Breathing Room

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  This was absurd. Completely illogical. This was so wrong he couldn’t figure out what to say to set it straight. Of all the . . . He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know where to start, so he closed it, tried again. It was too late. She’d already fled.

  He stood there, numb, trying to figure out what had hit him. She was everything to him. How could she think, even for a moment, that he didn’t love her? She was the center of his world, the breath of his life. It wasn’t him . . . She was the one who couldn’t love enough.

  He sagged down on the side of the bed and dropped his forehead into his hands. She didn’t think he loved her? He wanted to howl.

  A door creaked, and the hairs stood on the back of his neck, because the noise hadn’t come from the hallway. It had come from across the room.

  He lifted his head. There was a bathroom. . . . Dread pooled in his stomach as the door opened and a man stepped out. Tall, good-looking, with a full head of hair.

  Ren Gage shook his head and looked at Harry with pity. “Man, you are so screwed.”

  And didn’t he just know it.

  17

  Porcini!”

  A wet branch slapped Isabel in the face as Giulia shot ahead of her through the underbrush. Her sneakers would never be the same after the morning’s excursion through the woods, which were still soggy from yesterday’s rainfall. She hurried toward a fallen tree and crouched next to Giulia in front of a circle of velvety brown porcini, their toadstool tops large enough to shelter a fairy.

  “Mmm . . . Tuscan gold.” Giulia pulled out the pocketknife she’d brought with her, cut a mushroom neatly at the base, and laid it in her basket. Plastic sacks were never used by the fungaroli, Isabel had learned, only baskets that allowed spores and bits of root to fall to the ground so next year’s crop would be ensured. “I wish Vittorio could have come with us. He complains when I wake him so early, but he loves the hunt.”

  Isabel wished Ren were with them, too. If she hadn’t asked him to go back to the villa yesterday evening after they’d made love, she could have nagged him out of bed this morning and made him come along. Even though they’d been lovers only a little over twenty-four hours, she’d found herself reaching for him last night, then waking up when he wasn’t there. He was like a drug. A dangerous drug. Crack cocaine topped off with heroin. And she was going to need a twelve-step program when their affair ended.

  She slipped her fingers beneath the cuff of her sweater and tugged at her gold bangle. Breathe. Stay centered and breathe. How often would she be able to hunt porcini in the woods of Tuscany? Despite the damp, Ren’s absence, and what felt like a permanent crick in her back from crouching down to look for mushrooms, she was enjoying herself. The morning had dawned bright and clear, Steffie was safe, and Isabel had a lover.

  “Smell. Is it not indescribable?”

  Isabel inhaled the pungent, earthy scent of the funghi and thought about sex. But then everything made her think about sex. She was already looking forward to returning to the farmhouse and seeing Ren again. The people from the town would be gathering at ten o’clock to finish dismantling the wall, and he would be there to help.

  She remembered how moody he’d gotten last night just before he’d left. At first she’d thought it was because she was kicking him out, but he’d been fairly good-humored about that. She’d asked him what was wrong, but he’d said only that he was tired. It had seemed like more than that. Maybe he’d been having a leftover reaction from finding Steffie. One thing was certain: Ren was a master dissembler, and if he didn’t want her to know what was going on inside him, she had very little chance of figuring it out.

  They set off again, eyes peeled, using the walking sticks Giulia had brought along to push away undergrowth near the tree roots and beside rotting logs. The rain had revitalized the parched landscape, and the air was heady with the scent of rosemary, lavender, and wild sage. Isabel found a velvety cache of porcini under a pile of leaves and added them to the basket.

  “You are very good at this.” Giulia spoke in the whisper she’d been using all morning. Porcini were precious, and mushroom hunting was a secretive operation. Their basket even had a lid to conceal their treasure should they happen to pass someone in the woods, not that anyone was going to be fooled. Giulia yawned for the fourth time in as many minutes.

  “A little early for you?” Isabel said.

  “I had to meet Vittorio in Montepulciano last night and in Pienza the night before that. I didn’t get back until very late.”

  “Do you always meet him when he’s out?”

