All the Way to Heaven

by Becky Doughty

  The waffle-weave shirt he wore fit snugly to his torso, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow waist. The collarless neck had a v-shaped notch in the front and I thought I could see the pulse jumping sure and steady in the hollow between his collarbones. He’d pushed up the long, raglan-style sleeves, exposing his shapely forearms, and the shirt hem hung just past the waistband of his jeans. He looked comfortable and well put together at the same time.

  “Paulo? Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” he replied politely, but didn’t move. For some reason, the thought that he might be praying sprang to mind. He kind of struck me as a religious man. I chewed on my lip, wondering if I should wait. I certainly didn’t want to interrupt any conversation he might be having with God.

  Finally, he turned toward me, his eyes only half open. “What is it you want to know?” Clearly, he was done communing or whatever he’d been doing.

  “Why do you sound so native that even the locals think you’re from here? Being American and all.”

  “Ah.” He leaned forward to pick up the water bottle from where it rested between his knees. He took a quick drink and cleared his throat, as though preparing to give a presentation. In a generic, white-bread American accent, he said, “My name is Paulo Durante. I’m from Portland, Oregon. My dad, also Paul Durante, flew internationally for Delta Airlines for many years. He met my mother on a layover here in Italy. She was a waitress in one of the restaurants in the Knight’s Square, the Piazza dei Cavalieri, in Pisa.” A shaft of sunlight kept flashing across his face and he squinted at me and smiled, then turned away and continued his story. “She made him come back three times before she would say ‘yes’ to going out with him. He always said, ‘Third time’s a charm, son. Remember that.’ She’d laugh and tell me ‘It was love at third sight, Paulo.’ They claimed that after their first date, they knew they were meant to be together forever.” He glanced at me, grinning at the look on my face. I was astonished to hear him sound so… American, and I didn’t try to hide it.

  “Pretty impressive, Paulo. The accent, I mean. And the story is very romantic.” I extended a hand for the San Pellegrino. If we were going to sit for a bit, I could use another sip.

  He handed it over and nodded. “That forever they believed in lasted until I was a teenager. My father,” he began, his words coming out slowly, carefully.

  Oh no. I hated deadbeat dad stories. “It’s okay, Paulo. You can tell me to mind my own business.”

  He just nodded again, but kept talking. “My father had stopped flying internationally around my fourth or fifth grade because of minor health problems, or so we thought. When I was eleven, Delta transferred him to the Portland airport, so we moved there at the beginning of my junior high. It worked out well for me. I was the cool Italian kid just moved from the ‘rough streets’ of L.A.” He made quotation marks with his fingers. “And I played that one to my advantage, mimicking my mother’s accent with no trouble.”

  My head snapped up at the mention of Los Angeles, but he wasn’t looking at me, so I didn’t interrupt him. I noticed his Italian lilt and the very proper phrasing that had made me assume he was native edging its way back into his voice.

  “When I was thirteen, my father had a massive stroke that nearly killed him. My grandparents moved from Italy to come live with us, to help out while my father was in the hospital. They spoke very little English so we began to use almost exclusively Italian in our home.” Paulo had picked up a twig from the ground. He broke off inch-long segments, tossing them, one at a time, into the path in front of him as he spoke. “My father fought very hard to recover, but he never did. A few months later, another stroke took him, but we were able to say our good-byes. It was a very peaceful passing.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. No wonder he had such a heart for these rudderless young men.

  He straightened his shoulders and clapped his hands together gently, as though closing a book of memories. Looking down at his toe, he nodded and said, “Okay.” Then, while I cringed sympathetically, he very carefully slipped the sock back on and eased his foot into his shoe. “We will go back now. I must return to town.”

  He hobbled into position behind my chair and we managed to make it out to the road without further mishap. This time, I helped, my hands working the wheels so he wouldn’t have to push so hard.

