The Jetsetters

by Amanda Eyre Ward

  Lee was tapping at her phone. She’d traded in her leather pants and tube tops for a weirdly demure dress with a Peter Pan collar. Cord’s stomach burned. This was the most time he had spent with his family since childhood. My Lord, he was sick of them.

  Cord took his mother’s arm as they filed off the ship, stopping to pose for a photo behind the fake life preserver proclaiming FUN IN CIVITAVECCHIA! Would his mother purchase this photo from the Fun Store on Level Three? Would Cord gaze at it someday, when she was gone? Would this be the photo he took to OfficeMax to blow up and set next to her coffin, or urn or whatever?

  He shook off his maudlin thoughts and strode forward, putting on his sunglasses and scanning the throng of men selling random crap and holding signs for various day tours.

  “They should be right here,” said Charlotte. “The sign should say ‘Perkins,’ or ‘Panoramic Rome’ or something.”

  “I don’t see anyone,” said Regan, squinting.

  “Cord!” cried a familiar voice.

  Cord turned, and his blood went cold.

  REGAN KNEW ABOUT SECRETS, and how. But even she was stunned when a skinny young man in a linen suit and Vuarnet sunglasses rushed toward her openmouthed brother and wrapped Cord in his arms. The young man closed his eyes and pressed his face to Cord’s chest, his expression blissful. And then he grabbed Cord’s hand and faced them. “Well, hi!” he said gleefully. “I guess you’ve been wondering who stole your brother’s heart. C’est moi!”

  There was, of course, the possibility that this young man was deranged. But it was all clicking into place: Cord’s endless single life, the way he kept himself at a remove from them, his abrupt departures from Savannah holiday weekends. In some part of herself, Regan had always known.

  “What’s going on?” asked Charlotte, her voice high and wheezy. “Can somebody tell me what’s going on?” Her hand fluttered to her rib cage.

  “Cord?” said the young man, continuing to grip Cord’s hand. There was a hopeful expression on the man’s face. He looked like he could be Italian, with dark hair and a five-o’clock shadow in the morning, but his accent was American.

  “Giovanni,” whispered Cord. He seemed utterly terrified.

  Regan had not known her brother this way in a long time—she was reminded suddenly of the afternoon he’d returned from a pheasant hunt with their father. “Shot one right between the eyes,” Winston had said proudly. When Winston turned to pour a drink, her brother’s expression changed. Cord tried to hide how the day had broken him, but Regan saw. And now she understood that her seemingly strong brother still needed her. And Regan loved knowing what to do.

  She strode toward Giovanni and held out her hand. “I’m Regan,” she said.

  “Regan! I feel like I already know you,” said Giovanni.

  “And I’m Lee,” said Lee, following Regan’s lead, shaking the young man’s hand.

  “Of course you are,” said Giovanni. “I follow you on Insta and Snap.”

  “Where is the Panoramic Motor Coach Tour of Rome?” said Charlotte.

  “It just seemed depressing,” said Giovanni. “You know? I thought, Let’s really see Roma! Get nitty-gritty. And so I booked us a golf cart!”

  It was obvious the young man was nervous. He reminded Regan of her daughter Flora before a choir show.

  “What are we waiting for?” said Lee, putting her shoulders back. Regan tried to meet her eyes, but she stared resolutely ahead. Regan wished she and Lee could return to the days when their love for each other was simple. Regan had once thought Lee would take care of her forever. How nice it had been to believe that, even if it had turned out to be a lie.

  “Well, okay!” said the young man.

  “I do not understand what’s going on around here,” said Charlotte.

  “Believe me, I know the feeling,” said Giovanni. “By the way, I love your hat.”

  “This?” said Charlotte, touching the brim. “Oh, it’s just a chapeau I picked up in Athens.”

  “Now that was a glamorous sentence if ever I heard one,” said Giovanni.

  Charlotte gave him a dazed smile. “Oh, well,” she said.

  “So we take this bus to the golf cart,” said Giovanni excitedly. “And then we’ll go to the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon…pizza in Campo de’ Fiori…we’ll pop by the Villa Borghese…we can get gelato…”

  “I love gelato,” said Regan, trying to sound reassuring.

