The House by the Cypress Trees

by Elena Mikalsen

  “Well, that’s good to hear, but now you’ll come to your senses, right? Have all the sex you want with her and be done.”

  He winced at her mention of sex. “Mother, really, must you be this crass? I was distraught and having trouble with work. But after I spent time with her, I realized she was special. She is not like any woman I’ve ever dated.”

  “My dear son, any woman seems special after sex. Is she aware of how much money you have?”

  “She isn’t. Julia knows I can’t keep your title.” It was always about money with his mother. Every relationship he had ever had always ended with the discussion of money. That’s why he’d sworn not to mention his money to Julia.

  “Well, she’ll find out about the money your father left you, and she’ll be after it, just like the rest.”

  He stood up again and said firmly, “Mother, that’s enough. She doesn’t know what I’m worth. That’s not why she likes me. And, besides—I’ve fallen in love with her.”

  She looked at him with horror. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “I have not.” Daniel looked down. He regretted it now. He should have told her last night, so many times. Tonight, when he returned, he would take her out somewhere romantic, and he would fix it. She must know.

  “Then it’s reversible.” Mother’s voice sounded relieved.

  His anger returned. “You are despicable. I’m leaving for Rome. Don’t you dare talk to her while I’m gone.” He set his glass down and headed out.

  He found Louisa outside in the yard, supervising breakfast for the visitors eating outside. He pulled her away. “I must go to Rome for a meeting. Can you please keep my mother away from Julia?”

  “Of course. What did Margaret do now? Oh, never mind. I can guess.”

  “I don’t have time to explain, but, yes, you know her.”

  He rushed to get his bag and to his car. He had to finish the deal today, and he was running inexcusably late and had to succeed. Otherwise he had to give up the idea of ever becoming a partner in the firm. Otherwise he’d have to find another job. Otherwise he’d have to finally figure out whether he wished to spend the rest of his life as an architect doing modern design.

  He drove without stopping and arrived in Rome an hour early. He stood in front of the existing museo, turned on his iPad, opened Sketchbook, and began to sketch a new plan. Daniel knew exactly what the building needed to look like now. The colors, scents, and smells of Italy were firmly planted in his brain.

  He understood this country now. Julia would love what he was creating, he was sure. A tower structure to match the nearby Villa Borghese, large arched windows on the first floor with glass overlooking the nearby gardens, light everywhere, sustainable design, a spectacular garden on the middle level to complement the gardens on the ground. He barely finished the initial sketch in time to head to the restaurant, but he hoped it was enough to give them a flavor of what he could offer. If he even got a chance.

  Daniel said a quick prayer as the board members entered the restaurant. His assistant had chosen a trendy business restaurant with a seasonal menu and a pretentious chef. He made a mental note to thank Olivia for her excellent choice; the atmosphere with the silver brick walls and dark wood floors was perfect. All he wanted, though, was for them to sign off on the project. He waved the board members in to sit around the large round table with elegant dishes and silverware. He made sure not to bring up the project right away. They needed wine first. A great deal of wine and heavy food. Then he would bring it up.

  “Thank you all for joining me today,” he began. “I wanted a chance to get to know you all. To make sure I listen to your wishes for the project. I don’t want us to make a mistake.”

  “We’re grateful,” Signor Nicoli, the chairman, thanked him.

  Signora Pisciotta touched his hand and whispered to him that the board didn’t get too many invitations to lunch.

  Everyone examined the menu and the prices with raised brows.

  “Order whatever you’d like,” Daniel announced. “And please, can you pour plenty of wine?” he asked the server.

  Wine was brought quickly, and he saw everyone nod with pleasure. He took just a sip of his; he had to be his sharpest today. The wine was barely tolerable. How could a decent restaurant serve this? He gave the sommelier a look of surprise and made a note to talk to Mandy about a distribution to Rome. Gian should drive here and bring these people a few bottles.

  He watched them all eat in pleasure, and once they patted their stomachs and appeared sated and tired, he brought up the permits issue again.

