Sea Legs

by Nina Hatch

  He sighs. “All the competition made many start selling shoddy products or come just to make fast money. It made us fearful, isolated. The DiCicco’s promised that they had the answers to make Schiaro prosper, and people wanted to believe them. But the DiCicco’s just wanted to take the money for themselves. They’ll squeeze us all dry in the end.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to do?”

  “Non lo so. Shut ourselves in, hope for the best. With this beautiful door to look at, I won’t even mind.” Ernesto has a quiet smile on his face, his hands folded placidly across his belly.

  Thoughtful, I pull off the rag hanging from my belt so I can give the installed door one final wipe down. I hate to see Ernesto lose hope like this, but I can at least try to get his mind off it. “Hey, I meant to ask. I’m going out of town for the weekend…”

  “Ci?” Ernesto says, his tone newly excited and expectant. He gets up to stand behind his chair now, bouncing up and down on his toes. “Perhaps with the same bella Olivia I met on your boat?”

  “Maaaybe,” I say, toying with him a bit longer. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could look out for Bacon for me while I’m gone.”

  “Certo!”

  “Oh, and maybe could you just keep an eye out for Luca? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

  “Consider it done. Now, where are you going with Olivia? It’s with Olivia, right?”

  I concede and give him a nod. “Yes, it’s her. Stop jumping, old man, you’re going to break a hip. And I’m taking her to Milan. She’s a fashion designer — well, she should be at least — and I want to show her the Academy and the ateliers.”

  “Milano? Bellisimo! Where will you stay?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I thought I’d look for something once we get there. Something near the Milan Academy.”

  In the back of my mind, in a distant, peripheral place I try to avoid poking, I think of my father — the original reason I came to Italy in the first place. I’m well aware that his last known address is in Milan, and I also know it’s somewhere near the Academy, but I stifle the thought. I already have everything I could ever want by having Olivia. It feels selfish to even think of looking for something more.

  “Per favore, let me do this for you, Jacopo. Bernardo, my brother, lives in Milan and he takes boarders. Now, no guarantees, he doesn’t always take my calls, but let me see if he’ll answer.”

  Ernesto looks so sweet, shuffling over to the rotary phone, that I don’t even object. All he can do is leave a message with his brother, so I thank him with a pat on the shoulder and don’t think anything more of it. From what Ernesto’s told me of Bernardo, I doubt he ever wants to talk to anyone from this town again.

  On my way back to my boat, I swing by the train station to make sure everything is still running on schedule for this evening, double checking the tickets with mounting excitement. There’s just enough time for me to shower and pack before I have to be back at the pier to pick up Olivia for our trip.

  I make sure to pack Liv’s sketchbook in my bag first, which is still where she left it under the captain’s chair, and then I throw in anything else I might need for the weekend. I’m about to lock up the door when I see Ernesto’s blue suit, still hanging in my closet where I left it after Liv’s sister’s wedding. It feels right to bring it along, so I slip into it, the fine fabric clinging to my body just like it did that first night. After a quick glance in the mirror, I flip off the light and climb the ladder down to the shore.

  When I turn around, I nearly slam straight into Talia. I flinch back, stunned.

  How did she find me?

  In all of our amorous encounters, Talia never gave a shit about me, never cared where I lived or how, and I’ve never volunteered that information either.

  This had to come from Luca.

  She slinks out from the shadows, her eyes dark. “Jake, my pet,” she coos. “It’s been far too long, and I’ve missed that cazzo of yours.” Talia trails her finger up my arm, her nail snagging the fabric of my suit. My nostrils flare, but I try to keep my breathing steady.

  Then Marco, one of the first guys I met when I came to Schiaro, follows her out of the darkness and comes to lean against the side of my boat behind her, his arms crossed, jaw set. Marco is still the largest man I’ve ever seen, and that includes all the opponents I came across when I used to brawl for quick money back in the States.

  “Marco, why are you doing this?” I ask him. “You don’t have to be a part of whatever this is.”

  “If I had a way out, I’d take it,” he says, barely meeting my eyes. “Some of us have nothing left to lose.”

  “Well,” I say, trying to push past Talia, “good to see you both. Wish I could stay and catch up, but I was just —”

  “— Leaving? I know. Did you think I haven’t been watching your every move? You’re a valuable commodity to me, Jake. Especially now that you fixed your boat here.”

  That stops me cold.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play coy with me. Who do you think gave Luca the idea to pay his darling savior back with the exact equipment that I knew you needed?” she snaps. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Is that what this is all about? That I interrupted your little business venture when I told Luca to get out? Well, sorry you can’t treat people like your puppets, Talia.”

  She laughs, the sound short and filled with venom. “Oh, no apologies necessary, my pet. In fact, I should be thanking you and Luca.” She flashes me an acid smile.

  “Why’s that?” I ask. I could hardly be less interested, but I may as well try to anticipate her next move. I still hate that she got the upper hand on me by finding out where my boat is docked.

