All the Way to Heaven

by Becky Doughty

  I nodded, liking the idea of some sixth sense leading us to a spot that was special to his parents.

  He tightened his arm around me briefly. “And perhaps it is true. Sometimes when I am driving this road, I see things I think are familiar, but they are not my memories. I wonder if they are her memories, that in sharing them with me so many times, I can see them as if they were my own.” He paused a moment, then continued, almost shyly. “Do not think I am crazy, okay? But because this way was special to my parents, sometimes I imagine my father is sitting in the car with me, helping me work through whatever is bothering me.” He glanced down at me to see my reaction to his admission.

  “Makes perfect sense to me, Paulo.” Every time he told me something personal about himself, I liked him more. And more. Oh Ani, my heart moaned as I pressed in closer to the man beside me. What are you doing to me?

  I wouldn’t think about how things would turn upside down in the next few weeks. The knowledge that I’d be leaving Italy now loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon and I turned away from it, not wanting to acknowledge it.

  Paulo removed his arm from around my shoulders and rested his hand on my thigh, instead. I leaned my head on his shoulder, my arm looped through his. Then he went back to the story he’d been sharing. “My father took her to Florence in June during the biggest fashion convention of the year. But my mother was more interested in getting to know him than getting to see the latest fashions, much to even her own surprise. So they drove all the way to Florence, bought a lunch basket from a street vendor, then left the city behind.”

  “Wow. She chose picnicking over a major fashion convention? Tough choice.”

  He chuckled, squeezing my knee and making me squirm. “Is that so? What would you choose, Ani? A day in the big city or a picnic by the roadside with the man you love?”

  “Well, that’s a loaded question, don’t you think?” I reached up and pressed my fingertip to the dip of his upper lip the way I’d done at the pool the other night, evoking another smile from him. I’d wanted to do that all morning. “Let’s start with you. What would you choose?” I racked my brain to come up with something super cliché that would appeal to a young Italian man. “A day driving the coolest race cars the year has to offer or a picnic by the water with the girl you love?” I cringed inwardly at my Freudian slip and hoped he hadn’t noticed that I’d said water instead of roadside. I wasn’t trying to wring anything out of him. I was just playing along, enjoying getting to know him.

  He didn’t even hesitate. “I would always choose a picnic by the water…or by the roadside, with the girl I love.”

  “You didn’t even think about it,” I murmured, flushing from his rather overt response. Was he actually trying to say that he loved me? Wasn’t it a little early for that? “You probably don’t even like race cars.”

  “I am Italian, Ani. Race cars are in my blood. Especially new, fast race cars. And I would still choose the girl I love.” He drummed the steering wheel a few times, the only sign that he wasn’t completely confident of how his words would be received. “I would always find a way to be with the girl I love if the choice was mine. It is my nature, yes?”

  “All or nothing,” I reiterated.

  “Stubborn,” he murmured with a grin.

  “Determined,” I corrected him.

  “When I believe it is right, I will go after it. When I know something is worth fighting for, I will fight for it, even against the odds.”

  “Okay. Stubborn,” I conceded, a deep contentment settling in my spirit.

  I marveled at how I felt with Paulo compared to my response to Cosimo. My pulse did indeed race, I readily admitted, when Cosimo looked at me, spoke to me, or called me passerota; yes, when he kissed me. But each heartbeat was laced with a hint of danger, like walking across campus alone at night, stirring in me an impulse to look over my shoulder, to be careful, even to run. With Paulo, my blood thrummed in a different way, like the timpani in an orchestral crescendo, making me want to fly fearlessly into the arms of my pursuer. Both sensations were stimulating and heady, but if I was being honest, I really didn’t like being afraid.

  A flash of guilt passed over me as I sat, tucked into Paulo’s side, comparing him to Cosimo. I was fairly certain, if Paulo was at all human, he’d done enough of that already, wondering how he could possibly measure up to the great Dr. Lazzaro. I put aside my thoughts of the charming doctor and happily concentrated on the man beside me.

