by Gail Mencini
“I’ll bet you’ve never been to Europe.”
“Other than Colorado, or states I’ve driven through, my trips have been to Las Vegas, Chicago, and a boarding school in Virginia. Nowhere else.”
“It’s a shame you haven’t traveled much.” Will looked wistful. “Marie and I visited national parks across the U.S. We didn’t make it to all of them, though. Once Marie started slipping, she didn’t enjoy riding in the car. It was confusing for her.”
The only national park Sophie had seen was Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. The depressing prospect of a life unfulfilled washed over her.
Will bent low over the table and studied the map.
Sophie pushed up from the table and walked to the door. She and Will held one thing in common. They were both alone in this world.
For Will, his dream of finding Francesca gave him hope.
Sophie had nothing.
24
Sophie wanted to stay sequestered in her apartment for the rest of the day, but her only food was a bargain-priced can of pink salmon. After the oysters with Will, she couldn’t face it.
When it was time for dinner, she left her apartment for the sandwich shop on the corner. She thought a filling meal might soothe her battered heart.
Sophie ordered a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, chips, and a sweet green tea for herself. Remembering the meager offerings in Will’s kitchen, she doubled her order.
The prospect of what life would now look like—no Bangor, no vacation, no job—crushed Sophie’s spirit. The only thing that kept her from burying herself in her bed for the long haul was that her troubles were nothing compared to Will’s. He lost his wife.
Sophie opened her apartment door and deposited her food and tea on the small square table beside the entrance to her galley kitchen.
She returned to the landing and raised her arm to knock on Will’s door. At that moment, he opened it.
“I brought you food.” Sophie held out the bag of food and tea.
“Thank you for dinner, Miss Sophie. What is it?”
Sophie described the take-out meal to him.
He stepped back and swung his door wide open in an invitation. “What about you? Where’s your food?”
The man had buried his wife only a few days ago, with his only remaining family—using the term loosely—an ocean away. He wanted her company.
Being with Will, who clung to the improbable hope of reuniting with his lost love, made Sophie even lonelier. Can I share my meal, intended to give me solace, with a person who gives me no comfort?
Her parents had taught her to be considerate and think of the other person’s point of view.
Sophie sighed. She went back for her sandwich and joined Will.
They ate in silence. Their only communication was when Will smiled and nodded at her between bites.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Best meal I’ve eaten for a month. Thank you most kindly. May I pay you back for the cost of it?”
“No, thank you. It’s my treat.” Sophie stood and cleared the trash away.
“Did you think about it? About helping me find Francesca?”
Curled up in bed the night before, Sophie had considered his offer. He dreamed of a romantic adventure, to look for a lost love all these years later. She wished someone—just once—would love her with that kind of enduring passion.
“You need a travel advisor. I can research travel agents who specialize in travel in Europe and Italy.” Let someone else break the harsh reality to him—a trip to Italy was reckless. Why did she have to squash his dream?
“No. You should do it. We can plan together where we should go from Francesca’s letter. Get clues on where to find her.”
“There is no ‘we.’ I’m not going with you.”
Will looked away. He pressed his hands against the table to stand and moved to the window, staring outside.
Sophie moved to stand beside him. She saw nothing remarkable outside to warrant his attention. His eyes focused straight ahead. Sophie got the impression he was somewhere far away.
The poor man misses his wife.
Another thought hit Sophie, one that made her ashamed. He put aside his grief and own needs and went with me when I thought we were going to put Bangor down. Why? Because he recognized I needed company.
She had dismissed his idea of traveling to Italy as ill-advised and minimally researched. But the biggest obstacle? A European trip would be too physically demanding for him.
Sophie suspected something else. Keeping alive the idea of Francesca, and planning a trip that would never happen, might give Will a reason to live. A reason to hope and dream.
Sophie patted his back as if he were a child needing to be soothed. “I’m sorry, Will. I can’t go with you, but I’ll help you find a qualified travel advisor.”
He spoke without looking at her. “Don’t bother. I’ll come up with a solution myself. Besides, you’ve proven you don’t know anything about love. Look at the deadbeat you squandered your time with. That slick guy from your office.”
He spied on me when I dated Russ. He must have heard our angry breakup. Will’s words pierced her chest like a blazing hot poker. Will knew exactly how to hurt her.
Sophie walked to the door. She had suffered enough hurt over the last few days. Could she bear any more?
She reached for the doorknob.
“Wait,” he said, “Don’t go. You’re right. I should hire someone to help me.”
She turned around and looked at him. The words spilled out of her. “I don’t know anything about love?”
She shook her head. “I’m not interested in helping you anymore. I suggest you spend your time looking into someone who will shop and cook for you instead of chasing a ghost.”
“Francesca is not a ghost.” His lower lip trembled. He wiped his mouth and chin with one shaking hand. “I’m going to find her, with or without your help.” He pointed to the door. “You can let yourself out.”
25
Back in her apartment, Sophie flung herself on her bed. She dared not scream out her frustration. Will heard every voice or noise in her apartment.
