I slap shut my notebook. “I’m sure you don’t!”
She looks at me and scowls, then her face falls and she looks away. “Oh, shit. You followed me?”
I clench my jaw, not trusting myself to speak.
She hangs her head. “Don’t be mad at me, Em. Please.”
My anger erupts. “Right. You expect me to give you my blessing? God, you’re disgusting.”
Her face flushes. “Nothing happened, I swear. You’ve got to believe me, Em. It’s freaking me out. And I was hoping maybe, just maybe, you’d be cool with it.”
“Cool with it?” The fury in my voice simultaneously scares and delights me. “You just assume ol’ Em the doormat will take the hit, like she always does, don’t you?” I open my arms. “Go ahead, Luce, take another stab at my heart. Go on, walk right over me, just like Dar and Nonna. Stomp your muddy feet on me. I’ll even point out a few places you haven’t crushed, so you don’t miss a single fiber.”
Lucy rears back. “What are you talking about?”
“Shut the hell up! The old Em is gone.” I jump to my feet and lean over her bed, so that I’m inches from her face. “I am nobody’s doormat. Do you hear me? You will not sleep with the one person I finally …” My voice cracks and I steel myself from tears. “… finally opened my heart to, and expect me to say it’s okay, all is forgiven. No! I am sick of being nice. I have a right to happiness, too!”
My hands tremble and I turn away. I hear her bed creak. Then her warm arms enfold me. I bite my cheek, hoping to keep the tears at bay as she gently rocks me.
“I wasn’t with Gabe,” she whispers. She draws back and pivots me, so that we’re standing face-to-face. Her lashes are spiked with tears, and when she smiles, her chin trembles.
“I was with Sofie.”
The smell of baking bread wafts up the stairs, into our tiny room beneath the eaves. Lucy and I race downstairs like a couple of kids on Christmas morning. I stop when I see him, and my heart overflows. He’s pouring cream into a pitcher, smiling as he yaks into his cell phone.
“Va bene. Sì.” He raises his head and smiles when he sees me. “Ciao, amico mio.” He plants the phone in his pocket. “Buongiorno!” He wipes his hands on his jeans as he crosses the room to come kiss my cheek. “Did you sleep well, carissima?”
“Sì.” I rise on my toes and kiss him again, and then boldly whisper, “Next time, I want to wake up beside you.”
He tips his head. “You are here another day?”
I laugh. “No. I mean next time I see you. Whenever that might be.”
“Ah, yes. That would be a treat for me.” He squeezes my hand and turns to a fancy coffee machine. “Cappuccino?”
Sofia enters the kitchen and lights up when she sees me. “Emilia! We missed you yesterday. I hope my brother showed you a good time?”
“The best,” I say. “How about you?”
“We had great fun. Lucy taught Franco how to play soccer. You should have seen them.”
I’m smiling when Lucy bounces in with Dante on her hip and Franco riding on her back.
“Morning,” she says to Gabe and lowers Franco to the floor.
“No!” Franco cries. “I want to play Horsey.”
“Later,” Sofia says and gives him a stern look. “Uncle Gabe has breakfast waiting.”
Lucy bends down and cups Franco’s rosy face in her hands. “After we eat, little man, we’ll show Emmie how you can score a goal.”
“Yay!” he cries. Lucy laughs and kisses his nose.
I can’t keep the smile from my face. My cousin looks positively effervescent.
“Where’s Poppy?” I ask.
“She was down earlier for coffee,” Gabe says. “She’s skipping breakfast this morning.”
Alarm shoots through me, followed by a wave of guilt. I barely saw her yesterday. While Lucy and I were exploring and laughing and falling in love, Poppy was withering.
“I’ll go check on her.”
“Let her sleep awhile longer,” Gabe says, his eyes infused with worry and warning.
After breakfast, Sofia, Gabe, and I stand in the damp grass, watching Franco clumsily kick the ball Lucy tries to steal. “Stay focused,” Lucy tells him. “That’s it.”
“Your cousin is a very patient coach,” Sofia says, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. “Franco adores her.”
“I see that.”
She turns to me. “What is New York weather like in November?”
