Jesse didn’t reply.
Lucy nodded, feeling completely wrung out. “Let’s go now.” As they trudged back toward where the Vespa was parked, she couldn’t bring herself to make conversation. The woman had seemed to have everything—extreme beauty, a gorgeous boyfriend, a life in glamorous Florence—and a few minutes later she was lying on the pavement, unconscious, maybe even dead. Her boyfriend was probably on his way to jail.
On the ride back, Lucy clung to Jesse even harder than before. As he took corners, she bore down with her knees and arms to keep from flying off the scooter and into traffic. “Can we find out if she’s okay?” she asked when they’d climbed off the Vespa.
“I’ll ask around,” Jesse said. “And we can pick up a newspaper in the morning, see if there’s a story.”
Lucy nodded, her head heavy. It had been such a long, full, intense day. All she could think of was getting into bed.
But just before they entered the lobby, Jesse touched her arm. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” he said. “I want you to sing with me. On the street.” His words came out in a rush. “I’m not trying to convince you to, you know, change your life plan. I just think it would be fun to busk together.”
“I can’t,” Lucy said. “It’s a nice idea, but I’ve already promised Charlene and Ellen I would go on a day trip with them. Someplace with a view.” She struggled to remember the name. “I think it starts with an F.”
“Fiesole?”
“That sounds right.”
“How about the day after?” he asked.
“We’re leaving for Rome.”
“Already?” Was it her imagination, or did he look disappointed?
“Come with us to Fiesole.” The words tumbled from Lucy’s lips.
Jesse brightened. “Okay,” he said.
“It will be fun,” Lucy said. She followed him into the dimly lit lobby, hoping that maybe he would turn and kiss her good night. For a moment he drew just a little closer, his dark eyes dreamy, and it seemed that he might. But then he was thanking her for the day they’d spent together and she was insisting that she should be the one thanking him, and then she was taking the stairs up to her room on shaky legs and wondering how Charlene would take the news that Jesse was coming along for their grand finale in Fiesole.
But why shouldn’t Jesse come with us? she wondered as she let herself into the dark room. Too tired to change out of her clothes or even brush her teeth, Lucy crawled under the covers and fell asleep, into convoluted dreams. In the morning, though, she could remember only one: stepping out from behind a velvet curtain to find herself onstage, then looking down to realize she was utterly naked.
VIII
The orange bus to Fiesole was crowded, and the ride was more than a little tense. Of course, Charlene had been annoyed with Lucy for inviting Jesse along on their day trip. To make matters worse, Jesse’s morning shift didn’t end until eleven. When Lucy broke this news to her companions over breakfast, she saw them exchange a look.
“He can’t help it,” Lucy said, feeling defensive. “It’s his job.”
“Why does he need to come with us today?” Charlene asked with a wave of her butter knife. “He lives here. He can see Fiesole anytime he feels like it.”
“Fiesole is for lovers,” Ellen chimed in cryptically. The sunburn on her nose was peeling slightly, and today she had a straw hat on over her straw-colored hair.
“You two go on ahead. We’ll catch up,” Lucy said.
“Why don’t we three go ahead and have him catch up with us?” Charlene countered.
Lucy considered giving in just to keep the peace. But then she thought of how let down Jesse might feel. “I’d rather wait.” Her voice didn’t come out quite as strong as she intended.
“If you insist,” Charlene finally said.
After that, Lucy had picked at her breakfast, no longer hungry. I got my way, she thought as she half listened to Ellen’s lecture on Fiesole—the museum, the restaurants, the five-star hotel, the mind-blowing view. So why do I feel so terrible?
When Jesse had arrived in the lobby, Charlene had been less than gracious. “Look who’s here,” she flatly announced to his face. The whole walk to the station, she and Ellen had hurried ahead. When the number 7 bus arrived, Charlene jumped on first, snagged the last remaining bench, and patted the seat beside her for Ellen, leaving Lucy and Jesse to hang on to the overhead straps.