  “Please do not feel sorry for me, Ani,” he said quietly. We were at the foot of the driveway, resting before starting up the last incline. “My father was a man among men, and I am blessed to have had the time I did with him. He taught me to how live, even in his dying, and how to look for the best in all people, including myself. That is the hardest task, I think, yes? Seeing the best in ourselves.”

  I nodded, letting his words settle around my shoulders. I’d ask him about L.A. tomorrow.

  Paulo declined the invitation to stay for dinner, so it was a quiet affair with just Franco, Claudia, and me, but they were good company. I told them about my small family and how the three of us sitting around the table reminded me of home. We talked about the olives, but said little about the difficulties of the past year, focusing instead on the history of olives in the Mediterranean, and different ways to cure and cook with them.

  With my stomach full of delicious gnocchi and grilled vegetables and my mind overflowing with thoughts of the afternoon spent with Paulo and the friendship developing between us, I prepared for bed, feeling like a completely different girl than I had when I’d gotten up this morning.

  Around 9:30, Claudia found me sitting in bed, emailing my parents about invaiatura and getting my passport back.

  “I know it is late, Anica, but Cosimo is on the phone and would like to speak with you.” She held up the phone and crossed the room to me. She had a carefully blank look on her face, but I could see concern in her eyes. I hoped everything was all right.

  “It’s fine. I’m still awake.” I straightened up, taking the phone from her.

  “I have another extension. Bring it to the kitchen in the morning, okay?” I nodded, bringing the phone to my ear. She blew me a kiss and ducked out of the room.

  “Hello?”

  “Ciao, mia passerotta.” The intimate purr in his voice made me think of a cat. But if he was a cat, and I was a plump little sparrow….

  “Hi Cosimo.”

  “How are you, bellisima? I feel as though I have not seen you in forever.” He sounded very relaxed. I hoped that meant things were easing up for him at work.

  “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I spent most of the afternoon outside today. This place is gorgeous, Cosimo. How can you spend so much time away?” I wasn’t about to mention who I’d been outside with all afternoon.

  “Ah. Yes, casa de Lazzaro is a beautiful home. But in many ways, she is perhaps more Claudia and Franco’s home than mine, no? She will always be my family home, but perhaps it will not be where my family lives.” He seemed to sober a little, as though the topic of conversation wasn’t an easy one.

  “Right.” How was I supposed to respond to that? “Well, in spite of my leg, I’m totally enjoying myself.”

  “I miss you, Ani.” The purr was back.

  “Oh. Um, I miss you, too.” As soon as I said the words, I realized that today, in fact, I had not missed him at all. I had barely even thought of him, except in passing, and a wave of guilt washed over me. I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

  “I want to see you again. Soon.”

  “Only one more day, right?” Oh dear. While working out the details for the day with Paulo, I’d completely forgotten that Cosimo was coming home for dinner. After meeting with Cristofano, Paulo had promised to take me to dinner at his favorite place to eat in Lucca.

  Without preamble, Cosimo said, “Ani, I called tonight to tell you that I will not be coming home tomorrow night after all.” Although his tone was thick with regret, it almost felt contrived.

  Problem solved, though.

  “I will not be able
to come until Thursday or possibly even Friday. I am terribly sorry.” His words actually sounded slow and slurred this time. Not slow and sad. I pulled the phone away and glared at it. Was this a drunk call?

  “My hands are aching to hold you, bellisima, and my mouth is hungry for your kisses, but it cannot be helped. Will you mind very much if I am not there for another day or two?”

  “It’s fine. I totally understand.”

  “Forgive me, Ani?”

  “Yes, Cosimo,” I assured him. “It’s not a problem. I mean it. You have already done so much for me. Please don’t feel badly.”

  “Perfetto. But guess what. I have asked Isa to bring your crutches to you.” I could hear noise in the background, like a television coming on. “They are simple to use, but she will show you the correct way, okay?”

  “That’s great. Thank you for thinking of me, Cosimo.”

