn’t find my car,” she says, looking toward the parking lot. “I thought I parked on the street, but maybe not.”
    “Nonna, we drove the van, and we parked in the lot. You were supposed to meet us at the bakery. Remember?” How could she have forgotten the bakery?
    My heart is still thumping from our search through the market, and here she is wandering around with her eggplant. How could she not remember to show up at the bakery?
    “Of course.” Nonna’s mouth forms a tight grin, and she fakes knocking herself on the head. “Now I remember.” But I’m not sure I believe her.
    Mom and Dad walk up with long French bread in a paper bag and a bakery box tied with blue ribbon. “There you are, Mom. Are we all set now?” she asks Nonna.
    “She got lost, Mom.” I try to tell her about Hassan and the delivery truck, but she just puts her hand on Nonna’s shoulder. Dad takes the eggplant from her and holds her elbow when we step up on the curb.
    “It is awfully busy here today.” Mom pats Nonna’s shoulder again. “It’s tough to find anyone in this crowd.”
    “Hey, look,” Dad says, holding up Nonna’s eggplant so the stem sticks out like a nose. Above it are two dents like squinting eyes. “Doesn’t this sort of look like Mr. Passini?” Dad wiggles the eggplant so it looks like it’s talking.
    “Hello, Gianna,” Mr. Eggplant-Passini says as Dad bobs his head up and down. “You’re looking lovely today. Are you having me with olive oil or marinara sauce tonight?”
    Nonna shakes her head,