Sea Legs

by Nina Hatch

  I stay on my feet, keeping my hand on the doorknob. “Seems fine. He, uh, wants me to go somewhere with him. To, um, Detroit. He has a job for me there and wants me to be part of the business.”

  “Oh.” Her soft pink lips press together in a firm line, a quizzical look furrowing into her brow. “So…maybe we can talk about what that means for us? I mean, I can give up the Milan internship, that doesn’t matter. I’ll move back to New York like I planned before, then it’s really not a long flight to get to Detroit.”

  “No,” I cut in, a little too quickly. “You’ve worked too hard to get to this point, Liv. You have to give it a chance, you deserve this.”

  “Well I never would have accepted it without you. I don’t think I’d feel right staying here if you’re…leaving?”

  “I’m leaving either way. Look, Liv, I care about you. I want what’s best for you, I always will. I hope you choose where to go with your heart and trust yourself, but I can’t be part of that decision. Our journey ends now. Right here.”

  “What? No.” She jumps up from the table. I know what she’s going to say next. She’s going to say that we can figure this out together, that our love will be enough.

  But as long as she’s with me, she’s not safe.

  I twist the doorknob in my hand. “Liv, I’m going. I just wanted you to know. Your ticket on the 1:00 train is paid for and in your name. I won’t be on it though.”

  “Why are you doing this, Jake? I love you.”

  Her gray-green eyes are swimming with tears — eyes I fell in love with the moment I first spoke to her in the hotel lobby in Schiaro. This is all I’ve ever wanted, to have someone choose to stay, to belong to each other. She’s fighting for me, and her words, those words, that love — it rips at my chest, pulling all the wind from my lungs. I wish I could suffocate instead of doing what I need to do right now.

  I have to make her let me go. I have to shatter her heart with this lie. It’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever done.

  “We have to end this now, Liv. We both know it’s gone too far, there’s nothing left for us, no future.”

  “Jake, please…”

  “Goodbye, Liv.”

  The chilly wind outside slaps me in the face, but I dare anything in this cold world to hurt me more than I’ve already hurt myself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Olivia

  Bernardo’s eyes bore through me in the curdled quiet that hangs in the kitchen.

  “He’s not coming back.”

  “Yes, he is,” I say, biting my lip to keep it from quivering.

  I’m betting all I have on Jake. I hope he doesn’t let me down.

  “Let him go.”

  “Why? So he can end up like you? Picking at a scab that he should have let heal decades ago? He’ll be back, I know he will.” Bernardo blinks twice at me and looks away. He doesn’t say anything more.

  The two of us sit in stony silence for a long time. A silence that grows and expands in its agony, that makes the coffee go cold, makes the lazy flies of late summer swirl in dizzy circles until they land, never to fly again.

  We wait, together in the same room, but suddenly on islands far apart.

  Jake doesn’t come back.

  After the silence freezes up hard and thick, I yank up my duffel bag from where it’s settled around my feet and turn the doorknob to let myself out, wordlessly, to try and make the 1:00 train.

  I’m certain Jake will show up at the station, maybe he just didn’t want to fight in front of Bernardo. We’ll make up on the train and work everything out. I plant my bag firmly on the seat beside me to save it for him, frantically scanning the face of each new passenger who steps on board.

  But the train pulls out of the station with the seat still empty.

  Everything feels wrong. Upside down. The realization that Jake’s not coming back washes over me like a dull, deafening roar. He meant this as his final goodbye. And now I don’t even know how or where to find him. I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t know how to stop the pain. It’s too loud, too throbbing, too shattering.

  And then the thundering roar in my mind stops.

  I feel like someone pressed the mute button and I’m moving in slow motion. I’m helplessly drowning, but no one can see me.

  I can still see people laughing together, talking, the lips of the train attendant moving to ask for my ticket, but I hear nothing but that ringing emptiness. The wintry silence didn’t just stay in Bernardo’s kitchen — that same dark storm system apparently set up over my window seat, following me back to Schiaro, showering icy pinpricks on my brain until I’m numb.