  “I’d like to reassure you we have secured all the building permits for Rome. I want you to trust that our firm will carry this project to completion successfully.” Daniel raised the glass to toast and was gratified when they joined him in toasting.

  “I’d like us to drink to our successful collaboration. To the new museum!” he said, standing up for better effect. They smiled. Oh, thank God.

  During the pasta course, he mentioned the glass-and-marble issue. He skipped giving another presentation. Instead, he showed them the samples on his iPad. They nodded and passed the iPad around. He assured them the materials cost was well within the budget.

  One of the board members pointed to the marble. “This is much better. You did good work.”

  It was the same bloody marble he’d showed them last week. Daniel gritted his teeth. “Thank you, Signor Petrucco.”

  As someone brought in the dessert and everyone continued to smile, he finally presented his revised thoughts.

  “Signor Nicoli, dear members of the board, I thought very carefully about what you said last week. My team was wrong. We didn’t understand that we must build the museum building not just for the people who will visit, but also for the people who will look at it from the outside. City, context, and culture must be the drivers for all design. We have the responsibility to keep Rome beautiful and to keep its architectural landscape consistent. I presented to you last week a modern structure that changed the way the entire city block would look. That was irresponsible of me.” He paused and watched them nod.

  Reassured, he continued. “I have spent a great deal of time since then walking the streets of Roma and Firenze and learning about the beauty of Italy’s architecture, feeling the history. And I think I have a few more ideas now. I’ve shown you what I have so far, to assure you we are moving in the right direction.”

  Signor Nicoli smiled and clapped. Daniel thanked his lucky stars and once again pulled up his designs and the new sketches. He saw nods and smiles as the iPad was passed around the table once more. Daniel drank his wine, trying not to gulp. It seemed like hours later when the iPad made it back to him.

  “Prego,” Signor Nicoli toasted him. “Email me the budget again. I will look again. It might satisfy us.”

  Daniel held his breath and shook his hand. He didn’t breathe until everyone left. Then he ran to the bathroom and rinsed his face with cold water. He’d fixed it. He’d sorted it for Roger. And his team. But was it what he wanted to do in the future? One thing he was sure of was that he never wanted to build another ugly modern building.

  He walked out of the restaurant and left a message for Roger. “The Italians are satisfied now. Slight modification to the plans, but the original budget will work, and we’re using the same materials. Sorry, but I’m giving my notice after I do this project. I’ll shoot you an email with all the details.”

  Daniel laughed. He felt a thousand pounds lighter. He ran a hand through his hair. Did he just quit his job? Mother would be furious, but he didn’t give a damn. He laughed again.

  He took a short walk. He was excited to be back in Rome, even for a short time.

  Now he was free, perhaps he'd work on restoration of old cities like Rome. So much of the world needed preservation. He could finally do something that mattered to him. He’d talk to Julia about it and see what she
thought.

  He searched for a flower shop and picked up a small bouquet of roses for Julia. It was silly, since the estate had so many flowers, but he felt he wanted to. So many things he wished to buy her, but they would come later. He was dying to see her and tell her about the meeting. Julia would be proud of him.

  Flowers were not enough, though. Tonight he would tell her how much he had fallen for her. That he loved her. He was dying for her to know she was more than just one night to him.

  He hopped into his car and was off.

  Chapter 27

  The day was overcast, but the mountains and the lake from Julia’s painting were instantly recognizable as the car passed Val di Sogno and continued on the curvy road toward Malcesine. Julia leaned forward, biting her thumbnail. She gave Vittorio the address, but the painting sat on her lap for reference. She could hardly breathe. Her mother’s house could come into view any second now.

  “Tell me if you see your house, and I stop,” Vittorio said.

  “I will.” She peeked at the painting for the hundredth time, then to the houses on her right. The house was white. Most of the houses they passed were yellow, orange, and pastel green. What if they were on the wrong side of the lake?

