Jesse led her down a narrow side street, straight to a gelateria. He ordered hazelnut and she ordered raspberry. Over her objections, he paid from his pocketful of coins. They sank down on the stone steps in front of yet another church and sat for a while in silence, both of them licking around the edges of their cones to keep rivers of melting gelato from streaking down their arms.
“Oh my God,” Lucy said when her body temperature had cooled back to something like normal. “I’m starting to feel human again.” She looked around. “Where are we, exactly?”
“I’m not sure, but we were just in Piazza della Repubblica.” Jesse pointed back toward the square. “Were you looking for the Bertolini? When you bumped into me?”
“Not exactly. I was just… wandering. Without a map. Or a destination.”
Jesse nodded, as though this were the most normal activity in the world.
Lucy found herself wanting to tell him her whole life story: how she’d given up on acting and this trip was her consolation prize, and how things had been going so terribly wrong with Charlene lately. “My trip’s almost over,” she said instead. “I wanted my time in Florence to be special. I mean, I love it here; I really do. But all I seem to be doing is wandering around in circles.”
“Almost,” Jesse said.
Lucy looked at him, perplexed.
“Your trip is almost over. Which means there’s still time.” He nudged her arm with his elbow. “What would you like to see?”
Lucy remembered the list she’d made and left behind, folded in her guidebook. “The Duomo.” Again and again, she’d glimpsed the cathedral—the famous one in all the photos of Florence—its grand red dome appearing at the ends of streets, impressive even from a distance. She wanted more than anything to see it up close, to climb up to its roof and look out over the city. “But Charlene says the line’s super long.”
“So?” Jesse asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got nothing but time.”
Lucy followed Jesse on a winding tour through the streets of Florence to the Piazza del Duomo, where the cathedral rose abruptly into the air before them, enormous and ornate as a wedding cake, its white exterior frosted with pink and green. They wandered along its outer walls, weaving through the crowd to the end of the line. Within seconds, a batch of tourists glommed on, and soon the line behind them snaked out of sight. Nearby, a street artist drew a portrait of two little blond boys, who wriggled and bounced despite their parents exhorting them to stand still. A bicyclist rang his bell and cut through the piazza, scattering pedestrians and pigeons.
“It will be worth the wait,” Jesse said, unstrapping the gig bag from his shoulder and setting it down beside his feet.
“You’ve done this before?” Lucy shaded her eyes with her hand to see him better in the sharp sunlight.
Jesse nodded. “The first thing I do when I’m in a new city is climb to the highest point. To get a sense of where I’m at.” His slight New Jersey accent reminded Lucy of home.
“How long have you been traveling?” she asked.
“Just over a year.” Jesse lowered himself to the pavement, and Lucy followed suit.
“A year,” she repeated, trying to fathom such a thing. “Has it been amazing?”
“Mostly.”
Lucy waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she tried to draw him out. “Where have you been so far?”
“I flew into Amsterdam and bummed around there for a while. Prague, Berlin, Munich, Vienna. But then I got to Rome and fell in love.”
“In love?” Lucy asked. “Who with?”
“Italy,” Jesse said. “I decided I had to stay. I found a job in a hostel in Verona. On my days off, I would hop a train and see someplace new. Then I moved on to Florence, and here we are.”
Lucy hugged her knees. “That sounds so wonderful. Where will you go next?”
Jesse shrugged.
“When will you go home?”
He thought a moment before speaking. “I don’t have plans.”
No plans? Lucy thought. The idea struck her as peculiar—how could a person not have plans?—but also enticing. Though the Jersey Shore wasn’t all that far from her hometown, in some ways he was the most exotic person she’d ever spoken to.
