All the Way to Heaven

by Becky Doughty

  I’m not hard to be friends with, am I? I mean, I don’t have a confrontational bone in my body, right? I’m gullible and naive, according to you, and believe the best of everyone, right? So for him to say stuff like that just seems unkind to me. Like he’s trying to pin the blame on me for his bad behavior.

  Sigh. He confuses me, and I don’t like that. He makes me feel ashamed of myself, and I don’t like that. He makes me feel attractive one minute and self-centered the next, and I don’t like that.

  Do you know what I do like, though? I like you. I miss you, Tish. You would probably go stir crazy out here in this ancient house with no discoteca within miles, but I still wish you were here with me.

  Actually, knowing you the way I do, if you were here, you would have stashed me away in my room, paid the cook to keep me fed and watered, and absconded with Dr. Delicious, the two of you roaming all over the country together without me. So never mind. Stay where you are. But know that I like you and miss you a lot.

  Tish must have had her phone at hand. A return email popped up no more than ten minutes later.

  Ani,

  Um……….. I never said you wanted Paulo. So WHO, exactly, are you trying to prove wrong?????

  Dr. Delicious, on the other hand? Um, a gorgeous bachelor who’s a cosmetic surgeon AND has a thing for you? With a villa in Tuscany? AND a red Ferrari? (PLEASE tell me he drives a red Ferrari!!!!) AND a sister AND mother who actually like you? That, girlfriend, is one SWEET package deal, as far as I can see. Who cares if Paulo is from the great U.S. of A!!! Or JUPITER or MARS!!!! Seriously, WHO CARES????? If you play your cards right, you’ll have a new homeland, and Paulo will be absolutely right. It won’t matter one stinkin’ bit from whence he hails.

  DUDE! GO GET YOU SOME COZY-TIME!!!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!

  Seriously, Ani. Think about it. You could be rich AND hot for the rest of your life!!!!!!!! You know, if you don’t snap this one up, I’m thinking I may just have to hock my guitar and buy a one-way ticket to Italy. Your loss could be my gain.

  Tish,

  You know me so well. Rich and hot. My heart’s desire. That’s all I ever wanted. My passion in life, my calling, is to be rich and hot. And no, Cosimo does not drive a red Ferrari.

  He drives a gunmetal black Maserati convertible. It’s insanely cool. And hot.

  Are you at lunch? Or are you trying to get busted so you can get out of class early?

  Seriously, Tish. I am thinking about it. And the more I think about it, the more I know I shouldn’t indulge in anymore Cozy-time. I’m not good with casual romances, you know that, and I know that’s all he’s after. I mean, I’m pretty convenient right now, don’t you think? Goo-goo-eyed little college girl, sitting at home on the veranda waiting for him. I’m kinda glad he’s gone for a couple days so I can get my head on straight. I’m only here for another week or so, depending on how soon I get my paperwork taken care of.

  Oh! I totally forgot to ask Cosimo if my credit card came! I had the bank send it to his office, but he was in such a hurry today and it completely slipped my mind. Argh! I can’t do anything until I have that card. I can’t believe I forgot about it! And if I don’t get it tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest, I may not be able to get to Florence until next week when I can get on the bus or train alone because I’ll need someone to drive me out there while I’m still in this wheelchair. If the olive harvest happens this weekend, it’s going to be crazy town around here. Shoot, shoot, shoot. I think I need to go find Isa and see if she can call him for me. Maybe Gerardo can pick it up when he’s in town tomorrow.

  Okay. I need to go.

  Love you!

  Ani,

  Maybe you forgot because YOU DON’T REALLY WANT TO COME BACK! I can’t say I blame you. Gotta go. Getting the evil eye from Ms. Solomon.

  Love you more!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Isa came by my room as I was still debating whether or not to go looking for her. It wasn’t very late, but I could tell things were settling in for the night by the sounds drifting through the house.