“Gray, cloudy, wet.” I cock my head. “Why?”
She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her billowy pants and shrugs. “I was wondering if Franco would be able to play soccer when we visit.”
“You’re visiting? Next month?”
She squeezes shut her eyes and nods, her entire face scrunched with excitement. “Sì! This is the plan.”
I throw my arms around her. “That’s awesome.” I turn to Gabe. “Did you hear that? Sofia’s coming to visit. Come with her! It’s beautiful in November.”
He smiles, his eyes on his nephew. “Beautiful? You just said it was gray.”
“But it would be beautiful if you were there.”
He claps when Franco scores a goal. “I am afraid that is not possible. I have a business to run.”
“Close the inn,” I say, unable to contain myself. “It’s the offseason. Come to New York.”
I’m moving too quickly. I’m being clingy. I hate the neediness in my voice. But I can’t stop myself. Sofia must see it, too, the desperate woman inside me who’s lost all subtlety. She moves away, giving us our privacy.
“Please, Gabriele, say you’ll come. If not in November, then for Christmas. I’ll show you the city. The storefronts will be decorated and—”
He silences me with a finger. “Ah, Emilia. I knew when I met you, you are one who sees the grandeur in the ordinary. I am but a hill. I am afraid you have mistaken me for a mountain.”
I stand in the tiny attic space, biting my knuckle to keep from crying out. How could he sleep with me, whisper sexy thoughts into my ear, then act today as if I’m nothing more than another guest at the inn? Because I’m cursed, that’s why.
I check the time. In ten minutes, Gabe will be taking us to the train station. How will I endure the thirty-minute ride? Without warning, a sob charges from my chest. My knees buckle and I slide to the floor, clutching my ribs. I wanted love. I pretended not to, but I did. I wanted it so badly.
If only I could talk to Matt. He’d call Gabe a stupid piece of shit. He’d make me feel lovable again. But of course I can’t call Matt.
I manage to pull myself upright. I blow my nose and dry my eyes. I have to be strong. For Poppy.
I drag my bag down the stairs and poke my head into Aunt Poppy’s room. I work my face into a smile. We’re about to embark on the most anticipated part of this journey, and I will not spoil it for her.
“Hey, soon-to-be birthday girl. Can I get your bag?”
She sits on the edge of her bed, clutching a box of tissues. Lucy helped her bathe and dress this morning. She’s wearing black slacks and a bulky red sweater. The turquoise beads around her neck look heavy enough to topple her. Even her wig looks too big. As if to keep it from slipping off her head, she’s created a headband with a turquoise scarf. My self-pity momentarily vanishes. I lower myself beside her and adjust the scarf on her forehead.
“Are you feeling well enough to travel?”
“Of course,” she says, always the warrior. But her voice is even more gravelly than yesterday, and absent all enthusiasm.
Today’s travel will be especially tiring, a three-and-a-half-hour train ride to Naples, followed by a two-hour bus ride to Ravello.
“Aunt Poppy, you need to see a doctor.”
She pulls a tissue from the box and rises. “Rico is waiting. We must go.”
I shake my head, and lead her to the SUV. Though I dreaded the thought of sitting beside Gabe on the way to the train station, I feel cheated when I see Sofia holding the keys.
&nb
sp; “Set your bag right there,” she tells me. “I will get it.”
“You … you’re taking us to the station?”
“Sì.” She gives me a doleful smile. “I am sorry, Emilia. My brother is a generous hello man. He is stingy when it comes to good-byes.”
I stare out the backseat window, half listening as Sofia and Lucy chatter in the front seat.
“I live my life, day after day, not worried about what others think of me,” Sofia tells Lucy. “Do you not do the same?”
“No,” Lucy says. “Not since I was eight. But starting now, I do.”
I’m so proud of my cousin, and I’d tell her, if I trusted my voice. I turn to the window. Trespiano, and my dream of Gabriele, disappear along with the countryside. My eyes sting and I blink back tears. Today, my heart breaks. Tomorrow, it will be my aunt’s. What is it with love, anyway? Lucy was right: I never wanted to be in the game. I was fine, living my life as a single woman. I finally step onto the field, and—bam!—I’m knocked unconscious by a curveball. Never have I felt so rejected, so humiliated and lonely and empty. Who needs this kind of pain?
