Sea Legs

by Nina Hatch

  “You’re right, of course. But Talia is as paranoid as they come, and she keeps her records filed and locked up in a safe that only she has the combination to.”

  “I may have something of interest,” Ernesto says slowly, the wheels starting to turn in his mind. He goes to the back and returns with a few scattered papers pulled from the garbage, trace flecks of wet basil clinging to them.

  I take them in my hands to study them. “Wait, all this time you’ve had these shipping ledgers? Ernesto, this is a financial statement!”

  “Ci, one of Talia’s deliveries came on the same ship as my produce, and they left her statement with me by mistake. I can’t make anything of it, though, so I threw it away. Who can read such things?”

  “I can. Lay them out on the table.”

  I stay up all night, poring over everything we have at Ernesto’s table.

  The statements and shipping ledgers are hardly the most damning evidence out there, but they’re enough to cast doubt, and that’s all I need. The papers, along with a few carefully phrased phone calls I made earlier this morning, prove a critical double-cross in how Talia is routing goods up the coast versus what she is shipping down the coast, and they also allude to the lines of credit that I believe that she has pitted against each other — money that is critical to how she pays her henchmen, and money that is about to run out.

  I think Luca was hoping for something a little sexier than numbers and financial statements, but the numbers don’t lie, and sometimes it’s the little slip ups that can topple the mightiest of tyrants. I console him by still assuring him that the three of us are still revolutionaries, even if all we’re fighting with are ledgers, and it seems to perk him up some. He looks like he’s already rewriting the blander details of the story in his head.

  Armed with this new evidence, we’re able to come up with a plan in under eight hours.

  I’d feel a lot better about our strategy if we could optimize it over the course of a week, do some more research and shoot holes in it, but I’m counting on the element of surprise to work in our favor. Besides, I want to find Jake now, not a week from now. Relying on my limited knowledge of international business law, the spotty Internet connection on Luca’s phone, and a script and basic timeline scratched out across Ernesto’s paper napkins, I stand up from the table, ready for battle.

  We decided that I would have to be the one to confront Talia, allowing Luca and Ernesto to remain anonymous for as long as possible in this fight in case it went awry.

  Ernesto slips a small blue charm onto a chain that he fastens around my neck, saying it will protect me from the evil eye, and then he pours me a double shot of whiskey, which I take down in one burning gulp. I’m shocked by the way both of these actions make me feel a lot more confident than I really should.

  My mouth still tingling, Ernesto places both of his hands on my shoulders. “In bocca al lupo,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes.

  “What?”

  “It means, ‘in the mouth of the wolf.’ We say it for good luck.”

  “Oh, well, how do I accept?”

  “You say crepi il lupo. That means ‘I hope he dies.’”

  “Wow, that’s a little harsh, but I’ll take all the luck I can get. Crepi il lupo!” I shout with gusto.

  Ernesto laughs. “Jacopo was right, you are special, Olivia.”

  I return his warm smile. He really has made me feel better, hopeful even, like this crazy plan could actually work. “Ernesto, have you ever thought about getting into politics?”

  “Me? Never. Why would you ask such a thing? I thought we were just trying to get Jake’s boat back?”

  “I did too when I first came in here, but now I see that this is so much larger. You have the seeds of change right here, and I want that for you. For Luca. For Schiaro. I think if this works I can maybe scare Talia a little, hopefully get Jake’s boat back, but it might also shake the foundation enough to crack it. And if that happens, you’re going to need something the town can believe in to replace the DiCicco’s with. You’re going to need hope to bring the community together again.”

  Ernesto’s eyes go misty. “It’s like building the Duomo di Schiaro,” he mutters, his gaze wandering to the enormous cathedral on the distant corner of the square. “It will take the strength of the entire community.”

  “Sure, I suppose it might be like that,” I say, trying to encourage him. By the time my hand is on the door, Ernesto’s already drifted back to the table, pulling out even more napkins to get down his thoughts.