  “So what about you, Ani?” Paulo squeezed my thigh ever so gently. “You have not answered the question. A fashion show or a picnic by the water with the man you love?”

  “Well,” I teased, drawing the word out. “Would the man I love be willing to do both? Come to the fashion show with me, then take me on a picnic by the water afterward?”

  “Nope. You must choose. There are only so many hours in the day. Time will not stand still for anyone or anything. Not even for love.”

  I furrowed my brow, the statement more ominous than he’d intended, I was sure, but still, it settled around us uncomfortably.

  “If I truly love him,” I finally said, growing serious. “Wherever he goes, I’ll follow.” Then I rolled my eyes. “Geez. Now I sound like a stalker.”

  Paulo guffawed and squeezed my leg just above my knee, making me squeal. “I’m ticklish, Paulo! Stop it.” I snatched his hand from my leg and held it tightly between both of mine, lacing our fingers together.

  We made several more stops over the next hour, for gas, to use the bathroom, to buy more water, to take pictures of us with fantastic views behind us. As the sun passed noon and began to make its slow descent toward the west, Paulo explained that we were actually heading back toward Lucca now. “Are you ready to see the special place I told you about?”

  I poked him in the ribs gently. “You mean, that stop by the river wasn’t a special place?”

  He leaned over and kissed my temple, barely taking his eyes off the road. “It is special to me, Ani.”

  I nodded in agreement and blushed happily. “And to me.”

  “But no, I meant a place where I go with my aunt and uncle and their boys. It is also a place my parents visited together on their way back to Pisa that same day. I would like to take you there, too.”

  “I would be honored. So tell me about it.”

  “Have you heard of the Lucca Aqueduct?”

  I shook my head. I knew there were remains of the ancient Roman aqueducts in Italy, but one specifically belonging to Lucca?

  As though reading my mind, Paulo continued. “They were built by an architect named Nottolini in the early 1800s. Even though they are not so old as the ancient Roman ruins, they are built along similar principals though, and are still magnificent to see.”

  For the next several minutes, Paulo impressed me with his knowledge of ancient water works and hydraulic systems. “Although it no longer serves its original purpose to provide clean water to the city, parts of it are still in use today, and the whole aqueduct is considered a national park.”

  “Wow. It sounds amazing. So what am I looking for?”

  “You will know it when you see it. I promise.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “Oh. My. Goodness,” I gasped. “Is that it?” I pointed, open mouthed, at the towering brick and mortar monstrosity that marched across the countryside in front of us. I straightened, leaning forward as we drove closer. The road we were on passed right under one of the huge arches. Less than a block away, Paulo pulled over, parked the truck in front of a boarded up shop, and turned off the engine. He turned slightly, hooked a finger under my chin, and kissed me, thoroughly, until my heart was pounding so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear it.

  “Mi lasci senza fiato, Ani,” he rasped, placing both hands on the steering wheel and gripping it tightly. I clenched my own fists in my lap, slowing my breathing with great effort, afraid to ask him what he’d said. “We will get out here and walk a little,” he began, his voice still a
little rough. “We are at the Temple Cistern of Guamo, the beginning of the aqueduct where the water is drawn from the ground.” He opened his door and scrambled out, his haste making me giggle, a slightly hysterical sound.

  “What aqueduct?” I muttered to the empty cab as I waited for Paulo to bring my wheelchair around. I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him long enough to remember why we were here.

  But out in the afternoon sunshine, a soft autumn breeze cooling my flushed cheeks, I found I could breathe easier. And once oxygen started getting to my brain again, I was soon enthralled by the magnificence of the structure. Built a couple hundred years ago, the arches were still in excellent shape, and with its status as a monumental park, great pains would be taken to keep it preserved for generations to come. I could see the line of arches stretching on and on across the countryside, straight and sure, the two-mile walking trail a constant companion. If I had my legs under me, we’d be heading back to Lucca that way. It was truly an amazing monument to man’s ingenuity.