  “Do not worry, Julia. I have GPS on. We find it in a minute, okay?” Vittorio squeezed her hand.

  “I know, I know.”

  They had driven north nonstop for four hours. Francesca had kindly provided them with sandwiches and fruit. Julia was so nervous about meeting her mother she had hardly thought about Daniel and what he had done. What he had said. It was only when she still smelled him on her hair that her chest ached. A terrible kind of an ache.

  Julia refused to allow herself to fall apart in front of Vittorio for the worry he’d tell Daniel, and she wouldn’t have it that way. Let Daniel find out that she was so happy to leave, to meet her mother, to get away from him. He deserved it. Let him believe she cared even less about him than he did about her.

  Suddenly, the road curved once more, and a large gray mountain grew in front of them as they entered a town with stone walls, large cypress trees, and beige houses. “Malcesine,” Vittorio announced unnecessarily. Julia’s heart began to race, feeling her mother everywhere she looked.

  “Stop,” she called out a minute later. She didn’t need the GPS. They had arrived.

  Vittorio turned off the main street and parked the car. “Which house?” he asked.

  Julia pointed to the narrow three-story house elevated on a hill, with stone steps leading to it. It seemed to have been carved into the hill, palm trees growing at its sides, petunias bursting out of its windows. Cypress trees grew in abundance in the front, lining the driveway.

  “Do you want me to drive close?”

  “No, I’ll walk. Thank you.” She kissed him. “I’m so grateful. This was such a long trip.”

  “No problem. I like a break from hard work. I will go drink wine and try to sell some of ours here.”

  He took out her suitcases and backpack. “Good luck, Julia. You come back to Chianti again, okay?”

  “I will try,” she lied. She was never going back to Chianti or Tuscany or La Casa delle Nuvole.

  Julia waited for Vittorio to drive away before she walked up the steep, stone-paved hill, the cypresses shielding her from the sun. Her stomach flipped more than once as she approached, wondering what she’d say to her mother. She stood in front of the door, contemplating whether to knock. She planned to count to ten. Maybe to twenty. No, a hundred was the safest choice.

  If only she could receive a sign. Something to tell her it was all right to find out who was on the other side of the door. But it was silent outside and inside; no kitchen noises, no sounds of conversations, no music or TV.

  If she knocked and no one answered, would it count as a try? Perhaps then Julia could leave with her dignity intact. She’d tell Dad the house stood empty. Julia didn’t need another mother. Barbara Ramos had done a fine job as her mother. Every memory she had of her childhood had Barbara in it. Who was Giulia Rigazio to take it away from her? A mother who abandoned her? Likely a teenager who slept around and didn’t want her. Julia didn’t need to learn this story. She’d heard plenty of those as a high school teacher.

  She turned around and walked down to the town below, the suitcase wheels rattling behind her. There was no backup plan. She’d have to walk to town and get a hotel. Not a problem. She had strong legs and a great deal to think and be angry about. Enough to go on for miles, enough to climb that mountain in front of her and be back before she felt any better.

  “Aspetta!” someone yelled behind her.

  Julia turned. A tall young woman, her dark brown hair flying wildly, was walking down toward her from the house, her blue eyes so familiar her heart skipped a beat in recognition. The woman stopped a few feet away from her, examining Julia’s face.

  “Come ti chiami?” the woman asked Julia.

  “Mi chiamo Julia,” Julia answered. “Parli Inglese?”

  “Si. Yes. I speak English. Do I know you?” she asked.

  “No. Do you know the woman who lives in that house?” Julia asked, holding her breath.

  “Si. I live there. Mi chiamo Alessandra Tramazere.”

  “Oh, no.” Julia’s hopes disappeared. Wrong house. Wrong person. “Perhaps you can help me find the house I am looking for?” she asked, setting down her suitcase. This town couldn’t be too large to find it.

  “Are you Julia Ramos?” Alessandra asked.

  “Yes. How do you know?”