As the bus wound its way through the city’s outskirts, then uphill past rows of skinny cypress trees and high umbrella pines, Lucy felt uneasy. “I’m sorry for how she’s acting,” she told Jesse.
“Charlene?” Jesse grinned. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” Lucy said. But the uneasy feeling lingered. “Did you hear anything this morning? About that girl from last night?”
Jesse’s smile vanished. “I asked around,” he said. “And I checked the paper. Nothing. But, hey.” He stooped a little to meet her gaze. “That might be a good sign.”
“I guess we’ll never know.” Lucy looked away, out the window, at the Tuscan countryside—the distant hills, sun-glossed leaves tossing in the breeze, the brilliant cloudless sky. The world really is a beautiful place, she thought, still a little sad for the lovely, injured girl.
Jesse’s shoulder brushed hers. “We’re here now,” he said, and Lucy knew exactly what he meant. It was true; they were right there, together, at that pinpoint on the globe. The world would turn, the bus would move, and twenty-four hours later she would be on a train speeding away from him, but at least they had this moment.
Lucy managed a smile. “We are,” she said, liking the sound of the word we.
Fiesole was the last stop on the line. The bus let them out on the edge of a quiet square. The morning air was cool and fresh. Ellen pointed out the archaeological museum, a monastery, and a few quaint little shops, then gestured toward an outdoor café. “That restaurant is supposed to be amazing. It’s on my list of places to review.”
“Well, then,” Charlene said, “let’s go. It’s already almost lunchtime.” Lucy knew that last part was for her benefit.
“But we just got here,” Lucy objected.
“We could squeeze in a visit to the museum first,” Ellen said. “I’ve got free passes.”
“Sounds perfect,” Charlene said, and she and Ellen immediately took off across the square, toward the museum. Only when they reached the other side did they realize that Lucy hadn’t followed.
“Lucy,” Charlene called from across the street, “what’s wrong?”
Lucy searched for the words to explain. Spending even a minute inside a dusty museum was the last thing she felt like doing on a day like today, when Fiesole lay spread out all around her in the relentless sunshine. But it was more than that. She was tired of Ellen’s bossiness, and she didn’t like how rude Charlene had been to Jesse. But when she tried to explain all this, she grew flustered. Instead of answering, she bit her bottom lip and held her ground.
Charlene crossed the street to stand before Lucy, arms folded over her chest. Ellen followed at her heels.
“What is the matter with you?” Charlene glared down at Lucy.
“Nothing,” Lucy said. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Then why are you acting like this?” Charlene cast a quick glance at Jesse, a glance that said she wished he would go away so she could speak her mind. In response, Jesse took a step closer to Lucy’s side.
“The museum’s supposed to be fun,” Ellen said, her voice big and cheery. “And it’s not that big. We’ll be out in an hour.”
“Besides”—Charlene’s nostrils flared—“we were going to spend today together. You promised.”
Charlene was right. Lucy had promised. Even so, she couldn’t seem to make herself take a single step toward the museum. She wasn’t in the mood for paintings and pottery and the finger bones of medieval saints.
“I want to see the view,” she heard herself say.
Charlene spoke t
hrough clenched teeth. “You gave your word.”
“You go to the museum,” Lucy said with as much firmness as she could muster. “I’ll wait for you up there.” And she pointed toward the right side of the square, where a path led uphill to what had to be a scenic lookout. Before Charlene could say another word, Lucy started in that direction, arms pumping, Jesse following along.
Only after they’d turned a corner and were out of Charlene’s sight did Lucy slow her pace. “It’s true,” she admitted, already winded. “I did promise to spend the day with her.”
“The whole day? Every single minute?”
“Apparently she thinks so.” Lucy paused in the doorway of a gift shop. “But does that give her the right to be a total pill?”
“Four weeks is a long time to travel with someone.”
“I’ll say. We’ve been driving each other crazy lately. The thing is, I don’t usually…” She struggled for the right words. “I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of person who breaks my promises.”