  “Didn’t you hear? We’re expanding. Our scope was far too narrow before. Luca taught me to look to the seas when he let slip that you have this boat. We started to make a plan right away for a maritime unit, and it’s already well underway. Soon we’ll be the biggest name in drug smuggling up and down the coast,” she says, her smile sharp in a way that dulls her features. “Which brings me to my next request.”

  “I’m not doing business with you, Talia.”

  “Of course not, Jake. It’s not business if it’s not mutual, and I’m not offering you anything. I’m telling you. I need your boat.”

  “Never.”

  “Now,” she snaps. “You said yourself, you were just leaving. I only need it for the weekend, I promise. We’ve been getting so popular that the Italian coast guard is starting to recognize the couple boats we have. We have a shipment due this weekend and no time to find a new vessel, so I’m taking yours. You can have it back on Monday, no harm done.”

  “No way.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” Talia takes two slow steps, swaying her hips before turning back, looking over her shoulder. “But don’t think it’s just you I’ve been keeping an eye on, Jake. You know, that pretty little blonde girlfriend of yours really should be more careful when she goes out with her friends. Alcohol and partying near open water? Easy to get hurt, easy to be taken, easy to fall in… The police barely even bother opening a case.”

  Everything goes red.

  How does she know about Olivia?

  “You wouldn’t dare. I’ll fucking kill you.” The button at the top of my collar pops off under the strain of my bulging neck, rage pumping through my veins.

  “No need for threats and violence, darling. Just lend me your boat and I’ll tell my men to forget her name. You have my word. I’ll return your boat to you safe and sound. If you don’t agree, however, I can’t make the same promise about your piccola bionda, Olivia.”

  I clench my fists at the sound of Olivia’s name on Talia’s lips.

  How could I let this happen? How could I let myself get so cocky and — I’ll say it, happy — that I didn’t cover my own tracks better?

  My heart is pounding, but all I can think about is Olivia, finding her today at the station an
d taking her far away from this hurricane. At least I can be with her to protect her.

  I pull the keys to the boat out of my pocket and place them in Talia’s open palm without saying another word.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jake

  Olivia is sleeping so peacefully, I don’t even consider waking her. Her hair is splayed out on the silk pillowcase like a Pre-Raphaelite painting, a gentle smile curving her lips. After the night we had last night, she deserves her rest.

  Especially because I want a repeat performance tonight. Maybe every night.

  But we both need sustenance if that’s going to happen, and Olivia will be up and looking for her morning cappuccino in no time. I slip out of our room and step quietly down the creaky stairs, a move I’ve pulled so many times I could give lessons. This time, though, I know I’m coming back. I chuckle to myself at how strong the pull is to return, when all I’ve ever wanted to do was escape.

  It’s still early, so the only place open on this block is a tiny farmacia on the corner.

  “Scusami,” I say to the old man sweeping in the back, “could you tell me where I can find the best cappuccinos in Milan? Not the closest, but the best?” He nods, pulling out a map from behind the counter and circling an intersection across the piazza. “Grazie mille,” I tell him, paying him for the map and stepping back out into the cool morning sunlight. I lean against a neoclassical church to study my purchase.

  I told myself I was just going out to get Olivia coffee, but now that I’m here — map in hand— something unsettled and angry stirs in my gut.

  My father. Here in Milan.

  I try to push it out of my head, but once the thought is planted, it takes root like an itch. I can’t think about anything else.

  I want this city to be about me and Olivia and our love, not about my past, but I can’t seem to leave it alone.

  Even though my mind is fighting it, my fingers trace over the map, following the meandering stradas and vias named after past Italian heroes of culture and industry. Before I can stop, I find exactly what I told myself not to look for — my father’s address.

  It’s not too far on foot, and I start walking in the correct direction, still not knowing what I could possibly say when he answers the door. I’m not as angry as I was when I started this journey four years ago, but I still feel the need to put this to rest somehow. I guess I’m still hoping for answers, hoping for an acknowledgment that my existence means something, hoping for hope. Old questions pound in my head in beat with my footsteps on the pavement.

  He’s the entire reason I’m even in Italy to begin with, don’t I owe it to myself to see this journey through?

  When I get to the right address, a crumbling old building with yellow plaster, I don’t even hesitate before knocking. The landlady of the building is small, hunched with arthritis, and slow to answer the door.

  I ask for a few minutes of her time and she agrees, bringing me into her musty parlor. After turning down her offer of tea, I show her the faded photograph of my father when he was younger, the one given to me by one of his old cronies so long ago now. This picture has been with me since the beginning, a crease running right up the center of the black and white image from being in my wallet for years.

  The face in the photo is of a man I’ve never seen in person, but he could be my twin. My father’s expression looks tough, like he’s trying to impress someone, but there’s a light in his eyes, and I share the same strong nose as him, the wide jawline, and thick five o’clock shadow that seems to regrow less than an hour after a close shave. Maybe I can ask him if he’s ever found a razor that works, I think with a smile as the woman studies the image.

  “Ah ci, Senore Rocco, he lived here,” she says. Then she meets my eyes, giving me a sad smile. “Mi dispiace, è morto. He passed away three weeks ago. In his sleep.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  It’s over.

  No more.

