by Holly Greene
Just then Nate looked up and saw her on the balcony. His face lit up in a grin, and he waved to her. Sarah smiled and waved back. She didn't want to let her pangs of doubt ruin the rest of this weekend, and as for whatever came afterward ... she would just have to find a way to deal with it then.
Slowly she picked her way back through the house and out to the courtyard. Nate put an arm around her; he was warm from standing in the sun, and she breathed deeply of his aftershave.
“How was the house?” he asked.
“Beautiful.” She described the interior. “If you try hard enough, you can almost imagine Juliet standing there on the balcony.”
Nate squinted hard at the building. “I guess I don't have your imagination,” he confessed, “because to me it just looks like an empty balcony. But I'm glad you're having fun.”
“I am,” she said happily. “Come on, I want to look at the wall before we go.”
Juliet's Wall was where heartbroken people left letters to Juliet, asking for her advice on unrequited love and all other romantic dilemmas. Sarah vaguely recalled reading a newspaper article about the women who called themselves “the secretaries of Juliet” and took it upon themselves to collect, read and answer the letters. Apparently it was a bit of an old tradition, and Sarah was impressed that anyone would devote so much time to the task. It couldn't be easy, dealing with heartbreak on a daily basis.
Sarah stood gazing at the wall awhile, thinking about everything she would say if she wrote a letter and placed it there.
Dear Juliet, I'm so afraid my marriage is doomed to fail. So many things seem to go wrong, and I always worry what the next thing will be. Help me turn back the clock so Nate and I can be happy again?
She was stirred from her thoughts by a touch on the elbow.
Nate was looking at his watch. “Are you hungry? While you were inside I was chatting with one of the site caretakers, and they recommended a little trattoria just down the street. We could get lunch before we do any more sight-seeing.”
Sarah was surprised to see that it was now well past one. “Oh,” she said sheepishly, “I hadn't realised it was so late. Yes, I'm starving. Let's grab a bite and then we'll decide where to go next.”
13
The restaurant, called BellaVita, was only a few short blocks away from the hustle and bustle at Juliet's house, but it might as well have been on the other side of the city for the change in atmosphere.
Tucked away on a quiet side street and with only a small sign to advertise its presence, the little trattoria was like a spot of calm in the busy sea of tourists flooding the city.
Nate and Sarah found themselves there with a handful of other lunchtime diners, all grouped around a common table in the rustic interior.
The couple lingered over dinner, ordering dish after dish; risotto, pasta, vegetables, and meats, all with plenty of bread and wine on the side. There was a delicious custard and cups of strong hot espresso for dessert, after which the other diners slowly began to drift away. Nate and Sarah lingered on, enjoying the relaxed ambiance and not eager to rush on with their day.
After a while the owners of the trattoria came out and sat down at the table with them. The man who was called Marco introduced himself to Nate and struck up a conversation about the military history of Verona.
Valentina began chatting with Sarah about the day's sightseeing at Juliet's house, and suggested they go in the back room of the restaurant to retrieve a book she had discussing the history of Romeo and Juliet's story in Verona.
After the two women had left the front room, Marco paused and looked at Nate. “You two are recently married?”
Nate answered in the affirmative and explained that the trip was supposed to be a sort of belated honeymoon. “We've been having some problems,” he said falteringly. “Sometimes it seems like we just weren't fated to be together.”
The older man thought about that for a moment. “So many people who come to this city mix up love and fate. Fated to be together, fated to be torn apart. Ma no, it is not so. To put such a thing as love into the hands of chance,” here he shook his head, “it is foolishness. Love is made. You have to work for it.”
“I've tried,” Nate said doubtfully, “or...I think I have. But even so, I know her family doesn't like me. They don't think I'm good enough for her.”
“She must think you're good enough for her, she married you,” Marco clapped the younger man on the back. “Maybe you need to think back to the time when you first met. Think about all the things you saw in each other that made you fall in love. And don't let anyone else's opinion get in the way.”
In the storeroom, Valentina was pulling a dog-eared book from a shelf and handing it to Sarah, who thanked her with the little Italian she'd picked up from her guidebook.
“Grazie,” she said, putting the book in her bag, and Valentina smiled.
“I think you'll enjoy it. You're a newlywed?”
“Yes, this summer. We were supposed to take our honeymoon in Indonesia...” She struggled to think of a good, condensed explanation of their troubles over the past several months, but Valentina intervened with a knowing look.
“Life interferes. Sometimes it ruins our plans. But you can't allow these problems to alter your path. They're just hills that need to be climbed, that's all.”
Sarah smiled a little. “I try to tell myself that, but I still worry.”
“About what?”
“That Nate and I won't work out. Everything's just been so bumpy since we got married,” she suddenly burst out. It felt good to confess her frustrations to someone. “My family nags and nags, and sometimes Nate can seem flippant about things, like he just wants to sit back and let them happen. I love him and I don't want to lose him, but it seems like we have a little spark of something and then it fades. And sometimes I don't know what to do.”