As my mind rationalizes a life without love, my heart remembers how magical it was, lying in Gabe’s arms, how alive, how fully connected I felt, like the world around me—the one I’d never felt quite comfortable in—had welcomed me at last.
Traffic picks up when we reach the outskirts of Florence—the place where, just last night, I stood in Gabe’s arms, as happy as I’d ever felt. Was none of that real? I think of Lucy. I was completely unsympathetic about her love life. I felt so superior, convinced she should have been able to see these guys for what they were—players. But the truth is, they were no different from Gabe. And I’m no different from Lucy.
Sometimes it’s our mind we ignore when we think we could make someone love us.
I turn when Poppy’s chilly fingers intertwine with mine.
“You will find, Emilia, life is not always a circle. More often, it’s a tangled knot of detours and dead ends, false starts and broken hearts. An exasperating, dizzying maze, impossible to navigate and useless to map.” She squeezes my hand. “But not a single corner nor curve should ever, ever be missed.”
Her eyes are soft and she hands me a tissue. Somehow she knows. She pats the space beside her and I slide over. It should be me, comforting her. I know this. But still, I can’t resist. I lay my head on her shoulder and she strokes my hair.
“I am proud of you, Emilia.”
“Proud? I was made a fool.”
“Nonsense. You left the fool behind.”
I study her face, wondering who she’s talking about: Gabriele or the old me.
“You have finally experienced love.” She leans in and whispers, “Even if it was with a no-good, dirty dog.”
“What? You knew Gabriele was a dog?” I glance at Sofia. Luckily, she and Lucy are busy talking. “Why didn’t you warn me?” I whisper. “You let me go off with him yesterday! Do you realize that we …?” My voice trails off.
“Of course I do. It was high time you experienced some passion. And a dirty dog like Gabriele knows a lot of tricks.” She winks at me.
I massage my forehead. One day, maybe I’ll look back on this conversation and find the humor.
Maybe.
La Stazione di Santa Maria Novella is a jungle of cars and taxis and frenzied passengers. Sofia insists on walking us to our train. My phone dings when we enter the bustling station. A text from Daria.
Where RU?
Damn. She’s ticked, and I don’t blame her. I’d promised to call her … three days ago. But I was so consumed with Gabe I completely forgot.
I type as I walk. Train station. Florence. Will call in 5 minutes. Promise!
I mean where, exactly??
I practically ram into Lucy before I realize she and Sofia and Poppy have stopped. I look up, struck by the chaos. People storm past us, angry and agitated. Voices are loud, frustrated. To my left, a huge line snakes beyond the ticket counter. A man hands us a pamphlet. I make out two words: Salario Equo. Fair Pay.
“Oh, hell,” Sofia says, shepherding us over to the side of the platform. “The train workers have gone on strike.”
Poppy clutches her chest. “I should have been paying attention. They announce these things in advance.”
“They announce their strikes?” I notice a poster on the wall, the same one I spotted when we arrived Thursday, telling of an upcoming sciopero.
“We better hightail it to another station,” Lucy says.
“It’s nazionale,” Sofia says, reading the pamphlet. “The whole country is affected for the next twenty-four hours.”
“So what do we do now?” Lucy asks. “Can we fly to Ravello?”
“No. But you can catch a flight to Naples, and take a bus from there.”
An American man beside us pipes up. “All domestic flights are booked solid.” He holds his iPhone out to us. “I’ve checked all the carriers. The soonest anyone can get out of here is tomorrow afternoon.”
My heart sinks. I can’t even look at Poppy.
“You can rent a car,” Sofia says. “Or, you can come back to the inn.” She smiles at Lucy. “My brother and I will welcome another day of your company.”
My head spins. Could this rail-worker strike be fate, forcing our return to Casa Fontana? Might Gabe have had an epiphany in the past hour? Might he run to me with open arms, having realized he almost lost me?
Lucy shakes her head. “We have to get to the cathedral.”