  Somehow, I make it back to the Venus, but I can’t find words to say to Teddy when he greets me, or Mel when she gives me the rotation schedule for the final week of charter guests. What could words possibly mean anymore anyway?

  When I shuffle to my cabin and see Claire for the first time, I get some sense of how wrecked I must look, because she pulls me into a silent hug and holds me as my bones give out. She turns out the light and lays me in bed.

  I don’t know how long I sleep. I don’t know if I’ll ever be awake again.

  The next week is like watching myself in a dream, observing my body cleaning the guest cabins, pressing laundry, serving cocktails. By this time in the charter season, things are coming more automatically to me, so Mel mostly leaves me alone to run through my duties in the zombie autopilot that’s all I can manage.

  I keep thinking I see the silhouette of Jake’s boat on every distant horizon, and I run to the deck every time, nearly catapulting myself over the rail. It happens so often that Teddy tells me about the way the light can play tricks on sailors, about the legend of the Flying Dutchman and the ghost ships that never existed.

  It doesn’t make me feel any less crazy though.

  I feel like everyone’s speaking a different language than I am, that the smiles spread across their faces might as well be Mandarin Chinese, they’re so incomprehensible to me.

  I can’t believe there was ever a future where I believed I could be going home to Jake after this summer ended. Where I’d ever even considered interning in Milan or taking a chance on my dreams. That all seems so far away now, a gossamer vision from a life unlived. Calling the Milan Academy to decline their offer was like being underwater, I didn’t even hear what they said in response, and when I hung up the phone, I just fell back asleep and back into darkness.

  At some point in the week, my father called to say he had me booked on a flight back to New York as soon as I finish up on the Venus, along with two interviews he set up once I shake the jet lag. I was too limp to protest, and when I consented so early in the call, I think he was almost disappointed to not be able to deliver the lecture he was clearly winding up for.

  Even though I can barely summon any awareness of what’s happening, saying goodbye to Claire, Lucy, and Teddy at the end of the week breaks my still-wrecked heart anew. They’ve become more like family than friends at this point, and I think I just might fall apart when they let me go, Teddy kissing me on the forehead, Claire promising to call every day, and Lucy pressing a bag of her famous chocolate chip cookies into my hand with a sad smile. I can’t even take in the weight of this goodbye, this moment, all we’ve been through together.

  I wonder what it must be like, to go forward into a new chapter. My life is so explicitly over, I can’t even imagine.

  I should have gone with them when they left for the airport, but I backed out of the cab at the last minute, going back to sit on my luggage at the pier.

  But sitting still makes the pain gather around me like a wet cloak.

  I don’t want to go back to New York. I can’t pretend this never happened. Everything changed for me here, and I can’t just leave.

  Restless, I start walking.

  By the time the sun is high in the sky, I’ve covered most of the town of Schiaro. And not just the touristy central square either, but up the steep cobbled alleys, twisting between the
shops and houses perched on the bluffs. I feel like if I leave, if I get on that plane, it will mean this is really over. Even if everything about Schiaro makes me feel ringing pain on almost a visceral level, that pain connects me somehow to Jake, and I don’t want to let it go.

  I didn’t know what I was looking for when I started, but by afternoon I realize that I was still looking for an explanation as to why it all fell apart, a clue I should have seen earlier — I was looking for chinks in Jake’s armor so I could let him go.

  I’d been trying for days to convince my heart of what I knew in my head to be true: that Jake was never right for me. That what we had couldn’t truly have worked. Now, sweat dripping down my face, I see that I’ve spent the day surveying his town, talking to the residents, trying to find evidence to back that up.