Valentina considered this for a long moment, and Sarah began to feel embarrassed for telling her troubles to this complete stranger.
Then the older woman spoke slowly. “Sometimes it's hard to see the good in things, especially when times are rough. But those are the times you have to try especially hard to hold onto the good, and to see all the good in the person you love. You might not like them very much,” and she laughed a little, “but hold onto those good thoughts. Even a small spark can be kept alive if you keep fanning it, and it can become a very large fire. It just needs that care and attention.”
Sarah turned over this thought in her mind. Valentina smiled and patted her arm. “Come, I've kept you away from your husband too long. You two should go out and enjoy a bit more of Verona. How long will you be here?”
“Through Sunday night,” Sarah said as they reentered the main room. Marco was lounging casually at the table, drinking a glass of wine; Nate looked lost deep in thought.
He shook his head and stood up when he saw her. “Are you ready to move on?”
“Yes,” she said, giving his hand a quick squeeze. He smiled, still looking distracted.
Valentina came to stand beside Marco, who wrapped an arm around her waist and looked up at her, and the two exchanged a smile.
“Come by again before you leave,” Marco said. “We'll make sure to have fresh zabaglione waiting for you.”
The younger couple agreed to try to return to the trattoria before leaving the city, and Valentina smiled at Sarah, as if to say: And remember what we talked about.
14
They decided that their next stop would be Juliet's tomb, since it seemed to be a less-visited tourist attraction and they wanted to escape the crowds for a bit.
The crypt was actually located in the garden of an older house that had been converted into a museum, and they were the only visitors ducking through the house and lingering by the silent grave. Sarah knit her brow in thought.
“It's really sad when you think about it, right? They could have had a happy life together. Instead they died before they could even get started.”
Nate hugged
her, propping his chin on her should as he spoke. She thought he seemed distant. “They probably felt so pressured by everyone around them. Everyone remembers their story being so romantic, but I wonder if they ever had any doubts.”
Sarah turned to face him. Do you ever have doubts about us? she wanted to blurt out, but the words seemed too big for the tiny garden, and she held them back. Instead she said lightly, “Well, this place is making me feel morbid. Let's move on somewhere else.”
Nate was still quiet as they left the museum. They decided to visit some of the churches in Verona, which were famous for their marble sculptures and exquisite interiors, before returning to their hotel for the night. As they walked through the cool interiors, footsteps echoing on the marble floors, Sarah thought that she'd only ever seen cathedrals like this in movies or on the travel channel. She had to crane her neck back to see the paintings and colored glass high up on the walls and set into the ceilings. The churches were filled with a mix of tourists and worshippers, and the couple moved quietly through the buildings, murmuring respectfully as they went.
All the while Sarah thought that Nate seemed as though he was moving on autopilot, thinking about something else entirely.
When they finally decided to call it a day, the sun was setting over Verona, lighting up the red clay rooftops and the trees on distant hilltops. The autumn air was growing brisk with evening, and they happily took a taxi back to the hotel.
Sarah sat on the bed and slowly brushed out her hair while Nate flipped through the TV channels, looking for something mindless to watch as they relaxed. She was sad that they only had one day left in the city; she’d so enjoyed their time together but couldn’t help feeling doubtful about their return trip.
She wondered if Nate felt the same way but couldn't bring herself to actually ask him.
They'd had such a relaxing 48 hours, laughing, dining and enjoying each other's company; the last thing she wanted now was to spoil it by starting an awkward conversation when they were both tired.
Nate finally turned off the TV. “Did you have anything in particular you wanted to do tomorrow?”
“Not really,” she said, slipping into bed and turning off the bedside lamp. “You?”
“I have some ideas,” he said, but wouldn't elaborate when she asked him. “It's a surprise. If I told you then the surprise would be ruined.”
“Is it a good surprise?” she asked hopefully, and he nodded and kissed her. “Get some sleep. I want our last day here to be the best.”
“Me too,” she said, content. Yes, she would fan that spark of hope, even if it took all her energy.
With that thought in her mind, Sarah curled her body against her husband's and fell happily asleep.
15
Declan somehow put off the visit to BellaVita trattoria on Friday and again on Saturday, when he impulsively decided to walk through the city and see what might pop up for his camera.
He spent a great deal of time in the piazzas, photographing the crowds and the medieval architecture. There were some elaborate tombs to visit and amazing cathedrals, complete with gorgeous frescoes and sculptures inside. Where he could take his camera, he shot frame after frame and where he couldn't he tucked it politely away and soaked it all in with his eyes.
The churches in Verona left him awe-struck, and he felt it would be difficult to fully capture their scale on film, but he tried his best to do them justice. The spires, stained glass windows, arches and pillars afforded him countless close-up and panoramic shots.