The line into the Duomo seemed to be moving pretty quickly; every so often she and Jesse inched forward. When they ran out of things to say to each other, he drummed on his knees, humming softly to himself, as though any minute without music was a wasted minute. Somehow the silence felt more companionable than awkward. When he wasn’t looking in her direction, she stole a closer look at his strong nose, his full lips, his long and graceful hands. When she felt his gaze returning to her, she glanced away. Lucy had always been a little shy and clumsy around boys she found attractive. You’d think she would know how to fake confidence with guys in real life the way she could onstage, but no; offstage she blushed and fumbled and could never manage to be anything other than herself.
But something about Jesse made her feel at ease. When she dared to look at him again, she caught him watching her. Then she couldn’t help smiling, and he grinned back, bashful in a way good-looking guys usually aren’t. Wordlessly, he held out his half-full bottle of San Pellegrino, and Lucy, who had drained her own water a while back, accepted it gratefully.
Before long, they entered the dimly lit basilica. The climb to the roof was steep, the circular stairway becoming increasingly narrow the higher they climbed, the air stuffy to the point of claustrophobia. Lucy counted the steps as she climbed, but lost track at 286. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another step, she and Jesse reached the top. Gasping for air, Lucy stepped out onto the observation deck and was overcome by a mixture of dizziness and joy. The building’s red-tiled dome curved steeply away beneath her feet, the city streets far and tiny below. Lucy clutched the low metal fence that stood between her and certain death, looking down at the swarm of tiny tourists in the piazza.
“Not bad, right?” Jesse asked, the corners of his lips turned up in a mischievous smile.
“I can’t believe I almost missed this.”
From where Lucy stood, she could see all of Florence—its labyrinth of red-tiled roofs stretching out in all directions and, beyond that, a carpet of rolling fields, and still farther, the pale blue hills of Tuscany meeting the bright sky. A crisp breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders, whipping it into her face. Lucy released her death grip on the fence to dig out her camera, though she knew no picture would capture the sweep and the beauty of what she was seeing. Then she let Jesse take her picture, posed in front of that breathtaking landscape.
“You ready to brave the stairs again?” Jesse hoisted his gig bag to his shoulder.
But Lucy wasn’t ready. They lingered a while longer, drinking in the view, before starting back downstairs to solid earth.
Back at the hostel, Lucy found Charlene sitting cross-legged in a chair by the window. A paperback lay unread on the table beside her as though she’d been watching the door, waiting for Lucy to come through it.
She exhaled sharply at the sight of Lucy. “Oh my God. Where have you been? I was just about to call your parents and break the news that I’d lost you.”
Lucy, who’d been dreading this moment, stood awkwardly in the doorway with no idea what to say.
“I waited in front of Santa Croce for an hour,” Charlene said. “I can’t believe you blew me off like that.”
“I blew you off?” Lucy stepped in and shut the door behind her, a little too hard. “You left me in the dust.”
“You knew where I was going.” Charlene sounded exasperated. “Didn’t you even think to come find me?”
“You took the map with you.” Lucy slipped her money pouch from around her neck and dropped it onto the bed. “Besides, maybe I didn’t feel like chasing you down the street.”
Apparently unable to come up with a retort, Charlene reached for her book and opened it in front of her face.
“I’m going to ta
ke a shower.” Feeling as though she’d won that last round, Lucy grabbed a towel and a change of clothes, then locked herself in the bathroom, letting the water wash away the city dust and sweat.
When she came back out, Charlene hadn’t moved. “You’re right,” she told Lucy in a small, clenched voice. “I shouldn’t have left you like that.”
Lucy unwrapped the towel from her hair and slung it over the windowsill to dry, all the while trying to come up with a response. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said, matching her tone to Charlene’s. “I had an okay day without you.” In fact, the day had turned out much better than okay, but she didn’t feel like letting Charlene off the hook just yet.
To Lucy’s surprise, Charlene dropped the paperback and burst into tears. Alarmed, Lucy ran to her side. She’d never seen her friend cry before. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Charlene buried her face in her hands and sniffed, the tear storm gone as quickly as it had rolled in. “It’s nothing,” she said, then dug in her bag for the pack of tissues she always kept handy.
Lucy sat down on the edge of the bed. “I can see it’s something.”