  “I think of you all the time, passerotta.”

  A sudden rush of Italian in a sing-song voice burst in on our conversation. My skin flushed hotly as my mind put pieces together. I didn’t need to understand a word the woman was saying to get a clear picture of what kind of work he was busy doing.

  “I must go, Ani. It is my assistant. She has run into a problem.”

  “Of course.” I couldn’t decide whether to laugh in his ear or throw the phone across the room. I could only imagine what kind of problem his assistant had run into at 9:30 at night.

  “You will not miss me too much tomorrow, my little sparrow?”

  Seriously, dude?

  “Seriously,” I said in response to my own sarcastic thought. “I’ll be just fine, Cosimo.” I tried to bite my tongue. I really did. But then I heard her giggle close to the phone. “Besides, I have plans tomorrow and won’t be back until late anyway. Paulo is taking me sightseeing. So it all worked out for the best!”

  The silence that followed my announcement made me giddy in a rather junior high-ish way.

  “Paulo Durante? The one who came on Sunday?”

  “That’s the one,” I quipped. I ran my finger along the lace trim of the sheet over my lap, trying not to sound too glib. “So I need to get some sleep. We’re heading out early in the morning and you, Dr. Lazzaro, sound really busy. But thanks for calling. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

  “Yes. Of course.” He did not sound happy. Poor baby.

  It didn’t occur to me until after I’d turned off the lights and slipped down under my covers, that Cosimo’s changed plans meant he might miss the first day of the olive harvest. Maybe that was why Claudia had seemed a little upset.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I awoke shortly before seven, just as the sun was fluffing her skirts outside my window, but already I could hear the sound of pots and pans and clinking dishes interspersed with bits of conversation emanating from the direction of the kitchen. I had set the alarm clock on my nightstand for 7:30, but there was no way I was going back to sleep. The anticipation of the day was like a live wire in my blood, and I was instantly wide awake.

  Paulo would be here at nine to pick me up. I’d spoken to Claudia last night about me taking off for the day, and she’d assured me they did not need my help today, that I should enjoy the beautiful day with my wonderful young man. The twinkle in her eyes made me blush, partly because I was really looking forward to doing just that, and partly because I wondered what she thought of me spending the day with Paulo when Cosimo had kind of staked a claim on me. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he treated all their house guests so affectionately. And assistants. I rolled my eyes, determined not to let Dr. Deceitful interfere with my plans.

  I took extra care with my appearance again, donning a pair of black pants with wide legs to fit over my brace and loosely laced boot, and a black camisole, the neckline trimmed with a thin strip of lace and sequins. Over that, I wore the bolero style jacket I’d had on the day of my accident, and added the same chunky jade choker I’d worn yesterday for a little contrasting color. I thought the ensemble classy and professional, with enough pizazz to not be boring, and I seriously doubted Paulo would care if he saw me in the same accessories more than once.

  It was after eight when I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. Only Claudia was there, at the sink, elbow deep in soapy water, washing what appeared to be hundreds of bottles in the monstrous sink. She greeted me warmly and nodded her head in the direction of the terrace.

  “You should look out there right now. The morning fog still fills the valley. It is a wonder to see.”

  As I made my way toward the door, she called out after me. “I will bring a cappuccino to you. You will not want to come back inside so quickly once you see how beautiful it is.”

  I rolled out onto the terrace and literally gasped at the vision before me. The fog, indeed, seemed to fill the valley below us like a mythical lake, the sun casting an iridescent glow over the surface of it. The distant mountain range rose up out of the mist like some far off magic lands. There was no breeze rustling the leaves around me, no sound at all but the muffled tones of conversation coming from inside the house, and the birds in the trees around the house paying homage with great gusto to the glorious new day. The morning was ripe with the stillness of anticipation, and I was almost afraid to move, lest I break the spell and send everything spinning into motion.

