Chasing Fate

by Rachael Brownell

  Today, I'm on the back of a scooter, moving through Venice at what feels like a million miles an hour, so Jackson can show me everything that’s left on his list. Knowing what's coming next, I squeeze him tighter, asking him to go a little faster. We're on our way to the vineyards. More than one. A tour of three actually.

  More importantly, I get to drink as much wine as I want since Jackson is driving us back to the hotel. I think I've become a bit of a wine-o since starting this vacation. We've tried a bunch of different wines, bottles upon bottles, as we've traveled from place to place. I know I'm not a huge fan of red unless it's sweet. I tend to prefer white as long as it's dry. Most of all, I love all kinds of Moscato. It's my favorite. Every different bottle we've ordered has been amazing.

  Moscato is at the top of my list today. We've even talked about bringing a few bottles back to the hotel. We've been buying a bottle with dinner every night, and it's starting to add up. When I suggested we buy a few bottles and keep them in the room, Jackson agreed. Maybe he's finally starting to feel the financial strain like I am. Maybe he's just being agreeable. Either way, I'm okay with the decision.

  As Jackson pulls to a stop in front of what looks like an old Venetian castle, I take stock of where I am. It's gorgeous. The land is sprawling, covered in row after row of vines. There are a few people roaming around, sipping wine in the garden area in front of the castle. There are benches and café-style tables.

  Unwrapping myself from Jackson, I hop off the scooter and remove my helmet. My hair is probably a hot mess. Combing through it with my fingers, I'm caught off guard when a small clump of hair gets tangled in my fingers and falls to the ground.

  I'm losing my hair.

  Lots of hair.

  The doctor warned me this was a possibility. He said even though I wasn’t going through treatment, it could still happen. I figured if it was going to happen, it would have already. I stopped taking the drugs he gave me before we left for New York. Why is this happening now?

  Staring at the small tuft on the ground, I don't notice Jackson slide up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist.

  "What are you staring at?" he asks, as he gently kisses my exposed neckline.

  "Nothing," I reply quickly, stepping forward onto my lost hair. Hopefully, he won't notice.

  "Ready to explore?" There's a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He can definitely tell something is wrong. Damn it!

  "Yes, yes, yes," I say with more enthusiasm that necessary as I turn to face him. If he thought something was wrong a moment ago, his smile isn't giving it away now.

  "Well then, let's go snag us a couple glasses of wine," he replies, reaching for my hand.

  "How about a bottle," I suggest as I allow him to pull me toward the entrance.

  We spend the majority of our morning in the garden area, taste testing a variety of wines. I taste more than he does, knowing that he's responsible for getting us not only to our next destination but also back to the hotel. If it were up to me, we'd never make it back. Not because I've been drinking. I have no idea where we are right now. I don't remember much about the ride out here other than the rolling hills and the feel of Jackson's heart beating against my cheek.

  Just after lunch we buy a bottle of my favorite from here so far and head to the next winery. It's just as beautiful as the first, only much busier. Instead of staying and sampling the wine, I sample two different whites. I pick one and we buy a bottle to take with us. There were too many people in such a small place for me. I was starting to feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed. It was the Eiffel Tower elevator all over again.

  As we pull up to the final winery, I'm surprised to see it's almost empty. There are two women sitting on the back patio and a couple eating lunch inside. After being seated, our waitress arrives promptly with a red and white for tasting.

  As the sweet liquid slides down my throat, I fall in love. It's the atmosphere, the beautiful view of the vineyard out the open patio doors, and the delicious Moscato is the final kicker.

  "This is my favorite," I exclaim. Jackson nods, agreeing with my assessment, before ordering us a bottle, knowing that I won't need to try anything else.

  "This is a nice place," he finally admits, settling back into his chair.

  "I like it. A lot. The wine is fantastic, but the view is breathtaking."

  "It sure is," he replies.

