There was no sunlight that day, and flowers with banners naming the giver had no aroma. The Godfather theme music played in Maria's head while a cast of characters, like sepia photos in her mother's album, stepped off the pages before her. As oldest granddaughter of the deceased Salvatore, she had helped by seeing to the funeral details. She pushed past her own sadness even as the memory of his voice still called. Warmly she greeted the Sicilians, whose bent for pasta was apparent, and who came dressed for the occasion in their finest black; faces properly grim with lots of tears and hugging.