  We took a few more pictures with Paulo’s phone, and then made our way into the open field beside the temple. “We usually picnic up there,” Paulo pointed up the terraced hillside to a level spot in the shade near the temple. “And play football—soccer—or Frisbee here in this field when we come.” Paulo spread out the blanket he’d grabbed from the truck and we stretched out side by side in the sunshine, our trusty basket of food at the ready beside us.

  Rolling onto my side, I propped my head up on one arm so I could study Paulo. He lay on his back, ankles crossed, fingers laced together over his chest, completely relaxed. His face was smooth of the lines of worry he usually sported, and I could see a pulse beating slow and steady just under his jaw. One corner of his mouth was hitched up in the beginning of a smile, so even though his eyes were closed against the sunlight overhead, I knew he knew I was looking at him. I reached out and ran my finger along the angle of his jaw, unable to keep from touching him. Just as it reached his chin, he dipped his head and caught my finger between his teeth, making me squeal more in surprise than pain. It did hurt though, and I pulled my hand free, but he grabbed my wrist and rolled onto his side to face me.

  He brought my hand back to his mouth and began kissing each finger, one at a time, then my palm, my wrist, the inside of my forearm, the crook of my elbow.

  I watched, transfixed, as he bent to the task, his lips trailing a path up my inner arm to my shoulder, his dark curls falling forward to cover his face. Then I closed my eyes and tipped my head back as he ran kisses up my neck and along my jaw.

  “Ani.” His breath was warm on my throat.

  “Hmm?” The sound came out slowly.

  “How do you feel about long distance relationships?”

  I took a deep breath in, held it, and lay back on the blanket before letting it out. Turning my face so I could look at him, I said, “Honestly?”

  “Honestly. I only want honesty from you, Ani.”

  “I—I don’t know. I’ve never had a long distance relationship before, but the thought scares me a little. Like I said, I kind of have trust issues, and it seems like a long distance relationship would be extra hard because of that.” I kept my eyes locked with his, hoping he’d see into my heart and realize how vulnerable I was being. “I don’t think I’d like it very much.”

  He nodded, lacing his fingers with mine, pulling me back onto my side so we lay facing each other again. He didn’t say anything for several moments, but he wouldn’t let me look away, either. I sensed he was asking me to look into his heart as well, and see how vulnerable he was being just by asking.

  “I guess if I knew the long distance part would change at some point, I’d be… okay with it.” But even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true. I was shaking my head before I had even finished my statement. It wasn’t the idea of a long distance relationship that I hated, I realized, but the very thought of feeling this much for someone and not being with them. Of feeling this much for Paulo, and not being with him. “I don’t want to have a long distance relationship with you, Paulo.”

  He actually flinched, but he didn’t pull away. His brow lowered over his eyes, and his lips tightened. It took me a moment to realize what I’d said, that he hadn’t heard the train of thoughts leading up to that conclusion.

  “Oh, Paulo. No. That’s not what I meant.” I pulled my hand from his and reached up to cup his cheek. I could feel the slight rasp of the beginning of his 5 o’clock shadow beneath my palm. “I want—desperately want—to have a relationship with you. I just don’t want to it to be long distance. Even the thought of it hurts my heart.”

  His eyes closed and he breathed a rush of air out through his nose, his relief evident in the easing of every line of his body. When he opened his eyes again, everything he was feeling was right there for me to see. “Will you tell me about him?”

  It was my turn to flinch, but I squared my shoulders a little and nodded. “Okay. But there isn’t much to tell.”

  He remained silent, patient while I sorted through my thoughts, weighing my words carefully.

  “He’s one of my professors. I fell for his pretty words and extra attention, and I believed him when he said I was special.” Paulo looked like he wanted to say something, but he pressed his lips together and didn’t speak. “I thought… well, I thought we had a future together, that he was just taking things slowly and keeping things kind of quiet until I was out of school.” I reached out and toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt, desperate for the anchor of his touch. He must have sensed it. He covered my hand with his and held it pressed to his chest.