  “I saw your light on and thought I should check on you before I go to bed. Is there anything you need from me?” She had changed into a set of silk pajamas the hung from her petite frame, yet somehow still looked elegant on her. She looked tired, though, and I almost hesitated, not wanting to burden her with anything else. But I knew my dependency on these people’s hospitality was because I didn’t have access to my funds. My need spurred me to speak.

  “Actually, I do have one small thing. I forgot to ask Cosimo about my credit card. My bank was supposed to mail it to his office. I think it should have arrived by now.”

  “Of course! And we must pick up your police report, as well.” She glanced at the slender watch on her wrist. “Do you want me to call Cosi or would you like to speak to him?”

  I hesitated just a fraction of a second, but she noticed. “It is late,” she declared. “I will call him. I need to speak to him about this weekend, so it works out well for me to call. Is that all you need? Your credit card? Are you expecting anything else?”

  “That’s it. Thank you.”

  She straightened and said, “Ani, would you be comfortable to stay here alone while Gerardo and I go to work? We are thinking we will need to have a few days in town before Thursday, so perhaps we will stay until Wednesday night.”

  “What’s happening Thursday? The olives?”

  “Yes. Papa has decided it is time to harvest what fruit we can from some of the healthier trees close to the house. It is not worth the time to sort through what is left on the rest of the trees in the groves. The harvest is lost this year and we must move forward. We will only have enough olives to make for our own use, and it is sad to say that it will not be the best quality.” She shook her head slowly, but continued. “Besides picking, we will have much to do to prepare as we sterilize equipment and containers. Then we will open the frantoio doors on Friday morning, but instead of two months, we will only stay open for perhaps a few weeks, and only during the day. There are very few in our community who have olives to bring.”

  “Oh Isa. Are people going to be okay, do you think?” I couldn’t even imagine what the effects of a loss like this would be, not just for a single family, or even for a farming community, but apparently, for nearly a whole country.

  “We will work together, Ani. It is the way of life here. Friends and family stick together. We help each other.” Her words were promising, but the weariness I’d seen on her face when she first came in permeated the timbre of her voice. “So, Gerardo and I must return to town tomorrow to prepare his office for at least a week off.”

  I opened my mouth to assure her that was absolutely fine, but she spoke before I could, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh, Ani!” Isa exclaimed, crossing the room to the bed. She sat down beside me and grabbed my hand. “The consul. I did not think of it. Even if you have everything you need to renew your passport, you still need to go to the U.S. Consulate in Firenze. In Florence.” I could see the wheels turning inside her head, putting two and two together with the few days left before the frenzy of the harvest.

  “It’s okay, really,” I assured her. “It’s not your responsibility to work all this out. Your plate is full, Isa.”

  “But how will you manage?”

  “If I have my bank card, I can get my money and get a train ticket or even a bus ticket and go next week when I can put weight on my foot. It means you’ll have to put up with me a little longer, but I’ll help around here in any way I can. Please don’t worry about me.” I squeezed her hand back.

  “No.” Isa stood and crossed her arms, having made up her mind. “No. I will go to work tomorrow, retrieve the police report and your bank card from Cosi if he has it, then come for you on Wednesday morning. We will go to Florence in the morning and I can work in the afternoon and evening.” I could practically see the hours of the next few days rearranging themselves behind her eyes.

  “Isa, you’ve done so
much for me already.”

  “No. It is already done, Ani. You know a Lazzaro will not take—”

  “—take ‘no’ for an answer. Yes, I know.” I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, I was greatly relieved at the thought of Isa coming to the consulate with me. Florence was a good hour-plus away by train and I had no idea what I was in for once I got there.

  “If your bank has not sent your card, you will borrow money from me until it comes.” She shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. “We should not have waited so long only for money.”

  “I got sick, remember? And I have a broken leg.” I smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s not as though we didn’t have a few more pressing matters to deal with.”