  But so far, I can only find examples of the good man that he is. No one in Schiaro knew him well, but everyone who knew him had a story about how he dropped everything to help them, how he could repair anything and never asked for something in return. It all makes me feel sick with the loss, shattered all over again, my heart screaming “I told you so!” to my brain.

  If I stay much longer, I’m going to miss my plane, so I stop in for a final cappuccino at the Vincent caffé. But the espresso tastes bitter and burnt on my tongue. Without even finishing it, I slide a few Euros across the bar, sling my bag over my shoulder, and stand up to leave.

  That’s when I see it.

  Jake’s boat.

  Not a Fata Morgana mirage.

  His boat. Our boat.

  Gliding across the sea in the distance.

  I would recognize that boat anywhere, because that boat carries a piece of my broken heart.

  But what is Jake doing here if he said he was leaving? I run back out to the pier and try to wave, but the boat keeps sailing by. There’s no way he could see me from this far off, he must not be docking in his typical cove tonight.

  I have to find out where he’s going, what he’s still doing here, how I can get him back.

  Still breathless, I run up the last block in Schiaro that I didn’t hike earlier, hoping to get a better view from the top of the hill. But what catches my eye instead is a small painted sign that reads Ernesto’s, swinging above the most striking door I’ve ever seen.

  How could I forget about talking to Ernesto?

  The door is made of fine olive wood, stained just enough to protect it while still showing off the natural burls, the grain swirled and distinct like vinegar dropped into oil. There’s a small glass window near the top, surrounded by an understated carved trim of tomato vines and wildflowers. I know Jake’s hands have been here, and I stroke the grooves, torturing myself further before finally pushing the door open.

  “Non siamo aperti, we’re closed,” a loud voice booms out from the kitchen. I can see Ernesto in the back, chopping vegetables.

  “Oh, I’m not here to eat,” I call out, stepping into the restaurant and the aroma of simmering sauce. “Um, I don’t know if you remember me, but —”

  Ernesto’s head snaps up, “— Olivia! Certamente!” Before I know it, he’s swept me up in his arms, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Grazie a Dio. But where’s Jacopo?” he asks, peering behind me.

  To hear Jake’s name makes tears spring to my eyes again. Ernesto pulls a chair out for me, looking concerned and joining me at the table.

  “I don’t know where he is.” My voice comes out shaky and broken. “He told me he was going back to America, but I just saw his boat sail by. If he’s still here I just want to say — I guess, say goodbye.”

  “Che cosa? What do you mean? Jacopo told me he was staying with you in Milan. That he was happy and I didn’t need to worry about him anymore.” When I give him a quizzical look, he goes on. “Didn’t he tell you that Talia has taken his boat? I don’t know who you saw sailing today, but it wasn’t Jacopo.”

  Ernesto looks at me quietly before alarm springs to his expression, as though he’s only now realizing the severity of the moment. “But…where is Jacopo then? If he’s not with me and he’s not with you, where could he be?” He shoves away from the table, going to the door to look out as though maybe Jake is right outside the window and I’m just not telling him.

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  I let the weight of the words wash over me. “Wait, did you say someone took his boat? Who’s Talia?”

  Ernesto starts to shake his head, slow and sad, his gaze fixed on his shoes. “Someone who cannot be stopped.”

  “If she’s standing between me and Jake, you better believe she can be stopped. Now, tell me everything you know.”

  When he looks at me again, he still seems doubtful, but I swear I see a twinkle in his eye where before there was only sorrow.

  “Benissimo. But first, I’m making you a pizza.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Olivia

  By the time Ernesto gives me a brief summary and an outline of local Schiaro politics and business practices, I’m livid.

  As someone who formerly calculated risk for major corporations, I can’t believe how reckless the DiCicco’s are being with their plans to take over Schiaro and govern it almost unilaterally. I can see the selfish appeal of the short term goals they were aspiring to, but the amount of damage their plans could wreak on the long term local economy is unreal, and the way they seem to have insidiously embedded themselves in the governmental fabric is actually scary.