  “I sent you a painting last year. I can’t believe you are here.” Alessandra’s face lit up with a smile, and she swept Julia into a tight hug, followed by kisses on both cheeks. “Julia, you are finally here! I waited and waited.”

  “Wait.” Julia pulled away. “You sent the painting?” Julia took the painting out of her suitcase and showed Alessandra. Then a strong worry began to grow in her stomach. “This painting? I thought it was my mother who sent it.”

  Alessandra stroked the painting with her fingertips. “My mother asked me to send it to you. See, our eyes?” She pointed at Julia’s eyes.

  “Your mother?” Julia couldn’t understand what was happening.

  “Yes, my mother. Our mother. Giulia Tramazere.” Alessandra returned the painting to Julia and smiled.

  “Giulia Tramazere? No, that can’t be. My mother is Giulia Rigazio.”

  “Rigazio before she married my father, Giordano Tramazere.”

  “So you are—?”

  “Sister. Si.” Alessandra came closer and held Julia’s hands, smiling again. “Half sister, right? Come inside now. I have to tell you something.” She took hold of Julia’s large suitcase and pulled it up to the house.

  Julia felt a mix of joy and anxiety following her newly found sister. A sister and a mother. It was all too much. She would meet her mother in mere seconds. What if she hated Julia? What if she was nothing like she expected? Alessandra was so charming, so polished, so tall, so beautiful in her hip-hugging pink skirt and black blouse.

  “This way.” Her sister pointed, opening the door.

  Julia breathed in and walked into the darkness of the room inside. It was cool and quiet.

  “I’m nervous to meet our mother,” she admitted, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

  Alessandra set Julia’s suitcase by the door and stepped into the small kitchen area. “I get us some wine,” she said, pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

  “You didn’t get my letter?” she asked as she poured two flutes full of sparkling white liquid.

  “A letter? I only received a painting.” Julia took a flute and sat down in a chair. “There’s an inscription on it. Solo Noi. What does it mean? Wait—you sent a letter?”

  “I did. I explained everything.” Alessandra sat down in a chair across from her.

  “Explained what? Maybe my dad didn’t give it to me. You see, my dad only gave me the painting a month ago. My mother—well, my other mother—she was sic
k, she was dying.”

  “Well, I wish you came earlier,” Alessandra said, no longer smiling.

  “Is my mother here?” Julia asked.

  Alessandra took a sip of her wine and leaned forward. “I’m afraid I have bad news—she died some time ago. That’s what I wrote about in the letter.”

  Julia heard the glass shatter by her feet before she realized it had slipped out of her fingers. “I’m so sorry,” she cried out. “Do you have a towel I can clean it up with?”

  “I clean up. Don’t worry.” Alessandra was back in a moment with another glass of Prosecco and a towel.

  Julia gulped her wine and paced the room as her sister cleaned up.

  “I’m sorry I had to tell you this.”

  “When did she die?” Julia asked.

  “A little more than a year ago.”

  “A year ago. So I could have made it in time.” Julia teared up.

  “I’m sorry you have lost two mothers.” Alessandra finished cleaning up, then came over and hugged Julia.

  “I guess I did.”

  “How did your mother in America die?”

  “Huntington’s Disease. Dementia. It’s a brain illness.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Alessandra said. “You couldn’t make it to see our mother before she died. You see, I sent you the painting after she died. Not before.”

  “After she died?”

  “Si. I didn’t know about you. Right before she died, she said I had a sister in America, and it was about to be her birthday, and could I send her the painting for her birthday. I was shocked, but there was no time to talk as she was dying with so much pain.”

  “Why did she die?”

  “She had cancer in the lung.”

  “So we both lost our mothers.”

  “We both did. And now you are here. I’m grateful.” Alessandra smiled warmly.

  They sat quietly for a while, and Julia wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation. She liked her sister, but the entire situation was desperately awkward. Here was a sister Julia had known nothing about. Her sister knew more about their mother than she did. She was a stranger in this house. Her mother was dead. Julia felt sick suddenly and put her head between her knees.