  “Of course.” She leaned down and gripped my shoulders firmly, resolutely, then kissed each cheek. “It will all work for the best.” She turned to leave. “I will call Cosi now.”

  “Thank you, Isa. For everything.”

  She stood in the doorway, the dark hallway behind her. “Buonanotti e dormire bene, Ani.”

  “Buonanotti, Isa. Sweet dreams to you, too.”

  As it turned out, nothing went the way we planned. But then, that should have been no surprise to me.

  I awoke to the sound of a gentle knock on my door. “Come in,” I called out, rubbing my eyes and sitting up quickly, trying to make myself as presentable as possible.

  Claudia poked her head around the slowly opening door. “Buon giorno, Anica!” Her clear voice sounded like she’d been up for hours. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table to see that it was after nine already. “I brought you caffe latte.” She carried in a tray with a steaming cup and saucer and a cordless telephone and set it on the bed beside me.

  “Thank you, Claudia. You didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry I slept so late.” I was a morning person, but for some reason, I was having a difficult time getting myself up very early these days.

  “Not to worry! You are on holiday. It is only because there is a phone call that I wake you. From Paulo Durante. He tells me it is important and to please call him.” She pulled a slip of paper from under a napkin on the tray and handed it to me. “His number.”

  My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Paulo? Did he say what he wanted?”

  Claudia smiled warmly, her eyes skimming over my flyaway hair. She reached out and pulled on one of my curls, twining it around her finger. “Your hair is beautiful, Anica.” Then she glanced at the note in my hand. “He would like to come visit today. He did not say why, but he would like to speak with you first.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I stared at the sprawling penmanship with its long tails and looping letters. “Okay,” I repeated. What on earth did he want?

  She left me alone to return the call, but I sat there for several minutes, drinking my creamy coffee and staring at his name. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I muttered to the white square on my pillow.

  Finally, I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

  “Pronto.” A brisk male voice answered.

  “This is Anica Tomlin. Um, I was given this number to call for Paulo Durante?”

  “Ciao, Ani.” Without warning, my pulse began to quicken. “It is Paulo.” Why did his slow, casual tone do that to me? I squared my shoulders and gritted my teeth.

  “Ciao, Paulo. Why are we greeting each other in Italian? Did you forget how to speak English?” Oh good grief, Ani. Really? I berated myself mentally. The line was silent for a pregnant moment, and then he spoke, his voice carefully modulated.

  “Hello, Ani. How are you this morning?”

  “Sorry, Paulo,” I murmured, abashed. “That was out of line.”

  “Do not worry about it.” Silence fell between us over the line and I puffed out my cheeks with air, waiting. When he didn’t speak, I prompted him.

  “So Claudia said you called and wanted to talk to me. She said you wanted to come see me, too.”

  “Yes. I need to speak to you. In person. It is very important.”

  “Okay.” I drew the second syllable out. I seemed to do that a lot when talking to him. “Can you maybe give me a hint of what this is about?” I leaned back against the headboard and pulled my pants leg up to look at my ankle. An ugly mustard stain spread across the top of my foot. Wiggling my toes, I grimaced at the painful twinges in the joint, but it was sort of a good pain, like stretching out a crick in the neck.

  “Listen, Ani.” I could hear him rustling papers or something in the background. “I have some news about your purse. There is someone who needs to speak to you about it. His name is Cristofano. He is from the program where I work.”

  I straightened, the sudden movement twisting my foot painfully. “Ow! Yes. Did he find my purse?”

  When Paulo didn’t immediately answer, I started putting pieces together. “Oh. Did he—was he the one… who stole it?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to wrap my head around all that his hesitance revealed.

  “He would like to speak to you today.”

  “Ah.” So Paulo was going to drag the poor kid out to show him his battered victim, and force him to apologize for ruining my life.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” I asked. I didn’t really want to see Paulo for reasons too myriad to list. Nor did I really want to see this kid. When Paulo had told us about his after school program and how it was helping kids to make better decisions, I’d felt safely removed, and therefore, had the freedom to feel compassion for the kids. But now Paulo was asking me to make it personal, to meet the kid who stole my purse. The thought left me feeling very unsettled.