  My mind is reeling as I absentmindedly polish off the second pizza Ernesto made for me, sopping up cheesy grease with my finger. There has to be a way to figure this out.

  “Is there anyone close to Talia that we can talk to? Figure out what makes this whole operation run?”

  “No one who isn’t under her protection. Wait — of course! Luca!”

  Ernesto is surprisingly spry for his age, and he’s on the rotary dial phone behind the counter in a flash. I wash down the pizza with another glass of white wine while he chatters in Italian on the receiver. “Luca will be over in a few minutes,” he says, hanging up the phone. “He’s still working for Talia, but believe me, he’s loyal to Jacopo.”

  I nod at him and sit still, tracing a pattern in the condensation on my wine glass with my fingernail as I think. My father’s been texting me for the past hour, demanding to know if I boarded my plane, but I turn the phone off, ignoring him.

  By the time Luca slips through the door, looking around nervously to make sure he’s not being followed, I think I’ve come up with a few leads.

  “Do you know who took control of Jake’s boat?” I ask Luca after Ernesto makes our introductions. The boat feels like the key to getting him back.

  “Ci. It’s some thug named Marco who sails it, he works right under Talia,” he tells me, chewing on his nail. “She made me gut the boat and find places to store the drugs she has shipped up the coast every other day,” he continues. Luca looks like a frayed nerve, with bags under his eyes and pointy cheekbones, like he lost too much weight too quickly. He takes my hands in his and leans in closer. “Olivia, please know, I thought I was helping when I got Jake those parts to fix his boat. He’s always been good to me, I just wanted to pay him back. I didn’t know this would happen, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sure he understands,” I tell him, motioning to Ernesto to bring the whole bottle of wine to the table instead of just the glass he poured for Luca. “Jake has put each and every one of us before himself, going out of his way to fix what he can or be there when it matters. Now we’re going to bring him home. Together. I know we can do this if we all do our part, and I’m counting on you. So, what can you tell me about the DiCicco’s?”

  Luca describes what he knows of the operational side of the DiCicco political agenda, and even though he’s at one the lowest positions in the drug ring, his observations are astute. The entire system is built on obedience and what seems to be a false sense of protection that the DiCicco’s offer, but, from the personalities Luca describes, t
here’s starting to be some skepticism within the ranks.

  Basically from what I gather, the DiCicco’s plan is to continue gaining money and power, no matter the cost to the town, and Talia is the one who chooses where to funnel tourism dollars. She decides which restaurants and shops she wants to see succeed based on who complies or who gives her the most at the moment. From Luca and Ernesto’s description, though, this method been causing friction over the last several years, causing shop owners to cannibalize each other’s business while trying to cut their own quality and costs in order to give Talia back more profit, just so they can hope to survive another month. The hopelessness the townspeople feel is real, and Talia’s threats are crushing, allowing her to demand anything she wants.

  Including Jake’s boat.

  If she demanded that of him, she must have proven a real threat if he agreed to give it to her.

  Putting the pieces together now, I can see the whole story.

  I knew in my heart that Jake loved me. That was why my heart refused to mend — because I knew without question that he was never going to leave me again unless he had no other choice. It rang so false when he closed the door on us back in Bernardo’s kitchen, but I can see now that he had to leave to protect me from this. To protect all of us.

  “You can’t take Talia out by force,” Luca muses. “If you could, I’m sure Jake would have handled it by now.

  Luca’s right. This will need to come from within, an attack on a level they can’t dispute or put down. The DiCicco’s are clever, but from where they sit up high on a throne built of coffers, Talia can’t see that she’s isolating people too much, making them feel the desperation in their core, and that desperation is going to turn to revolt.

  “We’re going to need to follow the money,” I say, trying to break this down the way I was trained to at Glendon & Howe. “Find some kind of a double-cross or a payoff. Even something simple could be enough to raise doubt, and we can build on that to a breaking point.”