  The realization that I’m never going to get answers — never even going to talk to him — falls on me like a dark and heavy cloak. I didn’t understand until now how much I counted on that door remaining open, that possibility of a connection to my only remaining family.

  I thank my father’s former landlady briefly, leaving the photograph of him in her gnarled hand.

  After all the shit my mother went through, raising me alone until she violently overdosed. After all the shit I’ve gone through, never knowing a place to call home, never trusting in the permanence of anything.

  After all this time, scouring a country that doesn’t even belong to me, leading a life that has left me with nothing to show for it — after all this, he just gets to die peacefully in his sleep. The fucker didn’t deserve that.

  I’m covering entire city blocks in seconds, sprinting to a destination that I don’t know, thoughts crashing around in my mind.

  My father was the entire reason I was in Italy in the first place, and now I’m too late. By three fucking weeks. Has all of this been a mistake? If he’s dead, if he never even knew I existed, then what has any of this even meant? And what was I thinking, believing that I have any right to be happy? Believing that I could keep someone safe and think of them as mine?

  My brain is reeling, spinning, and I still don’t know where I’m going to.

  What I need is to find Olivia, talk all this out, tell her everything.

  Just thinking of her makes the storm clouds part.

  Of course. I’m not alone anymore.

  Last night, she told me she wanted to be with me, to be together, to lean on each other. Being in her arms was like coming in from a raging storm, and I long to be back in that safe haven.

  My phone starts ringing at that exact moment, and I flip it open, so ready to hear Olivia’s voice, to make it all okay again.

  “Olivia?” I answer, completely out of breath.

  But what pounds through my ear instead is Talia’s cruel laughter.

  “Olivia? Ugh, how pathetic. Jake, I thought you were better than this. You sound like you actually care.” Talia’s voice is like acid, her words cutting through me as though she’s wielding daggers with every syllable. “I suppose if you do care, that will make it easier for me, though. Jake, my precious, I’m sitting here at the wheel of your lovely boat. Your service is recognized and appreciated. I was calling to make a deal, but you just set the terms yourself — I’m taking this boat. In return, you may have your fun with your sweet little lemon tart, just as long as you never return to Schiaro again.”

  “What?” I feel ripped apart. “Talia, don’t do this. I’ll fucking kill you,” I spit.

  “Ha.We both know you won’t do that, darling. You’re too good. I, on the other hand, have someone on staff for just such purposes.”

  “But Schiaro is my home, you can’t do this. What about Luca? Ernesto?”

  She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Since you brought it up, I’ll honor our previous deal. See how fair I can be? I won’t go out of my way to harm them. But that’s my final offer, take it or leave it.”

  I’m seething inside.

  Everything is black.

  A single, violent growl crawls its way out of my chest: “Done.”

  Talia’s maniacal laughter is still ringing when I crack the phone in half, slamming it into the nearest trash bin.

  I can’t even swallow. Talia’s fangs have sliced my throat. What hurts the most though is that I deserve it — I deserve this pain. I was so foolish to expose myself like this, to let down my guard, to think I could love without consequence.

  I’ve lost my boat and my father in under half an hour. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. The people I keep in my life come to ruin and tragedy, that’s why I will always have to be alone.

  These last couple months felt as though I was lulled into a dream from someone else’s life. A life where love is pure and easy and safe. But I always knew I would be found out, I would never have gotten away with someth
ing so good. Now it’s caught up to me, it’s all falling apart. And I can see it happening in slow motion, like it’s inevitable, like a ship breaking on the rocks, drawn too close by the siren’s call.

  I need to try to protect Olivia one last time, to protect the one true thing I have, even if that means I can’t have it anymore. She has no idea the danger she’s in, she doesn’t even know that the boat is gone — the one she made feel like our home — that everything is crumbling.

  The thought of seeing her now brings me to my knees in anguish, and I wish I could just walk away like I have before, make it easier on myself because I can’t bear the thought of seeing the hurt on her face. But if I don’t break this off clean, if I don’t do it now, she’ll come looking for me in Schiaro, and that will put her in direct danger.

  I drag myself back to our block, down the sidewalk, up the steps.

  Peeking through the window, I see Olivia sitting at the table, talking to Bernardo. I hear a loud guffaw boom out before I even open the door. If anyone could make this grumpy old man laugh, it’s Olivia.

  Fuck. This is going to kill me.

  “There you are,” she says, beaming at me. “Bernardo was telling me about when he and Ernesto were little. Did you know there used to be a farmer’s market in the square every Sunday after church? They’d set up donkey rides for the kids and play music and everything. It used to go through the night.”

  “I did know that, actually,” I say with a sad smile.

  To see her, to know I have to push her away, it slices me open.

  “So where have you been?” she says, tilting her head to one side.

  There’s no way I can tell her the truth. She’ll want to fix things, and she can’t. I have to break her heart with a lie.

  “I…I found my father.”

  “You did? I thought you weren’t going to go looking for him. That’s great news. I mean, I wanted to come with you, I told you I’d be there for you, but still, I’m happy you found him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well? Have a seat, tell us everything. How is he?”