  Claudia appeared shortly and handed me a foam-topped espresso drink in a huge mug. She didn’t say anything and we shared a few companionable moments before I finally whispered, “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before, Claudia. It’s spectacular.”

  “Yes. It is like this almost every morning in the fall, but you must be up at the right time to catch it, usually much earlier than this. Blink your eyes too many times and the fog disappears. Many people live in this part of the country for years and never catch this moment.” She turned to look down at me. “I am glad you did not miss it.”

  I heard Fabio’s voice in my head. Lucca is full of light and joy. If you look for it with open eye and open heart and open hand, you will find happy here, okay?

  Claudia headed back inside, leaving me to enjoy my coffee alone. Some time later, I heard her footsteps crossing the threshold behind me and glanced over my shoulder to thank her for the coffee, having forgotten to do so.

  It was Paulo, a tentative smile on his face. “Good morning, Ani,” he said, smiling warmly at my look of surprise. “I am early. Did I startle you?”

  “Good morning to you, Paulo. And no, you didn’t startle me.” I grinned, feeling a little flutter in my belly at the sight of him. “Because my eyes are open today.”

  He laughed and I waved him over to stand beside me.

  “Come look before it all disappears!” The fog was burning off quickly now, but the valley still felt drenched in magic. It seemed a fitting way to begin our day together, sharing this special moment with him. I watched the cautious expression on his face turn to awe as he took it all in, his eyes wide.

  “Beautiful.” He reached over and touched my shoulder, and for a moment, I thought he might not mean the scenery. “You are in a good mood this morning.”

  I peered down into my nearly empty cup. “I’m one of those creepy morning people. My alarm clock goes off and I pop out of bed and burst into song.”

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing me.

  “Seriously! I’m like one of those obnoxious birds who thinks the rising sun is my cue to start up my band. Maybe I don’t burst into song, but I tend to start talking to anyone who will listen, and even to those who don’t. If you’re ever around when my alarm goes off, you’ll see what I mean.”

  He chuckled and said, “Actually, I think I would like that.”

  I stopped talking and blushed instead.

  Claudia backed through the door, a tray in hand. “Cappuccino, Paulo?” she asked, holding the tray out to him. Then she brought me a second one, exchanging it for my empty cup.

  “Claudia, you are an angel. Thank you so much.”

&
nbsp; She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then went back inside. Paulo and I drank our coffees in companionable silence. Finally, I asked, “What time is it? Do I have time to eat something before we go?”

  “Of course. We do not have an appointment to be anywhere today.” He handed me his cup so he could push me inside.

  We were in the truck in about thirty minutes, having both enjoyed several of Margarite’s delicious stuffed rolls, fortified with a thermos of black coffee on the floor at my feet, and on the seat between us, a lidded basket stuffed with several more cornetto, a jar of olives, a small cruet of olive oil, two flat oblong loaves of focaccia bread, several apples, a bottle of San Pellegrino, and a bulbous bottle of chianti. Margarite had arrived shortly before Paulo and had taken it upon herself to send us off well-stocked for our journey.

  “There’s enough food in here to feed us for days. If we get stuck on a deserted island, we won’t have to worry about starving to death. At least not right away.”

  Paulo eyed me like I was crazy, but said again, “I think perhaps I would like that, too.”

  I just smiled and turned to look out my window at the rows and rows of olive trees we were passing through as we made our way down the hill to the highway.

  We were quiet for some time, both of us aware of the intimacy of the small truck cab and the limited knowledge we had of each other. I couldn’t help thinking of his parents, of the date they’d shared three days after meeting, and how they could possibly have known so soon that they were meant to be together. What did they talk about? Did she know English well? Or did his father speak Italian? Was it their words? Chemistry? Or some deeper spiritual connection?

  “So, Ani, may I ask why are you here in Italy?” He didn’t say it, but I could hear the unspoken ‘alone’ in his question. “And what drew you to Lucca?”

  It was just a question. I knew that. But I hesitated, not sure what to tell him.