My recipe

“Ma, this is Agnes.”

“Don’t you look pretty. Let me wash my hands and I’ll come over to say hello. You sit down,” Mrs. Cassata said. The older woman elbowed her way past her husband cleaning out the fish guts, straight to the sink. Agnes sat down and placed her hands on the table. It felt like an ordinary table, didn’t it? It didn’t smell, did it, not even of fish?

Angelo displayed the day’s catch to his wife. “Cristina, look at the pesci. We’ll be having shad for dinner tonight.” He gave his wife a juicy kiss. She laughed and skirted away.

“Scoot away, Angelo, you’re all blood. Pop, I thought you were fishing on the Schuylkill. Aren’t the shad usually in the Delaware?”

“We changed our minds, principessa. Launched the little boat from the Jersey side.”

“Hah,” Cristina joked. “What recipe should I pull out for Camden fish?”

Mrs. Cassata dried her hands and came over to Agnes. She looked her in the eye, gave her a rock-hard handshake, and offered a warm smile. “Cristina’s told us all about you, all that beautiful red hair. You’re the girl who reads just like our little bambina. Would you like to have some wine? We were going to wait for the boys to clean the fish, but what’s the point in ever waiting for a man?”