She pounded her fists against the pillows. The pummeling did nothing, however, to ease her frustration.
Sophie curled up into a ball on the center of the bed.
This would be an excellent moment to vaporize. Disappear. Sophie could not think of one thing she wanted to do or one person she wanted to see.
The precise rapping at her apartment door meant Will stood on the other side of it.
Sophie had no doubt he’d stand there until she opened it.
Will held an opened envelope in front of his chest. Facing her, on the back of his repurposed mail, Will had drawn a tulip. The smile on his face and the picture of the flower said it all.
“My sincere apologies, Miss Sophie.” He bobbed the flower side to side. “Forgive me?”
The thought of the octogenarian attempting to charm her into forgiveness melted her resolve. She held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll help you find a travel agent, but nothing else. Got it?”
“Thank you,” he said. Removing a twenty-dollar bill from the envelope, he pressed it into her hand. “You can use this to pick up lunch for us tomorrow. After we eat, we can start planning where to look for Francesca.”
She smiled. “That sounds nice.” Much better, in fact, then spending the day alone in an empty apartment. “I’ll research travel agents tomorrow morning.”
Given Will’s age, finding anyone willing to talk to him would be a challenge. Maybe she could find a tour group that specialized in elderly travelers.
The prospect of reading Francesca’s letter enticed Sophie, and helping Will plan his trip would be a welcome diversion.
Job hunting—the last thing she wanted to do—might soon be a critical task, but it held zero appeal.
The next morning, Sophie called agencies that specialized in European travel. She told them a gentleman in his eight
ies wanted to visit Italy.
On her first call, the man—in a perturbed tone—asked Sophie to remove him from consideration after only ten minutes of conversation. They did not, he explained, offer overseas guided travel services to octogenarians.
On the second call, Sophie started by revealing Will’s age—in his eighties, but in good health. Sophie didn’t inquire about fees, figuring it was Will’s business, not hers. The woman agreed to meet Will and offered to visit him after lunch.
Sophie went back to the diner where Will had his apple pie and picked up the meatloaf “blue plate special of the day” and apple pie for Will. She got the fried chicken lunch plate for herself.
Will answered the door after one knock.
When she shared the news that a travel agent would visit them after lunch, he grew agitated. After her hours of Internet research and telephone calls, his lack of gratitude surprised her.
Only the clinking of knives and forks touching plates broke the stillness. Will picked at his food.
When the travel agent knocked on the door, a dark expression shadowed Will’s face.
Sophie’s hope of outsourcing the planning of this folly to their visitor dimmed when the woman laid eyes on Will.
The woman’s shape resembled a bowling ball topped by short-cropped silver hair. “Mr. Mills,” the woman asked, peering at him through narrowed eyes, “how old are you?”
“Ninety-one, but I’m not dead yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Ninety-one? I thought at Marie’s funeral Will’s friends told me he was in his eighties.
The woman frowned.
Sophie did a mental calculation. She counted back from the end of World War II. Ninety-one would be right if he had enlisted as a teenager toward the end of the conflict.
“Mr. Mills lives alone, still drives himself, and,” Sophie swept her hand to draw the woman’s eyes to the clean, tidy apartment, “as you can see, is self-reliant.”
“Ninety-one?” The woman shook her head. “My company has a policy about overseas travel for anyone over the age of eighty. You must obtain the written approval of your physician before we do any work.” She glared at Sophie. “It’s for their own health and safety.”
“Do I have to write my name on my coat, too, as I did in primary school?” Will snorted and scowled at the woman, who stood a head taller than he did.
She stared back at Will.
Yikes. If Sophie didn’t act fast, the travel agent would decline the job and leave. She wanted a gradual letdown for Will, not an ax blow.
“Will,” Sophie said, “you mentioned your physician commented on your excellent health. Can’t you call his office and ask him to say that in a brief letter?” Sophie glanced at the travel agent. “That’ll do, won’t it?”
The travel professional nodded, although her face broadcast her lack of enthusiasm for the idea of having Will for a client.
“Mr. Mills can request the physician’s letter tomorrow,” Sophie said. “He will forward it to you upon receipt.”
The travel agent walked to the door. She turned to face Will. “Why not stay in the United States? There are scores of lovely places here to visit. It would be much easier to accommodate someone of your age.”
“I want to go to Italy!” Will’s voice rose in volume. “Last time I checked, Italy isn’t in the United States. I guess that means I need to go to Europe, doesn’t it?”
The travel agent’s angry face turned scarlet. “I don’t need a geography lesson.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
The woman’s face tightened. “I don’t need a grumpy, ninety-one-year-old man for a client.” She stomped into the hall and slammed the door behind her.
Sophie’s heart sank. If this woman wouldn’t agree to plan Will’s trip, his dream of finding Francesca would end.
26
Sophie turned to Will. “Why did you do that? Antagonize her?”
Will looked pleased with himself. “She’s an imbecile. It would have never worked. I guess you’ll have to take me.”