  “I thought about trying to get tickets to the Vatican,” nattered Giovanni. “But I wasn’t sure, with just one day, that we could…”

  Cord turned to Giovanni. “It’s fine,” he said.

  “Aren’t you surprised?” said Giovanni.

  “It’s fine,” Cord repeated, as if to himself. The driver helped Charlotte aboard, and Lee followed. Regan climbed on the bus. Charlotte opened a map of Rome and focused intently. Through the window, Regan watched her brother. He seemed younger, flushed as he spoke to Giovanni. And right there in the middle of the parking lot, Giovanni reached out and touched Cord’s cheek with his fingertips. Cord leaned into the touch.

  “Oh,” said Regan. She knew love when she saw it. She wanted to be happy for Cord. But what she felt, as a searing pain in her rib cage, was envy.

  * * *

  —

  REGAN’S MARRIAGE WAS DONE. She had returned from Pompeii the day before to find Matt packed and ready to leave. Regan opened their cabin door and he stood, cleared his throat. His expression reminded her of the times she’d seen him break bad news to a family about the way a surgery had gone. “Regan,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Regan sat down on the bed. She was warm from the day and her feet ached, but she wasn’t going to take off her shoes. She put her shoulders back. “Why is your suitcase out?” she asked, gesturing to his American Tourister.

  “I’m in love with someone else,” said Matt. His voice was assured, rehearsed, cold.

  “Oh,” said Regan. She’d known it was coming, but still, it stung.

  “I didn’t want this to happen,” said Matt. “I didn’t. But it did happen. I love her.”

  “Who is she?” said Regan.

  “She’s a teacher. Her name is Janet.”

  “Janet,” said Regan.

  “I tried. I tried so hard, Regan.” He stood straight, his voice lowering to a pleading tone. “I thought maybe this trip would fix us, but I…it just seems like prolonging things now. I want to do the right thing here.”

  “What about me…and the girls?” said Regan. Matt knelt by the bed and pulled Regan into his arms. She didn’t struggle.

  “I’ll always take care of you, Ray Ray,” he said. She closed her eyes and held her breath. Let me go, she thought. Please. “I’m so sorry,” said Matt.

  He would need to be the savior in his own mind, Regan knew. She had to be careful. “I know you’ll take care of us,” she said.

  “I will,” he said. “I promise. Always.” Regan kept her head down and exhaled slowly. Her heart was a metronome. “You should stay,” said Matt. “You enjoy the cruise with your family. But I’m going to fly back. She…she needs me to come home. I need to go, before the ship leaves port. But I…I wanted to tell you in person.” Matt rose, approached the door. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and then he left.

  Regan found her phone in her purse and called Zoë, who answered on the first ring, though it was midmorning in Atlanta, and she was surely at work. “Thank goodness,” Zoë said.

  “It’s me,” said Regan.

  “Did you see the report?” said Zoë.

  “I’m going to need a lawyer,” said Regan. “A good one.”

  “I have a guy,” said Zoë.

  “I knew you would,” said Regan.

  “You’re going to be okay,” said Zoë.

  Regan nodded, bu
t didn’t speak.

  “I love you,” said Zoë.

  “I know,” said Regan.

  Before heading to dinner, Regan called the lawyer Zoë had recommended. She left a message, and then she emailed him the private investigator’s report. Sitting at her computer, Regan saw that Matt had thrown the telegram into the trash can under the desk. She almost pulled it out to look it over, but why?

  She already knew what it said.

  THE AIR IN ROME was scorching. Lee shaded her eyes and spied an extralong golf cart heading toward them. It was piloted by a man with enormous muscles and a large gold chain around his neck.

  When he reached them, the man halted the cart. His eyes were hidden by aviator sunglasses. “I am Donte,” he said. “Hop aboard for the adventure your lifetime.”

  “Oooh, I’m so excited!” said Giovanni. He slid inside the cart, and patted the seat next to him. “Charlotte?” he said, “I saved you a seat!”

  “Good heavens,” said Charlotte. She was trying to be aloof, but Giovanni’s clear delight was infectious. “Is this safe?” she asked.