I close my eyes, shamed by my selfishness. “Absolutely.”
“Is that the line for rentals?” Lucy asks, lifting her head above the crowd. “Shit. We’ll be here all day.”
I spot the car rental booth just as the agent pulls down the gate. He tapes a sign to the wall. Esaurito. The crowd erupts with curses and boos.
“They have sold out,” Sofia says.
Poppy whimpers, a sound so faint it breaks my heart. I grab her hands.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get there. I promise.” But inside, I’m not the least bit convinced.
“You will take Gabriele’s car,” Sofia says.
“No,” I say. “We can’t do that.”
“You can. I promise. He would want this.”
Uh-huh. To ease his guilty conscience?
“He can arrange for someone to return it. Until then, he and I will use the Vespas.”
Lucy claps her hands. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s hit it.”
We move against the crowd, inching our way to the exit. I lock eyes with a brunette about fifty feet away, coming toward us. She’s wearing a denim jacket with a backpack slung over her shoulder. She looks like Daria. So much like Daria. Exactly … like …
“Daria?” I say. I call again, louder this time, and wave my arms. “Daria!”
Lucy shoots me a look. Before I can utter a word, she sees her, too.
“What the hell? Daria’s here? In Italy?”
Chapter 33
Emilia
I edge my way through the crowded platform, overcome with love and confusion and joy and disbelief. “You’re here!” I grab Daria in my arms and squeeze her with all my might. “You came all this way. I can’t believe it.”
“Easy, sister,” she says and gives an awkward chuckle before untangling herself. “I barely recognized you. You got new glasses.”
I start to thank her, before I realize she didn’t actually compliment me. “How did you find us?”
“I followed the itinerary you left with Dad.”
“I can’t believe you’re here! Oh, my god, thank you.”
“What was I supposed to do? You call me from Venice in the middle of the night, lost and terrified. Then we’re cut off and I hear nothing. I finally get one measly text telling me you’d call. And do you? No.”
My sister was worried. She came here to rescue me. I can’t stop smiling. “Sorry about that,” I say. “I made it home safely, as you can see.”
She turns to
Lucy. “And you. Do you never answer your phone?”
“I broke up with that ugly-ass Samsung the minute I got here,” Lucy says, without skipping a beat. “I miss it about as much as my old headgear.” She slings an arm around Sofia. “By the way, this is Sofie.”
Sofia extends her hand and offers a shy smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Daria’s gaze shifts from Sofia to Lucy, and back again, before she finally takes Sofia’s hand.
Lucy aims a thumb at our aunt. “And of course you know Aunt Poppy.”
Poppy steps forward, cupping Daria’s cheeks in her hands. “My dear girl. It’s so lovely to see you.”
My sister literally recoils. I want to grab her by the arm and tell her to behave. “Thanks,” she says coolly, adjusting her backpack.
“You’ve arrived just in time for Ravello,” Poppy continues, seemingly unfazed.
“Yes!” I say. “Perfect timing. Ravello is the capstone of our trip. Wait until you hear Poppy’s story. We’ll fill you in on the way.”
“We’ll be there by sunset,” Poppy adds. “Depending on how fast Luciana drives.”
Lucy rears back. “I’m not driving. I don’t even have a license. Em will drive.”
My heart begins to pound. I feel Daria’s eyes on me. She’s got a sly grin on her face.
“So you’re driving, Emmie?”
My sister knows I don’t drive, and she knows why. I clasp my shaking hands. “No,” I whisper.
Sofia studies us, as if trying to understand the dynamics between these strange American sisters. “I would drive you myself, but I need to get back to the boys. Besides, I am terrified of the cliffs.”
Poppy bats a hand. “Not to worry. I will drive.”
If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable. Poppy can barely walk. And the label on her pill vial prohibits her from driving.
There’s only one obvious solution.
“What about you, Dar?”
Her head snaps to attention.
“Will you drive us?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you!” I clasp my hands in prayer. “Please, Dar, I’m begging you. Say you’ll drive us to Ravello?”
One Italian Summer: The perfect romantic fiction read for summer 2020 Page 20