  I walk down to the pier where Luca told me Marco docks at and immediately see two figures moving about on the upper deck of Jake’s boat. My thoughts turn red with anger. They don’t deserve to be here, trespassing in our home. The rage drives my feet and I storm onto the boat to confront them, a striking older woman with black hair and olive skin, and a massive younger man with a shaved head and a fiery scowl.

  “Ah, Olivia. I was hoping we’d get a chance to meet,” the woman sneers, striding forward.

  “Wh-what? How do you know who I am?” I feel like a bullet just pierced my armor. There’s no way I’m prepared for this. My stomach plummets, taking any plan I thought I had right along with it.

  “Oh, little kitten, I know all about you. Jake may have terrible manners, forgetting to introduce us, but he knows you matter to me a great deal. I’m Talia, this is Marco, and if you wouldn’t mind stepping off my boat, we can get to know each other better. Jake may be gone for now, but you might be just the bait I need to get him back here. I’d much rather he work for me than against me.”

  My brain buzzes with static fear. I never even stopped to consider that me coming here could put Jake in further danger.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to picture Jake, treading water in the calm blue sea — he flashes me a confident grin, the one that sets fire to his dimple, his eyes making me feel like I can do anything.

  I’m not letting Talia get the upper hand on me.

  “This boat belongs to Jake Rochester and must be relinquished immediately. You know you don’t have the papers to prove ownership, and I doubt you want to bring on another messy lawsuit, especially when you’re going to have plenty of charges to fight when the banks find out you’ve been robbing Peter to pay Paul and that you no longer have the cash to pay for your personal security.”

  Talia’s eyes go wide and dart nervously toward Marco before she refocuses her narrowed glare on me.

  “Piccola ragazza, you have no idea what you’re playing at here.”

  “Maybe not, but I think you may find that you’re presuming more than you should about this town’s loyalty to you after keeping them under your heel for as long as you have. Marco, would you like to take a look at this?” I ask in mock innocence, edging my way around Talia to give him the papers from Ernesto’s. Her fingers reach out to try to intercept, but I don’t let her.

  Marco takes the sheets in his massive hands and holds them up close to his face. I can see his eyes moving slowly across the words, an even deeper glower coming across his brow.

  He glances up at me halfway through, his expression unreadable, but then his eyes go back to the paper, scanning again. After a moment of silence, he creases the papers in half and hands them back to me.

  Talia looks smug, crossing her arms and assuming she’s the victor.

  For an instant, I assume she is too.

  Then, without saying a word, Marco pulls the keys to Jake’s boat out of his pocket and places them in my palm. Talia’s mouth falls open beside him before she starts swearing at him in shrill Italian. Marco gives me a quick nod before taking Talia by the arm and forcefully escorting her off the boat.

  I’m in complete shock.

  I did it.

  I wait until Marco and Talia make it all the way down the pier before I allow myself to breathe again.

  I hear the sound of whistles and cheering, turning to see Ernesto and Luca racing toward the pier, leaping and celebrating. But ther
e’s a third man with them — even though it can’t be — it’s Bernardo. I could hardly recognize him with the goofy grin plastered across his face. The three of them thunder down the wooden pier, Bacon taking up the rear, and pile onto the boat.

  “Bernardo’s come home, è un miracolo!” Ernesto says, wrapping his meaty arm across Bernardo’s back and giving him a hearty shake.

  Bernardo has his head down and he glances up at me, his eyes timid under bushy brows. “Olivia, I’m sorry. I doubted you, but you were right. I’ve been hurt by love, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”

  “No need to apologize, I’m happy you’re here,” I tell him, squeezing his arm.

  “Ernesto almost barreled me over when Bernardo walked through the door,” Luca jokes, holding Bacon in his arms. “I can’t believe you got the boat back. Talia is going to be furious. Did you get any leads on where Jake is?”