  “I’ll hold your hand,” said Giovanni. “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” pronounced Charlotte, though she did accept Giovanni’s hand as she stepped into the cart.

  “This is basically a dream come true, right?” said Giovanni. “I mean, you love golf carts, and everyone loves Rome!”

  “I wouldn’t say I love golf carts,” said Charlotte. “They’re convenient and don’t use too much gasoline.”

  “And the wind through your hair!” trilled Giovanni. “Don’t forget the wind through your hair!”

  “Well,” she admitted, “yes, that is a nice feeling.”

  “E voilà!” said Giovanni, pulling a six-pack of cans of sparkling wine from his satchel, each with a tiny straw. He opened Charlotte’s, inserted the straw, and handed it to her. “I want to be your favorite,” he said. He turned around, his smile bright and absolutely winning. “I want to be everyone’s favorite,” he said. Lee saw Giovanni search their faces, seeming confused by the Perkinses’ muted reaction to his onslaught of cheerfulness. Giovanni turned to Cord, who was staring at his shoes.

  “Please, grip tight and we go,” said Donte.

  “It’s hot all right,” said Lee, putting her lips on her tiny straw, but then remembering.

  “The cooling breezes, they begin,” said Donte, and with a jolt, they were off.

  * * *

  —

  AS THEY BUMPED ALONG in the golf cart, nearly missing tourists and turning sharply to pass the Colosseum, Circus Maximus, and then the Arch of Constantine and Aventine Hill, Lee touched her stomach through her new sundress. It was still perfectly taut, but she knew that would change. If she kept the baby. Was she going to keep the baby?

  Everywhere Lee turned, a building more jaw-dropping than the ones she’d already seen came into view. She wished fiercely that she had taken an art history class at Chico State. But even with no idea what the buildings meant, or when they were built and why, she felt a visceral joy craning her neck and taking them in. Lee had never realized how hideous most of the world was until Rome.

  Beside Lee, Regan was quiet. They’d once been close, a million years ago. But the tables had turned from the days when Regan worshipped her sister: now Lee had a lot to learn from Regan, who knew how to be a mother. Lee watched her sister, taking in her baseball cap and breezy sundress. Regan looked comfortable in her own skin. Maybe Matt had been right—she was the strongest one of them all.

  This realization made Lee feel insecure. She’d always assumed she herself was the leader of their pack of three. But no matter what happened to Regan, she would have Flora and Isabella on either side of her. What did Lee have?

  Regan turned to Lee, interrupting her reverie. “What do you think?” said Regan.

  “You mean…about Matt?” said Lee, pleasantly surprised to be asked for her advice. She considered what to say, how to impart wisdom to her little sister. “Well—” she began.

  “No,” said Regan, cutting her off. “Not Matt. What do you think of Rome?”

  “Oh!” said Lee, embarrassed. Of course Regan wouldn’t turn to Lee for help. They really didn’t have a relationship anymore. Lee and her sister were like strangers, jammed together on a golf cart. “It’s gorgeous,” said Lee, recovering. She brushed her hair off her bare shoulders. “I feel like Sophia Loren,” she said, slipping her fake persona on easily.

  Regan smiled vaguely. Her brow furrowed a bit, and Lee was saddened to see that her sister was looking at her with both kindness and pity.

  * * *

  —

  THEIR GUIDE DIDN’T SAY much, just drove the cart at a breakneck speed, whipping his gaze back and forth to capture everything with the GoPro camera he had strapped around his head. Was he going to sell them this video footage later? Who would want to watch the whirling feed of heavenly structures? Actually, maybe Lee.

  She loved Giovanni already. Although Cord had seemed to think his coming-out was a big shock, Lee had known her brother was gay since she could remember. She’d watched Will & Grace, after all. He’d never had a boyfriend, not in Savannah, but then he’d never had a true girlfriend, either. He was always the generic popular boy.

  Cord had referred to the situation only once. Lee had come home late and her drunken father had yelled at her for a while. After he’d finally stopped, Lee had gone to bed crying, and Cord had come into her room. He climbed into her bed and scratched her back under the covers. It was a tremendous comfort, and Lee’s sobs quieted.

  She was almost asleep when she heard Cord whisper, “Imagine what he’d do to me.”