Charlene blew her nose. “I don’t mean to be so horrible to you,” she said in a small voice. “You’ve been so nice, taking me on this trip. Putting up with my moods.” She pulled out another tissue and meticulously wiped her eyes. “Even offering to let me go off to Mittenwald with Simon.”
“Is he why you’re so upset?” Lucy asked, pretty sure that she knew the answer.
But Charlene pursed her lips. “No,” she said. “That was no big deal.”
“You know, it’s still not too late,” Lucy said. “You’ve got his cell-phone number, right? You could catch up with him at his friends’ house, and then meet me in Rome for our flight out.”
“Of course it’s too late. How pathetic would it look if I chased him all the way to Germany?”
“He invited you,” Lucy insisted. “You wouldn’t look pathetic.”
“I’d feel pathetic.” Charlene gathered up her tissues and crumpled them in her hand. “Besides, by now he’s probably moved on to some other girl.”
“I doubt it,” Lucy told her. “He really seemed to like you.”
“It was just a fling, and now it’s over.” Charlene crossed the room to where the wastebasket stood and dropped her tissues in. “Slam dunk,” she said, laughing a little too noisily for the occasion. Then she looked over at Lucy. “Oh, well. Thanks for listening. You’re great, you know that?”
Was the conversation really over? Lucy watched as Charlene bustled around the room, setting out a change of clothes. “I’m tired of wearing the same five shirts,” Charlene declared. She held one up to her nose. “No matter how hard I scrub, nothing smells clean.” Then she looked over at Lucy. “Your hair’s drying all crazy.”
Though nothing between them seemed truly settled, Lucy got up to examine herself in the mirror. The sight of her disheveled hair brought back the memory of the wind whipping it as she stood beside Jesse on top of the Duomo. She sighed happily and reached for a hair elastic.
“We’ll go someplace fun tonight,” Charlene said. “To make up for what a pain in the ass I’ve been today.”
Feeling generous, Lucy turned back to Charlene. “You’ve been fine,” she told her friend. “No worries, okay?”
They spent the evening popping in and out of boutiques on the Via de’ Tornabuoni, trying on clothes they couldn’t afford and spraying themselves with perfume testers. Charlene’s good mood lasted through dinner, a shared pizza at a nice outdoor café in Piazza Santo Spirito. Still, Lucy answered warily when Charlene asked where she’d gone that morning. Lucy described wandering around in Piazza della Repubblica, taking pictures of the carousel and the children playing in the square. She told Charlene about the view from the top of the Duomo—how breathtaking it had been. But she didn’t mention Jesse. She was careful to say I when it would have been more honest to say we. And when Charlene apologized again for leaving Lucy to wander around all by herself, Lucy didn’t correct her.
Over dessert—panna cotta with blueberry sauce—Lucy wondered why she was keeping Jesse a secret. There was nothing all that unusual about spending the day with him, was there? You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. It’s no big deal. Just tell her. She won’t care. More than once she opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Charlene finally said. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Lucy pushed away her plate with its last half bite of dessert. “I’m just glad we’re friends again.”
Charlene leaned back in her chair, looking more relaxed than she had in days. “We never weren’t friends,” she said, patting down a single strand of golden hair that had gone astray.
V
The next morning, Lucy looked around the Bertolini’s small, sunlit dining room to see if Jesse was on duty. A woman in a white smock was cleaning the tables and refilling the serving trays. Equal parts disappointed and relieved, Lucy sat down beside Charlene. She was midway through her second mug of coffee when she felt a presence just behind her.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said.
Lucy’s stomach did a flip-flop. She turned in her chair to find Jesse smiling down at her. Across the table, Charlene blinked up at Jesse as if trying to place him.
“Hey.” Lucy patted the empty chair beside her.
“I can’t. I’m working,” Jesse said. “But I get off at noon. What’s your plan for the day?”