  “Ischia,” Bernardo interjects before I can even shake my head in response. “He’s in Ischia. He called me two days ago from there. Told me he was going to save enough money to come to New York and find you. His father is dead, he lied because he wanted to keep you all safe. Then he said my little brother was in trouble. Told me I needed to do the right thing and be there for him.”

  Ernesto’s eyes well up with tears and he flings his arms open again, pulling Bernardo back into yet another tight embrace.

  “Mamma mia, this is more hugging than I’ve had in the past twenty years,” Bernardo mutters, but he can’t hide the little smile on his face.

  “Well, what do you say?” I place my hand on the boat’s steering wheel. “Who wants to take a trip to Ischia?”

  “I’ll close up the pizzeria,” Ernesto says, searching for his keys.

  “No. I’ll keep it open while you’re away,” Bernardo tells him. “Someone has to be there if Talia comes back or if the residents have questions about where we go from here.” Ernesto scans his brother’s face, eyes worried. “Go, Ernesto. I promise I’ll still be here when you get back. There will be time for us, fratello.”

  Once Bernardo gets off the boat, I turn back to the control panel, studying the dashboard.

  I really should have been paying better attention when Jake showed me how to start the boat.

  I was more than a little distracted last time I was in this captain’s chair with him, but I vaguely remember what Jake’s hands looked like when they were adjusting the gauges and levers, and, after a bit of troubleshooting, I feel the rumble of the motor start to churn beneath us. I get the navigation set and programmed and close my eyes for a minute to focus. Gradually, I’m able to inch out — thank God the boat was docked by itself — and once we move into the open water, I feel like I can finally exhale.

  I look around at my ragtag crew — Ernesto, wringing his hands and reciting the rosary in Italian, Luca pacing the deck and sipping wine, and Bacon perched on the control panel like a hood ornament, scanning the horizon.

  We are the family Jake has been looking for.

  And we’re going to bring him home.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jake

  Looking out from the island beach, I see my boat floating past and I hang my head.

  This same thing happens every other day. What I at first thought was a nightmare, a fever dream, turns out to be my new waking reality, repeated over and over again so I can never heal.

  The first time seeing my boat out on the water without me at the helm was excruciating. I wanted to yell out, I wanted to pillage the decks like a mutinous pirate and take her back.

  But that’s not my life now.

  My life is getting up early, clocking in at the millwork factory, and churning out as many cabinets and trim pieces as I can in my ten hour shift. As a guy with no address and no references, it was tough to find a job, but the factory lets me work off the books, and that means I can take on extra shifts without the boss having to worry about union rules. It also means less money for me per hour, but I have nothing better to do than work, so it all evens out.

  It’s not like I’m getting any sleep. The first night I laid down in bed in the cheapest hostel I could find, that old restlessness came back, nipping at my nerves, burning up, and it hasn’t let up ever since.

  When I rise every morning, I check my body for bruises, for fresh cuts, for scabs, for anything that validates the unrelenting physical pain I’m in. But there’s nothing on my skin to show for this kind of damage. I’m broken, yes, but there’s no way to recover.

  I’ll never forgive myself for breaking Liv’s heart.

  I came to Ischia to hide, to start over again, to never be found.

  I also chose this island because it was close enough to Schiaro to pick up any secondhand news of what the DiCicco’s were up to without getting back on Talia’s psychopathic radar.

  The thing is, I don’t know how much longer I can stand to be in Ischia.

  The pinprick started small, just irritating enough to put me on edge, but soon the single prick was joined by thousands, beating a tattoo on my brain: I had to see Olivia again.

  If I’m ever going to be able to get out of this miserable state, I have to see her one more time, and I’ll find her wherever she is. It may be selfish, it may break her heart again — it will certainly break mine to see her moving on — but I have to tell her I truly did love her. I have to say goodbye better than I did before, in a way that at least honors what we had.