  * * *

  —

  THEY PULLED INTO A square called Campo de’ Fiori. “Fiori, it mean flowers,” explained Donte. “Here was the executions.” He pointed to a statue of a hooded, somber man. “That guy,” he said. “His name Giordano Bruno. Burned here at the stake. Also, nice snacks for purchase. See you one hour.”

  His elucidation complete, Donte walked off, entering one of the restaurants lining the square.

  “Weeeeell…” said Giovanni, his eyes twinkling, “that was something!”

  Lee wanted to laugh. She wanted to link arms with this sweet guy and lean into him, befriend him. She waited for Cord to make it possible. But he looked into the middle distance, frowning. “Do you want to…” said Giovanni.

  “Do I want to what?” said Cord coldly. His Winston-esque tone turned Lee’s stomach.

  “See you in an hour,” she said, hopping off the cart and following her mother into the maze of covered stalls. There were tables of beautiful vegetables: giant eggplants, tomatoes as red as blood, lush green beans, and the ripest strawberries Lee had ever seen. Charlotte was admiring tiny bottles of grappa lined up underneath a row of ham legs. She looked up as Lee approached.

  “Honey!” said Charlotte. “Do you think they’d let me on the ship with a bit of grappa?”

  “Mom,” said Lee. “What do you think about Giovanni?”

  “Hm?” said Charlotte. “Oh, and look! Olive oil!” She held up a bottle of viscous liquid. Lee sighed. Her mother had been doing this all her life—blithely pretending not to hear what Lee was saying; making Lee feel like she was the crazy one. It was unbearable.

  Lee turned from Charlotte, skirted the market, joined the line outside a pizza shop called Forno Campo de’ Fiori. When it was her turn, she pointed to a square of thin-crust pizza and a man in a little white cap slid it into waxed paper. Lee handed him a bill and he said something with gusto and handed her a bit of change.

  Outside the window, Lee could see Giovanni and Cord. Cord was still looking at the ground and Giovanni was yelling at him passionately. Regan sat by a majestic fountain on the other side of the square, her face lifted to the sun.

  Lee unwr
apped her pizza and took a bite. The hot crust and salty toppings were divine: she got right back in line to order another square. She breathed in the scent of dough baking, of fresh oregano and mozzarella.

  If she got in a taxi, Lee would be at the airport in an hour, and in Malta by evening. Or she could get back in the golf cart with her family. She could give in to new romance or to motherhood; she could refuse them both.

  Her phone buzzed and she peered at it, wondering if Kiko had sent another love note. But it was a text from her agent, Francine.

  Lee, BIG NEWS. New reality show wants you to audition for a role. Call me ASAP. Am emailing 150-question personality test. Also need video by tomorrow. Where are you?

  Lee reached the front of the line. “Yes?” said a man in white, swiping the back of his hand over his forehead. He held a pencil and waited. “Lady, what you want?” he said.

  EVERYONE SEEMED CRANKY AFTER LUNCH. Cord’s friend, Giovanni, gave Charlotte a dry peck on the cheek and whispered, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to end,” before jogging away into the shimmering city streets; Lee was distracted; Regan was quiet; Cord was ashen-faced and morose; and Donte drove the golf cart with wild abandon, whirling them past the glorious Trevi Fountain and the Pantheon (Charlotte tried to ask him to stop—she’d always wanted to go inside the Pantheon—but he didn’t even slow) before returning them to the parking lot across the street from the Colosseum.

  “Now you do the tour,” said Donte, pointing to a sweaty young woman holding a tour flag. “Have your nice day,” he concluded, adding, “Your video emailed shortly. Ciao.”

  Well! Charlotte had hoped a lunchtime nip of grappa would make the day more pleasant, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her niggling worries about who Giovanni was and what was going on with Cord did not fade with Giovanni’s abrupt departure. Instead, they coalesced into a solid, cold fact: Cord was gay. He loved men, or in any case, one man. Giovanni. Charlotte felt a heavy dread, imagining what her church friends would think. If she embraced her son, Charlotte knew, she would lose Father Thomas, who was so kind. Father Thomas had brought her a bouquet of hydrangeas once, just because.