He marvelled over the huge marble entrance to the Duomo di Verona and read with interest some of the guide signs about the history of the architecture in the churches, dating back to the twelfth century or even earlier. It was mid-afternoon on Saturday, when he returned to his hotel to download more photos, that he realised he'd barely eaten all day as he raced through the city, trying to capture everything he could. He was having fun, a word he hadn't used to describe his own activities in a long long time.
As he spent time exploring Verona, Declan was beginning to understand why Hannah had developed such a strong fascination with the city. It wasn't simply that the place was full of interesting history or amazing architecture, though there was plenty of that to be certain.
It was something more: a palpable mood, a feeling that could be discerned from the crowds of people strolling through the city. So many of the people who had come here for a holiday did so with amore on the mind, and the collective feelings of love and optimism could be strongly felt.
Several times as Declan made his way across the city he was stopped by tourists who noticed his camera bag and asked him to take their pictures, handing off their cameras and arranging themselves hurriedly in front of some famous monument or view.
He never minded; he was happy to look through the viewfinder and see so many happy couples and families, hastily arranging scarves and hair and jackets and grinning for the camera. There was an irrepressible spirit of joy in the air and it was seeping into his bones.
16
When midday Saturday had come and gone and Declan was ready for an evening meal, he decided to seek out the trattoria recommended to him and see what made it so special. He packed one of his cameras and set out hungrily, a full menu already running through his head.
He was not disappointed when he arrived on the doorstep of BellaVita.
The smell of freshly cooked meats and breads wafted into the street and mixed with the warm autumn air, and he breathed appreciatively as he entered. The owners greeted him with gusto; he was part of a small afternoon crowd enjoying platters of grilled fish, steam vegetables, pasta with a thick meat sauce, and plenty of bruschetta. Wine was being served in large decanters and there was a small array of tempting desserts, including custard and gelato, served along with strong hot coffee to end the meal. Declan was in no rush with his meal and lingered after the other diners paid and left, hoping to chat with the owners about the city.
He didn’t have long to wait. Dessert found the proprietors Marco and Valentina sharing coffee with him at a corner table. He told them about some of the places in Verona that he'd photographed thus far, including the medieval castles and elaborate cathedrals. He hadn't yet made it to Juliet's house but reasoned there would be plenty of time the next day.
“And what brought you to Verona?” Marco asked, and slowly Declan related the story of Hannah, his promise, and her death. The words came clumsily at first and then started to pour out of him unbidden. He had spent so long trying not to dwell too much on his pain, and it felt good to tell the entire story from beginning to end. The older couple were very patient listeners, and they sat quietly until the end, only nodding in places as they listened.
“And that's how I ended up here,” Declan finished, taking a breath to steady himself.
Valentina murmured sympathetically, “You're feeling a bit odd, being here without her, aren't you?”
“Yes,” he said sadly. “It comes and goes in waves, really. But I can't help feeling a little guilty at times. It's so hard. I know I need to find a way to move forward with my life, but I don't want to let go of her. And sometimes I realise that I'm not thinking of her often enough, and I worry that I'm forgetting her too quickly.”
Marco shook his head. “You can move forward but not leave her behind. You can keep her in your heart,” he explained, seeing the younger man's puzzled expression. “You will always have your memories of her to cherish, and you should keep those close. But I don't think she would want to see you stuck in the past, being unhappy and dwelling on what could have been. I think she'd want you to move forward with your life and enjoy it. It's no slight to the dead to enjoy being alive; in a way enjoying this trip is one of the best ways you can honour her memory. You can picture her beside you one last time. I think she intended you to find some closure that way.”
“I think you're right,” Declan said slowly. “Before she died she wrote me a letter explaining that I would come to love this city as much
as she did, and that the love here would make me feel better. And I think she was right. I feel like she's here with me. Seeing so many people so happy and in love is healing, somehow.”
Valentina nodded. “Love doesn't die and fade away just because a person does. You can feel their love all around you in the world when you see others in love. You feel the pain of your own loss, but it's tempered with joy for other people who are so happy. You can't really start to heal if you're only dwelling on the loss; you have to look at all the love still in the world and embrace it. There's too much out there to close your heart and remain in the past with sorrow.”
All three of them sat awhile longer, Declan ruminating on her words, the couple wisely remaining quiet.
He thought about everything he'd seen in two short days and Hannah's words to him. I hope all the love you sense there will help you to feel whole again. He was starting to feel, perhaps not entirely whole, but at least partially formed. He no longer felt as though he couldn't find the pieces of his own broken heart. He felt that there was a chance at being happy again, and it would be no crime to enjoy life.
17
Night was settling in over Verona when Declan finally thanked the couple for their time and left. As he passed out the door, however, a thought struck him, and he hastily returned. “Would you mind very much if I took a few pictures of your trattoria?” he asked, holding up the camera. “I'm sure I can't do it justice, but I'd like to try.”
The couple said that of course, they'd be flattered, and Declan moved around the main room, taking a few wide shots and a few close-ups of interesting details—bottles, dishes, art on the walls. Finally he thanked them again and left, walking slowly along the city streets toward the main thoroughfare.