  Because what we had was real, and I know I’ll never get to have that again.

  I started obsessing over this plan to find Olivia three days ago, and it’s made me work even harder at the factory, trying to earn enough money as quick as I can so I can go after her, wherever she might be.

  The morning the idea first struck me, I found a payphone to call the Milan Academy and find out if Olivia was going to be enrolling. The snide receptionist told me Olivia called to decline the position and intended to study in New York.

  New York. A starting point.

  I wrote it down, followed by the dollar amount I’d need to purchase a plane ticket from Naples to Manhattan, taping the note to the mattress above me in my shared bunk at the hostel. That way I could stare at it and at least think of finding Liv when I couldn’t sleep.

  The next day, I used the same payphone to call Bernardo. I needed to let him know the gravity of the situation in Schiaro and ask if he could check in on Ernesto from time to time to make sure he stayed safe when I was gone. His only response was a few grumbles.

  I add it to my bunk note to follow up with him before I go.

  I have no idea how I’m going to find Olivia in New York, I just know that I’ll make a way. I’ve been going in late to an Internet cafe near the city center to start researching the best coffee shops in Midtown Manhattan. That will at least give me some places to start looking when I get there. I print out the list of locations and tape them up as well, marking a few that sound like she’d like them the most.

  Olivia would be so much better at this, but I’m starting to see a sparse plan come together.

  I was just heading back to the factory now after spending my lunch break on the Internet again, but I must have timed it with when my boat makes it’s journey past the island. Which is especially strange because I specifically noted when to avoid the beach so I could save myself the pain of seeing my boat again.

  Certain it must have sailed past by now, I look up, but the boat is making a wide, sloppy turn, circling back this direction, coming in closer to the coast this time. I squint, sure my eyes must be playing tricks on me. Especially because I think I can see just a flicker of diaphanous yellow fabric flying from the flagpole. I rub my eyes to clear them, because it almost looks like —

  — Olivia’s scarf.

  Even though there’s no way that’s possible. I’m struggling to keep from getting my hopes up, but my pulse is beating hard and loud in my throat, my body tense and ready to react as the boat comes closer.

  But it can’t
be her. Right?

  “Jake!” a clear, bright voice rings out over the waves.

  Olivia’s voice. It has to be.

  I can’t believe it. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, just to make sure this isn’t a dream that will be ripped away from me when I wake up.

  “Jacopo!” Ernesto shouts, waving his arms to make sure I see him, Luca jumping up and down. I raise my hand, bewildered, to wave back at them.

  “We don’t know how to dock this!” Olivia calls out.

  But I’m already waist-deep in the water, rushing in to swim out to her. I pump my arms through the tidal current, reaching the boat in just seconds, pulling myself up to the deck, bringing the water of half the ocean with me.

  I can’t believe that she’s real, Olivia, standing right in front of me.

  I’m dripping everywhere, but I pick her up in my arms, swinging her around, vowing to never let her go again.

  “I should have come to you,” I say, the words pouring out of me, washing away my emptiness. “I should have trusted you with this.”

  “It’s okay, I found you,” she breathes, stroking my jaw. “Just like you found me. You don’t ever have to fend for yourself again, I’m here with you.”

  “God, how I missed you Liv,” I whisper.

  She lets out a laugh, so achingly familiar, like the pealing of cathedral bells. “Jake, you’re soaked! Now I’m wet everywhere.”

  “Princess, you have no idea how wet you’re going to be,” I growl in her ear, pulling her even closer. Her sunshine chases away all the darkness I’d let settle over me, and I want to drink her in, to consume her like fresh air.

  There will be time for that.

  When I finally set her down, I look around. The boat is scratched and stripped, but it’s nothing I can’t repair. Ernesto is clapping his hands, a look of pure joy on his face. Luca is openly weeping. And Bacon…well, Bacon is scratching the arm of my couch. I pull them each into a tight embrace.