  When I look over at him, ready to ask if we can come back again before we leave Venice, I find him staring at me. My cheeks get hot, causing me to turn away quickly. You would think that with as many times as he's told me how beautiful I am, or even as many times as he's made me feel beautiful, that a simple compliment wouldn't get to me. For some reason, it always does. Every. Single. Time.

  His words mean so much to me–more than I should let them mean. The day I no longer hear his voice will be unbearable. It has to happen, and I know that, but in the meantime, I plan to enjoy the deep, sexual, and sensual sound. It's like music to my ears, even when he's talking about art.

  The rest of our afternoon is spent in light conversation. We talk about what we've enjoyed most about Venice. Jackson tells me a little about what to expect when we arrive in Detroit. His brother is picking us up, which means I'll officially be meeting part of his family, something I never thought would happen. I'm not sure it's the best idea, but I don't really have a say. Our flight leaves for the states in three days. I have until then to prepare.

  As the sun begins to set, we make our way back toward the city. My eyes are threatening to close from exhaustion, or it could be the amount of wine I've consumed today. I need food. Something substantial. My stomach is growling the closer to the city we get. As we wind our way through the street, the most amazing smells assault my senses.

  Pulling to a stop outside a bustling restaurant, Jackson nudges me off the scooter.

  "You need food," he states. It's not a question. He's aware of the fact that I've barely consumed anything today other than the wine.

  "I'm starving," I admit.

  "Let's grab something to go. They look busy, and I don't want to wait for a table."

  "Perfect."

  The lights around us begin to flicker to life as we wait for our order. The city, the magnificent piazzas, are beautiful during the day. At night, they take on a whole new level of beauty. It's like when you decorate a tree for Christmas. Its beauty increases the more you put on it. Once you plug the lights in, though, it becomes a thing of beauty all its own. That's how I'm looking at the city around me right now.

  Paris was the same. It was almost as if it came alive at night.

  Food in one hand, wine in the other, Jackson and I make our way up to our room. While I change into something more comfortable, Jackson sets dinner out on the table for us.

  Closing the bathroom door behind me, I run my fingers through my hair again and pray. I avoided touching my hair the rest of the afternoon. It looks awful right now, but I don't care. I couldn't risk Jackson knowing what was happening.

  A large clump of hair falls onto the counter top and then another. If it continues at this rate, I won't have any hair left soon to dye pink like I planned to do. Pulling it into a bun high on top of my head, I start thinking about how I'm going to check it off my list. It needs to be soon. Real soon.

  Detroit.

  That's my answer.

  All I need is to make it through the next few days, and as soon as we're back in the states, I'll ask Jackson to take me to a salon. It's that simple. He won't suspect anything.

  After dinner, Jackson and I cuddle up in bed and order a movie to watch. It takes us close to an hour to agree on one. As soon as it starts to play, my eyes close and I drift off to sleep.

  "Come on, Jessa," he hollers from the living room.

  My hair is being a pain in the ass this morning. I woke up before Jackson, removed the stray strands from my pillowcase, and jumped in the shower to wash away the rest. Now, he's attempting to rush me out the door so we can take a gondol
a tour of the Grand Canal. I'm excited about it, but not as excited as I was when I put it on the list. I'm not excited about much this morning.

  "I'm coming," I call out to him as I tie my hair in a ponytail, hoping it looks decent. Since meeting Jackson, I've only pulled my hair up a few times, mainly after a long day at work or when I would work out. This is out of character for me.

  He doesn't seem to notice as he pulls me out the door and into the elevator. Talking a mile a minute, Jackson explains how we're not only checking something off my list but adding something to it.

  #5 Ride a gondola in Venice

  Jackson apologizes for being late. I didn't realize they worked on a schedule, but after listening to their conversation for a few minutes, I realize that this was an arranged pick up. Because I was messing with my hair, we were ten minutes past out agreed upon time. Once I realize this, I apologize to our driver as everyone gets settled, explaining that my hair was being unmanageable, pointing to my messy ponytail.