Lucy glanced over at Charlene again and then looked away, flustered. “We were just talking about that,” she said. “We might go see the Boboli Gardens this morning, then maybe we’ll visit the Mercato Centrale.”
“The Boboli’s one of my favorites,” Jesse said. “Great place for a picnic. Maybe I could meet up with you there. After that, we could check out the market together. How does that sound?”
Lucy could feel a smile spread across her face. “Perfect.” She dared another look at Charlene. “As long as you don’t mind.”
Charlene paused a heartbeat too long before replying. “Sure. Of course.” When Jesse was barely out of earshot, she asked, “What was that about? Just yesterday you said he was the rudest person you’d ever met.”
“Shhh!” Lucy checked over her shoulder to make sure Jesse hadn’t heard. “That was two days ago. Anyway, I was wrong. He’s nice, actually. If you just give him a chance.”
Charlene made a face.
“He is! I bumped into him yesterday. He helped me get back to the Bertolini.” Aware that she was leaving out the part about spending half the day with Jesse, Lucy tried changing the subject. “You want some more fruit? We could smuggle it out in our pockets for later.”
“And now we’re going to hang out with him all day?” Charlene asked.
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“Of course I had to. You put me on the spot. I wasn’t going to say no right to his face.” Charlene frowned at her empty plate. “Despite how rude he was to us the other day.”
“I think we misread him,” Lucy said. “He had his earbuds in, remember? Maybe he couldn’t really hear us.…”
“Ohmygosh.” Charlene stared at Lucy. “You like him.”
Lucy looked around again to make sure nobody was listening. “I do,” she hissed. “So what?”
Charlene didn’t answer.
“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” Lucy continued.
“It’s not a problem,” Charlene said. “No problem at all.” Then she stood abruptly and walked away.
Lucy followed her out to the lobby and up the staircase. “Good,” she said, a little louder than she meant to. “I’m glad we agree. It’s not a problem.”
“There’s no reason you shouldn’t hang out with someone you like,” Charlene said over her shoulder.
“Right,” Lucy said again. “So why are you acting all mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.” Charlene fumbled
her key in the lock, swearing softly. She flung the door open so hard it banged against the wall. “What makes you think I’m mad?”
When Jesse turned up at the Boboli Gardens—carrying grocery bags, a blanket, and his guitar—Lucy was tremendously relieved to see him. By the time they’d left the Bertolini, Charlene had calmed down. In fact, she was working hard to be friendly and nice, walking extra slowly so Lucy didn’t have to hurry to keep up, and pointing out shoes and dresses Lucy might like in the store windows they passed. All of which made Lucy feel like she had to be super polite, too. Before long, her cheeks started to hurt from all the fake smiling she was doing.
But Charlene’s mood soured when she learned that entry to the Boboli Gardens wasn’t free. Though she handed over ten euros to the guard, Lucy could tell she was miffed. They wandered past the garden’s statues and fountains without saying much of anything to each other.
So Jesse—with his hair ruffled from the walk across town—was a welcome sight, to Lucy at least. “You brought your guitar,” she observed, taking one of the bags from him.
“Everywhere I go,” he said. “Let me show you my favorite spot for a picnic.” He led them along a winding path to a shady spot in a grove of pine trees, spread his blanket among the fragrant needles, and motioned for them to sit. Then he unpacked the grocery bags, laying out soft cheese, crusty bread, artichoke hearts, apricots, and prosciutto.
“How much do we owe you?” Charlene reached for her money belt.
“My treat.” Jesse joined them on the blanket. “Here.” He handed a Swiss Army knife to Charlene, who looked at him blankly. “To spread the cheese,” he said. “You first.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Charlene took the knife gingerly, as though it might have germs, and Lucy shot Jesse a quick apologetic look. He wasn’t smiling, but she was pretty sure she saw a sparkle in his eyes.
Luckily, Charlene seemed not to notice. While they ate, she asked Jesse the usual questions—how long he’d been traveling, where he’d been so far, when he would fly back to the States.
Love, Lucy Page 4