  Giulia poked at some weeds she’d just finished looking beneath. “Sometimes. Certain nights.”

  Whatever that meant.

  As it neared ten o’clock, they returned to the farmhouse, taking turns carrying the full basket. The villagers had begun to appear, and Ren stood in the garden studying the wall. The way he wore his dusty boots, jeans, and faded T-shirt turned them into a fashion statement. When he saw her, his smile took away the last of the morning’s chill, and it grew even wider when he spotted the basket. “Why don’t I put these someplace safe?”

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  But she was too late. He’d already snagged the basket from Giulia and headed inside with it.

  “Hurry.” She grabbed Giulia’s arm and pulled her into the kitchen, arriving there on his heels. “Give that back right now. You’re not trustworthy.”

  “You hurt my feelings.” His con man’s eyes were as innocent as an altar boy’s. “And just when I was getting ready to suggest cooking up a little dinner for the four of us tonight. Nothing elaborate. We could start with some sautéed porcini on top of toasted crostini. Then maybe spaghetti al porcino—a light sauce, very simple. I’ll sauté the mushrooms in olive oil and garlic, add some fresh parsley. We could grill the larger ones and use them on an arugula salad. Of course, if I’m being presumptuous . . .”

  “Yes!” Giulia hopped like a child. “Vittorio will be home tonight. I know it is our turn to invite you, but you are a better cook, and I accept for both of us.”

  “We’ll see you at eight.” The porcini disappeared into the cupboard.

  Satisfied, Giulia slipped back out to the garden to greet some of her friends. Ren glanced at his watch, lifted an imperious eyebrow, and jerked a very arrogant thumb toward the ceiling. “You. Upstairs. Now. And make it fast.”

  He wasn’t the only one who knew how to have fun. She yawned. “I don’t think so.”

  “Apparently I’m going to have to get rough.”

  “I knew this was going to be a good day.”

  With a laugh, he dragged her into the living room, pressed her to the wall, and gave her a kiss that made her dizzy. Much too soon, Giulia called out to them from the kitchen, and they were forced to break away.

  While they worked, the townspeople spoke with heart-wringing emotion and dramatic gestures about how relieved they would be when old Paolo’s secret money stash was found and they no longer had to live in mortal fear. Isabel wondered if an entire town could win an Academy Award.

  Tracy waddled down with Marta and Connor. Harry appeared half an hour later with the older children. He looked frazzled and depressed, and Isabel was surprised to see Ren walk over and speak with him.

  Steffie stayed at her father’s side except when she scampered away to talk to Ren. He seemed to enjoy her company, a surprise after all the complaining he’d done about having the children around. Maybe the incident yesterday had changed his outlook. He even crouched down to talk with Brittany, despite the fact that she’d taken off her T-shirt.

  When Jeremy saw his sisters getting so much attention, he began to misbehave, something his parents seemed too dispirited to notice. Ren complimented him on his muscles, then set him to work carrying stone.

  Isabel decided she preferred food service to manual labor, so she helped make sandwiches and keep the water pitchers filled. Marta chided her in Italian, although not unkindly, for slicing the panforte too thinl
y. One by one, the people who’d caused her trouble managed to find their way to her side to make amends. Giancarlo apologized for the ghost incident, and Bernardo, off duty for the morning, took her to meet his wife, a sad-eyed woman named Fabiola.

  Around one o’clock a handsome Italian with thick, curly hair appeared. Giulia brought him to meet Isabel. “This is Vittorio’s brother, Andrea. He is our very excellent local doctor. He closed his office for the afternoon to help in the search.”

  “Piacere, signora. I’m happy to meet you.” He tossed away his cigarette. “A bad habit, I know, for a doctor.”

  Andrea had a small scar on his cheek and a rogue’s practiced eye. As they chatted, she grew aware of Ren watching from the wall, and she tried to convince herself he was being possessive. Unlikely, but a nice fantasy.

  Tracy wandered over. Isabel introduced her to Andrea, and she asked him to recommend a local obstetrician.

  “I deliver the babies of Casalleone.”