He looked surprised. “I don’t think that.”
They turned onto a narrow street that sloped sharply uphill. Climbing it stole all of Lucy’s breath. At the top, they found a park full of trees but empty of people. The shade made Lucy think of something delicious to drink after being parched.
Lucy and Jesse wandered to where the park ended, in a cliff overlooking the valley below. “Look.” She leaned against the low fence and pointed toward Florence. In the distance, its terra-cotta rooftops spread like a red star. “You can see the Duomo from here. Imagine: We were on top of it a few days ago.” It was hard to believe they’d come so far in just a brief bus ride.
“We could climb even higher,” Jesse said. “I think there’s another ledge above us.”
“But it’s perfect right here.” Lucy clung to the fence, relishing the thrill of being up so high; she had the sensation that if she leaned out too far she would tumble into the valley below. A breeze came out of nowhere to rustle her hair. She glanced over at Jesse, whose dark bangs were fluttering. When he met her gaze, she looked away, bashful. Just out of reach, a white-and-yellow butterfly wafted over the silvery-green tops of olive trees. Something sprang open in Lucy’s heart, like a window flung wide on the first warm day of spring. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”
Jesse waited for her to say more.
“Yesterday, on your Vespa. And singing with you at that club. And now this place…” She swept an arm around to indicate the view. “It feels like we’re in a movie.” Without planning to, she reached for the sleeve of his blue T-shirt and gave it a playful tug.
Though later she would think she should have seen it coming, she didn’t. Jesse’s arms circled her, tightened around her, and drew her in, and a moment later he was kissing her, his lips soft and warm and searching. This wasn’t Lucy’s first kiss—there had been a few others—but it might as well have been. In a way—in the only way that counted—it was the first.
“Lucy! Lucy!” Someone had been calling her name for a while. She’d been hearing it, a distant sound like the buzz of insects in the underbrush or the rustling of olive leaves, without actually taking it in. “Lucy!”
Oddly, the sound seemed to be coming from above her, as if from a low-flying bird, but of course that didn’t make sense. Though she didn’t want to, Lucy planted her hands on Jesse’s chest and pushed herself away, craning to see who was calling her name. It was Charlene, on the lookout point just above the park, a camera dangling around her neck.
“How can she be up there?” Lucy asked. “She’s supposed to be at the museum.”
Jesse just shrugged, looking as startled and disoriented as Lucy felt.
“Wait here,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.” Shaking her head grimly, she stomped uphill toward Charlene. “What on earth are you doing here?” Lucy shouted.
And though she could hear the anger and frustration in her own voice—the sound of someone who has been pushed just about as far as she can stand to be pushed, and then a little bit more—Charlene didn’t seem to be catching it. She hurried downhill, meeting Lucy in the middle of the path. “I felt bad about seeing the museum without you, when we said we’d spend the day together, so I told Ellen…”
But once she’d started fighting, Lucy wasn’t able to stop. “First you were rude to Jesse,” she said. “Then you tried to make me feel guilty for not wanting to go into some stupid museum. And just now you ruined the most perfect moment of my life.”
Charlene went pale. “I didn’t mean to.”
“But you did,” Lucy said.
Charlene pointed in the general direction of Jesse. “Can’t you go back to him and take up where you left off?”
“That was our first kiss.” Tears sprang into Lucy’s eyes “We can never have another first kiss.”
“Oh,” Charlene said, as speechless as Lucy had ever seen her.
“We’re leaving Florence tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again after today. Like I said, the moment’s ruined now, thanks to you.”
Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Everything’s always my fault,” she said drily.
Lucy wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Lately it is.” Her voice came out small. She gulped, on the verge of apologizing, but before she could find the right words, Charlene’s nostrils gave a warning flare.
“Jesse is just some random guy you met on the road.” Her voice picked up volume as she spoke. “He’s a vacation flirtation, Lucy. You have to know that. I can’t believe you’re actually crying over him. Do you think he’s going to cry when you’re gone?”