  “I understood that,” I continued, staring at his long fingers curled around mine, a little afraid to see what was going on behind his eyes. “It could have been a school rule. No fraternizing with the students, you know? But that wasn’t it at all, and I found out the hard way.” I paused and swallowed against the tightness at the back of my throat. I pushed on. “My best friend took me out for my birthday a few months ago, to a fancy restaurant where the meals come in five courses and cost an annual salary in some countries. We thought we were all high society and stuff, dressed in our fancy clothes and flashy bling, but before we’d gotten more than our lemon water and leather-bound menus, I saw him across the room. With his wife and children. The whole family was the real deal, high society and stuff, dressed in real finery and classy family jewels, and I was just a delusional college co-ed playing dress up, finding out the hard way that life stinks when you’re naive, and there are bad men out there who don’t think twice about taking advantage of good girls and—” And there they were again, the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. I blinked hard, not wanting Paulo to misunderstand. I wasn’t crying for Jacob. I was crying for me and my lost innocence. My embarrassment and wounded pride.

  Paulo gathered me to him, one large hand at the back of my head, pressing my heated face to his chest, the other stroking my back gently, up and down the curve of my spine. He didn’t say anything at all, just held me, and to my great relief, my tears didn’t last long. Maybe I was through crying for the wretched man after all. I pulled away a little and pressed my fingertips to my cheeks, wiping away any wetness that remained. I sat up and turned away from his searching eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Paulo.” I was kind of at a loss for words, but I wanted him to know that my feelings for Jacob, those last dregs I’d been holding desperately to when I’d first come here, were just that; the sludge left behind when the goodness is used up, when the well has run dry.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ani.” His words were soft, modulated. I could tell he was tamping down some strong emotions for my sake.

  “Well, I’m sorry anyway because talking about past relationship failures is a rotten way to start a new one.” I suddenly felt very fragile, and at the same time a little belligerent, almost daring him to hurt me. “If that’s what we’re doing here.”

  Once again, he didn’t even hesitate. “That i
s what we are doing here, Ani.” It must be nice to be so certain about things in life.

  I plucked a long blade of grass, wrapping and re-wrapping it around the tip of the finger he’d bitten. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “So tell me, Paulo, how do you feel about long distance relationships?”

  “Honestly?” He still lay on his side, his head propped in his hand now, his free hand resting casually on the blanket beside me, an offer of solace when I was ready to take it, but not forcing himself on me.

  “Honestly,” I said, echoing his response to me earlier. “I only want honesty from you, Paulo.”

  “I hate it, Ani. I hate the thought of not being able to see you, to touch you.” His fingers twitched on the blanket. “To kiss you.” With a sudden flurry of movement, he pushed himself up to sit beside me, his shoulder bumping mine, forearms draped over his knees. “I do not want to get to know you over the phone and on Skype. I want to get to know you like this. Face to face. Or shoulder to shoulder.” He held out his hand toward me, palm up. I hesitated only briefly, then took it between both of mine and brought it to my lips, kissing the ridge of his knuckles.

  “Hand in hand,” I whispered.

  “But I do believe in this, Ani, in what is happening here with us. I do not believe it was a coincidence that I was on the train when you needed me, that I was on the wall when you needed me.” He paused briefly, as though reconsidering his words, then continued. “I do not believe it was a coincidence that we ended up at the river at the exact place my parents stopped twenty-five years ago. I do not require signs, Ani, but if I did, I would say they were everywhere for us, yes?”

  I bumped his shoulder with mine. “I’m not sure I believe that you taking me on the same road your dad took your mom was purely a coincidence,” I teased.

  He bumped me back. “And I’m not sure I believe that you falling on me and crushing me so you could have an excuse to kiss me was purely a coincidence, either.”