  His only reply is a nod, and he pushes us away from the dock.

  The first few minutes of our ride are quiet and enjoyable. The canals aren't very busy. There are only a few other boats in the water, some with passengers, some without. It's still early, I guess. The last few nights, we've gotten back to the hotel late and the canals have been filled with gondolas. Some of the drivers were even singing like I had heard about. I hope ours doesn't.

  "How long are you in Venice?" the driver asks as we pass under a bridge.

  "We have a few more days," Jackson replies before I have the chance.

  "Have you been to the Piazza San Marco for gelato yet?"

  "No," I reply quickly. "What's gelato?"

  I've heard of it before. I'm pretty sure it's like ice cream.

  After giving us the rundown of the best places to get gelato, our driver recommends a few different places to see that we haven't been to yet as well as his family’s restaurant. The more he tells me, the more excited I get. Not only for the food but for the adventure.

  "Would you like to see the Grand Canal, Miss?"

  "I would. That would be amazing," I squeal.

  "It will be much busier, but it is worth the trip."

  "How much longer do we have you for?" Jackson asks.

  "Please do not worry about that, sir. I have no other fares until this afternoon. I want to make sure you both enjoy your ride."

  "Thank you. We appreciate that very much."

  Jackson will tip him, likely more than the driver is expecting to receive. He's always tipping people. No matter how much or little they do for us, he tips them. Some are grateful, others expecting of the money. My favorite is when he tips someone who doesn't expect it, the look of shock on their face. That look brings a smile to my face every time. It warms my heart to know that Jackson is caring and generous with others. It’s part of what I love about him. His enormous heart.

  The Grand Canal is beautiful. Our driver, or rather gondolier as I've been informed, was right about it being busier. A few other boats almost ran into us. A water taxi came close enough that I felt a mist of water. If they had been any closer, I'm sure I would have been sprayed.

  Turning back toward the hotel where he picked us up, he makes sure to remind Jackson to take me for gelato after lunch. If he hadn't reminded him, I would have. I'm still deciding which flavor I want. He recommended I try lemon or raspberry. If I can't make up my mind, I might just get both.

  Thanking him as he helps me off the boat, the gondolier pulls me close and whispers in my ear, bringing a smile to my face.

  "You are a very lucky girl. He loves you more than you know."

  "So, are you going to tell me what he said?" Jackson asks for the fifth time as we wait for a table at the restaurant. I've managed to dodge answering him until now.

  "Does it really matter what he said?"

  "It does if it was about me," he proclaims nervously.

  "I'll tell you when you're older," I say just as our name is called. We've been waiting for close to thirty minutes for a table. When we arrived, they were already packed for lunch.

  "What does that even mean?" he asks, pulling out my chair for me.

  Laughing, I confess, "I don't really know. My parents used to say that to me when I was younger. It doesn't really fit here, but it was kind of funny."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously. If they didn't want to answer me, that was their go-to line. It just slipped out, I guess. I wasn't planning on saying it. I haven't thought about that in a long time. My parents haven't said that to me in ages. Of course, I don't ask as many questions as I used to either."

  "I get that, but you really aren't going to tell me, are you?"

  "Not until you're older."

  "Well, if you want to play like that," he says, leaning across the table, "I'm older now than I was five minutes ago. I'm older now than when it happened. Does that count?"

  "I'll think about it," I reply. Jackson's ready to retort when I'm saved by the appearance of our waiter.

  After lunch, Jackson and I head back to the hotel to rest. I'm not tired, but I will be later tonight if I don't take a nap. He says he has something special planned for us, something not on our to-do list. I'm sure I'll love whatever it is, even if it means we'll be out until after midnight. I'm hoping I'll be able to stay awake. The last few days I've been falling asleep earlier and earlier.

  The fact he suggested I take a nap tells me he's noticed how tired I've become. That scares me. What else has he noticed? I hope I've been good at hiding the hair issue at least.