“Shhh!” Lucy glanced downhill. Jesse was out of sight, but that didn’t mean he was out of earshot. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Maybe you should be embarrassed.” Charlene peered down her nose at Lucy. “You’ve been acting like this is some kind of great romance. And you’ve known him for how long? Three days?”
“Three and a half.” Lucy sniffed. Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday popped into her head. That whole, gorgeous love story had unfolded over a mere twenty-four hours. “What does it matter how many days?” The hours she’d spent with Jesse had been so rich, so full; each one could have been an ordinary day.
“You’re never going to see him again,” Charlene said.
“You can’t know that.”
Charlene gave a little snort. “You do know what you are to him, right? A hookup. That’s all. You could be any girl.”
“You can’t know that, either,” Lucy said, fuming.
“Lucy. He works at a hostel. How many tourists pass through every day? You really think you’re the first one he’s locked lips with?”
“You’re wrong,” Lucy said. That kiss—and everything that had led up to it—had felt like more. It hadn’t felt casual. Still, she knew if she tried to explain, Charlene would say she was fooling herself, believing what she wanted to believe. Despite the heat, a chill ran through Lucy. “I can’t believe how cynical you are,” she said when she could speak again. “You’re…” She searched for the right word. “Coldhearted.”
Charlene’s eyes widened.
Emboldened, Lucy stood a little taller, hands planted on her hips. “And you’re bitter,” she said. “You could have gone off with Simon the way he wanted you to. I wouldn’t have stopped you. I tried to talk you into going. And now you’re jealous.…”
“I am not jealous. And I’m not”—Charlene gulped, as though saying the word was hard—“coldhearted. Just because I don’t believe in fooling myself, imagining my thing with Simon actually meant something.”
“How do you know it didn’t mean anything? You didn’t even give it a try. You should have gotten on that train to Mittenwald.”
“Oh, please.” Charlene sounded exasperated. “Have you forgotten that your parents paid for my flight?”
“As if you would ever let me forget,” Lucy said. “Anyway, what does that have to do with it?”
“They expected me to travel with you.” Now Charlene was speaking slowly, as though to someone extremely stupid. “How would it look if I just abandoned you?”
“I wouldn’t have told them. You could have gone. You should have,” Lucy insisted. “It doesn’t matter who paid.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Charlene said. “You’ve got money. You have no idea what it feels like not to get every single thing you want.”
Lucy felt stung. “That’s so wrong.” She thought again of the thing she’d wanted most—to act. “I can’t believe you would say something so mean.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?” Charlene asked, sounding anything but sorry. “Poor spoiled little Lucy. The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
Unwilling to waste even another moment on someone so unreasonable, so downright cruel, Lucy spun away and stomped off down the hill. But when she reached the park where she’d left Jesse, she saw that Ellen stood beside him, rhapsodizing about the view. And though he made a point of catching Lucy’s eye and shooting her a helpless look, it was clear their romantic moment had been spoiled, almost before it had even begun.
That afternoon, Ellen led them on a tour of the quaint monastery at the topmost point of Fiesole. They walked down a plain wooden hallway, peeking into the cells where monks once slept. The rooms were only big enough to hold a narrow bed and a desk, but in each one a window opened onto the same view that had so recently filled Lucy with bliss. Though Jesse walked by her side, the mood between them had changed. Self-conscious now, they barely spoke two words to each other the rest of the day. And as hard as she tried to ignore Charlene, Lucy could feel her ice-blue eyes burning into the back of her head.
She’s ruined everything, Lucy thought as they followed Ellen through the echoing hall. At every moment, she could sense exactly where Jesse’s body was in relation to hers, could feel the warmth of it radiating toward her. Though she could still taste his kiss on her lips, she couldn’t help feeling sad. Soon that kiss would be nothing but a memory—a small, bright window surrounded by thick gray stone. But how could it be otherwise?
Love, Lucy Page 7