  “He wants to do the right thing and he feels he should speak with you.” Paulo sounded a little taken aback.

  “Well, what if I don’t really want to speak with him, Paulo? Can’t you just tell him I forgive him?” I twisted a curl around my finger, pulling on it the way Claudia had done. It would be much easier to forgive him from a distance. To keep him a stranger. “Do you have my purse? Did he give it to you? Or is everything gone?”

  “Ani.”

  “Don’t ‘Ani’ me, Paulo. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to get to know him. What good would it do me to meet him?” I frowned at the blue sky outside my window. I could hear what sounded like petulance in my voice, but it was actually aversion. I really, really, really did not want to meet this kid.

  “Maybe it is not about you,” Paulo spoke quietly, gently. “Maybe it is about the good it would do him to meet you.”

  “Oh please. I’m the victim here. Not this Cristofano kid. He’s the reason I’m sitting here right now, wondering how I’m going to get out of this country without a passport, how I’m going to travel with no money, sponging off the generosity of a family at the busiest time of their year.”

  “Ani.”

  “Don’t ‘Ani’ me!” I raised my voice, angry that he was making me angry. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a wayward child, Paulo. You don’t know me, okay? You don’t know how much I needed to take this vacation, to get away from my life for a while, only to fall and break my stupid leg. And then to have my purse stolen out from under my nose while I was helping an injured child? Who does that? Who does that, Paulo?”

  And suddenly I was crying. Which made me feel even worse. I had so much to be thankful for; these people who had embraced me, the Lazzaro family, Madalina, and yes, Paulo, and all I could do was rage about the bad people in the world. “I—I need to go,” I croaked. “Just tell him—I don’t know what to tell him. I just don’t want to see him.”

  “Please, Ani.”

  “Goodbye, Paulo.” I pushed the red button on the phone and threw it on the bed. It bounced right to the edge and I cried out when it disappeared over the side onto the stone floor. “Please don’t be broken,” I wailed and threw myself across the bed to look, heedless of the way my ankle twisted under me. The phone was still in one piece and when I turned it on, it lit up just the way it was supposed to. Relief opened the floodgates, but it was my anger that had me so wo
rked up. I hadn’t realized until that moment how violated I felt by the loss of my identity, my mobility, my choices, and my freedom, all things I’d come to Italy armed to the gills with. I’d come here to prove to the world that I would not be shaken, that I would not go quietly into that dark night, that Jacob would not win. Only to be taken out at the knees, quite literally, by a couple of children.

  I had become on the outside exactly what I felt like on the inside. A beat-up piece of baggage everyone was stuck lugging around because I was incapable of doing anything for myself.

  I could add heartless, self-centered, whiny baby to the long list of things wrong with me. What was Paulo going to tell Cristofano?

  And now my foot hurt something fierce again.

  I crawled back into bed and burrowed under the covers. What a mess I’d made of everything.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Fifteen minutes later, to my surprise, I’d cried myself out. I simply didn’t have any more tears to shed over the proverbial spilled milk of my life. It was time to pull myself up by my bootstraps—and my ankle brace—and do something productive.

  I had a whole day ahead of me now, a wheelchair I was getting really comfortable using, and the invitation to make myself at home in the lovely casa de Lazzaro.

  Fueled by determination, I dressed in a pair of boot cut, barn red jeans. I had to lie down on the bed to get them on, not because they were tight, but because I was afraid I might fall over if I tried to put them on while balancing on one leg. I layered an ecru lace top over a camisole the same color, giving a feminine softness to the bold look of the jeans. I added a chunky jade necklace to the ensemble, and the huge gold hoops in my ears matched the cluster of thin gold bangles on my wrist.