“No. I can’t.”
“You don’t have a job anymore. What’s holding you back?”
“Money.”
“I’ll pay for your expenses.”
“I need to find a job.”
“You can do that when we return.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Sophie drew in a deep breath and exhaled it in a slow stream. “I. Don’t. Fly.”
She held up a hand to stop the inquiries. “I won’t fly with you across the ocean. It’s not happening, Will, so please stop asking.”
His face crumpled.
Will walked to the window and gazed outside. September winds gushed through the tree branches, accelerating the annual transition into fall.
“I’ll find someone to go with me if you’ll help me plan the transportation and hotels.” His eyes pleaded. “Please?”
Sophie was torn between the wrong of perpetuating his hopes and the crime of dashing them. Will needed a purpose and goal for living. He needed the time to be able to face and tie up the frayed pieces of his life.
Although she doubted the wisdom of her decision, Sophie reached for the pad of paper and pen she brought. “Tell me about Francesca and what she was like when you met her.”
“She’s Italian and claims she bore my child. That’s all the details you need to know. Let’s talk about where to look for her.”
Sophie cocked her head at him. She pushed back from the table. “Do you want me to help you or not?”
Will slammed his palm against the table. “Look, young lady, don’t be snippy with me!
“I’ll tell you what you need to plan my trip: where I met her, what I know about where she or her family lived, where her letter was mailed from, and anywhere else I might want to go in Italy. But we won’t talk about how I felt about Francesca or what she was like. That’s private.”
“Fair enough. Then let’s start with her letter.”
“No. I’ll tell you what you need to know. Her letter is private.”
No letter. No details. How could Sophie plan an itinerary?
He took a deep breath and blinked several times. “First, I want to go to the American Cemetery in Florence.”
Sophie shook her head. “I didn’t know there was an American cemetery in Florence.”
Will nodded with one firm bob of his head. “The U.S. doesn’t ask for reparations from the countries they liberate. Nope. We only ask for land where we can bury our fallen.”
Sophie spoke in a tender voice. “Are some of your friends from the Army buried there?”
Will’s face was guarded. “My division, as I told you, had heavy losses in the Apennine Mountains. The 10th Mountain Division helped end the war in Italy and never lost a battle. Not one.” To emphasize his point, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a decisive nod of his head.
Sophie could tell he didn’t want to say more.
The only way to show him the foolishness of his plan was to go along with him. When he can’t find someone to accompany him and guide him on the trip, he’ll abandon the idea.
Sophie wrote options on her pad.
Fly into Florence to see the cemetery?
Fly into Rome or Milan and then train to Florence?
“The initial stop seems pretty straightforward. I imagine you could get a cab or bus that would take you from the airport or train station to the cemetery.”
“Damn straight. Those Italians know we liberated them and they’ll welcome a vet like me.”
Sophie wasn’t as convinced about that as Will, but she kept her opinion to herself.
“OK. After the cemetery, where next?”
“To find Francesca, of course.”
The poor man hadn’t a clue of how difficult it might be for someone his age to navigate around Italy alone, much less find a woman he’d lost track of seventy-five years ago.
Will nodded with a broad smile. “I can�
�t wait for her surprise when she sees me.”
Sophie knew she didn’t have the heart to deflate his vision. “Where do you think you should start looking?”
Will shrugged.
She set down her pen and covered one of his hands with hers. A soft, calm voice dampened the sting of her words. “I know you realize that finding Francesca will be quite difficult. Perhaps impossible. I respect you for your determination to try. I’d like to help you, but you’ve tied my hands. Let me look at the letter Francesca sent you. I might see a clue that you missed.”
Will glared at her with fierce eyes. “Let me tell you something, Missy. I grew up on a Colorado ranch and spent my summers bull riding in rodeos. The Army placed me in the 86th Division because of it.”
His eyes lit up. “I wanted to ski with them, of course, but it was damn tough to get into the ski troops. Three interviews or more were required. I had no patience for that, so I signed up with the mule busters. I didn’t have to compete with those college boys from out East to ride mules.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t take long, though. The officers found out I could climb a rock face and race down a ski slope with the best of them, and that was all it took. No more mule busting for me.”
He stood and walked to the hall closet. From it, he pulled an old pair of wooden skis and propped them up against the wall.
Will next pulled out a set of skis that, to Sophie’s eye, looked similar to those Russ had used to ski at Vail. “See these?”
Sophie nodded.
“Until Marie’s Alzheimer’s got so bad, I skied every Wednesday, and sometimes Thursdays, too, until the end of the season.”
Will tucked the skis into the closet and turned to her with fierce conviction. “If a bull-riding ranch kid can climb and fight in the Italian mountains and ski the Rockies until he’s eighty-eight, then he can sure as hell try to find the woman he loved and his child.”
Will has grit.
“Of course you can.” This is a doomed quest.
Will walked into his bedroom and closed the door.
Sophie wondered if he was going to come out again, or if he was dismissing her.