  #21 Eat gelato

  There are no words to describe how delicious it is. By the time we made it to grab a gelato, I still couldn't make up my mind which kind I wanted. They let me sample a few different flavors, and that made it ten times worse. I wanted one of each, two of some. The only kind I didn't care for was pistachio, but I didn't think I would.

  I settled for a mix of peach and raspberry. After tasting each of those twice, I felt I had to order them both. It was a great combination. I didn't regret my decision for a second. Well, not until I tried to and eat it so fast that my head began to hurt. It was worth it. Then Jackson tripped and shoved his nose in his cone. After that, gelato became my new favorite dessert. It tastes even better when you lick it off another person.

  Chapter 14

  Well rested and ready to go, Jackson and I walk hand in hand out of the hotel. He leads us through the streets, winding between buildings as if he's walked this path many times before. After we cross over the second or third bridge, I pull him to a stop.

  "Where are we going?" I ask, popping my hip out and giving him attitude. I've been asking for hours and he won't tell me. Now, after the power walk, he's taken me on, I want answers.

  "I told you, it's a surprise."

  "Jackson, it seems far away."

  "We're almost there. Five more minutes. It'll be worth it, I promise."

  There he goes again. Making promises he can't possibly keep. What if I hate it? It's probably not going to happen, but then the walk will be all for nothing. No, that's not true. Being with him is worth the walk tenfold.

  A few minutes later, we round the corner of the building and I hear something. Music.

  My feet follow the music, picking up the pace of their own accord. Jackson follows behind me, holding my hand, the only thing keeping me from running to see what lies ahead.

  When the space between the buildings opens up, I finally see it.

  "Welcome to St. Mark's square, Jessa."

  "It's beautiful," I reply, looking around. "Why are they here?"

  "This is what they do. We can grab a table and sit for a while or we can walk around. They'll play for a few more hours."

  Taking in the scene before me, I point toward a group of tables outside a restaurant. We pass an older couple slow dancing to the music as it floats on the breeze. I close my eye and allow Jackson to lead me to my seat.

  Snagging the first available ta
ble, he pulls out my chair for me as I take a seat, still in awe of the scene unfolding before me.

  There are two orchestras, one is playing and one is setting up. Couples dance throughout the plaza. Bistro tables and chairs are set up around the performance for people to sit and enjoy the show. We're not close, but not far away either.

  A woman approaches our table and explains to Jackson that there is a fee if we want to sit here. He nods, hands her money, and orders a bottle. She returns a few minutes later, pours us each a glass, and attempts to hand Jackson his change. He waves her off and asks her to return with another bottle in an hour.

  It's the first time I've seen him act this way. He was dismissive but polite. Because I know him, I understand he was asking her for privacy. One thing I've noticed as we've traveled is that our service is great but somewhat invasive. She doesn't know him, though, and I can only imagine what she's telling the others about the American who tipped her big but treated her like crap.

  "Be nicer to her," I whisper in his ear as he scoots closer to me.

  "I was nice to her,” he replies, confused by my comment.

  "You were dismissive."

  "Only because I didn't want her to bother us,” he explains.

  "Just be polite when she comes back. It's her job to take care of us. Let her do it. I was a waitress once, for about two weeks. People treated me horribly because they could. They knew I couldn't say anything to them because I would get fired. Then, they would tip me like shit. One day, I stopped caring. There was a lady who came in, spoke to me as if I was a speck of dirt on the ground. She was demanding to the point that she kept me from my other tables. Then, as soon as I set her food on the table, she asked for the manager. When my manager came to find me, he told me she didn't like her food or her service and that he was buying their food. He also told me that I needed to apologize to her for being rude. He didn't ask me if I was rude to her, he took her at her word."

  "What did you do?" he asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

  "I went to the table to apologize to the woman. When I got there, she was smirking at me in delight, as if she knew what she was doing all along. So, I told her to go fuck herself, handed my apron to my manager who was standing behind me in shock, and walked out."