  “How fortunate for their mothers.” Tracy’s reply was flirtatious, but only, Isabel suspected, because Harry was near enough to overhear.

  By midafternoon the wall had been taken apart stone by stone, and the festive mood had disappeared. They’d found nothing more exciting than a few dead mice and some shards of broken pottery. Giulia stood alone at the top of the scarred hillside, head down. Bernardo looked as though he were comforting his sad-eyed wife. A woman named Tereza, who seemed to be another of Anna’s relatives, linked arms with her mother. Andrea Chiara went off to speak with one of the younger men, who was smoking and kicking the dirt with his boot.

  Just then Vittorio arrived. He took in the mood of the group and immediately headed to Giulia’s side. Isabel watched as he steered her into the shadows of the pergola, where he pulled her close.

  Ren joined Isabel by one of the gravel paths. “I feel like I’m at a funeral.”

  “There’s something more at stake here than a missing artifact.”

  “I sure would like to know what.”

  Giulia drew away from Vittorio and approached them, looking teary. “You will excuse us from dinner tonight, yes? I am not feeling so good. This will leave more porcini for you to eat.”

  Isabel remembered Giulia’s earlier excitement about the meal. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Can you make a miracle?”

  “No, but I can pray for one.”

  Giulia gave a wan smile. “Then you must pray very hard.”

  “It might be easier if she knew what she was praying for,” Ren said.

  Vittorio had remained by the pergola, and Giulia turned her head just enough to give him an imploring look. He shook his head. Isabel saw resentment cloud Giulia’s features and decided it was time to step up the pressure. “We can’t help if you won’t be truthful with us.”

  Giulia rubbed one hand with the other. “I do not think you could help anyway.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Her arms flew. “Do you see a child in my arms? Yes, I am in trouble.”

  Vittorio heard her, and he shot forward. “That’s enough, Giulia.”

  Ren seemed to read Isabel’s mind, which at that moment was telling her they needed to divide and conquer. As Isabel slipped an arm around Giulia’s shoulders, he stepped into the path to cut Vittorio off. “Why don’t we talk?”

  Isabel quickly steered Giulia around the side of the house to her car. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  Giulia got into the Panda without protest. Isabel backed out and headed for the road. She waited a few minutes before she said anything.

  “I suspect you have a good reason for not telling us the truth.”

  Giulia rubbed her eyes wearily. “How do you know I’m not telling the truth?”

  “Because your story sounded too much like one of Ren’s movie scripts. Besides, I don’t think stolen money would make you so sad.”

  “You are a very smart woman.” She combed her fingers through her hair, hooking it behind her ear. “No one wants to look foolish.”

  “And that’s what you’re afraid of? That the truth will make you look foolish? Or is it just that Vittorio has forbidden you to talk?”

  “You think I keep silent because Vittorio has told me to?” She gave a tired laugh. “No. It is not because of him.”

  “Then why? It’s obvious you need help. Maybe Ren and I could provide a different perspective.”

  “Or maybe not.” She crossed her legs. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

  “What are friends for?”

  “You have been a better friend to me than I have to you.”

  As they passed a small farmhouse where a woman worked in the garden, Isabel felt the weight of Giulia’s internal battle.

  “It is not my story to tell,” Giulia finally said. “It is the whole town’s, and they will be angry with me.” She grabbed a tissue from a pack Isabel had left on the seat and blew her nose with an angry bleat. “I don’t care. I am going to tell you. And if you think it is foolish . . . well, then, I cannot blame you.”

  Isabel waited. Giulia’s breasts rose and fell before she gave a sigh of resignation. “We are looking for the Ombra della Mattina.”

  It took a few moments for Isabel to remember the votive statue of the Etruscan boy from the Guarnacci Museum, Ombra della Sera. She eased up on the accelerator to allow a truck to pass. “What does it mean? Ombra della Mattina?”

  “Shadow of the Morning.”

  “The statue in Volterra is called Shadow of the Evening. That isn’t a coincidence, is it?”

  “Ombra della Mattina is its mate. A female statue. Thirty years ago our village priest found it when he was planting rosebushes at the gate of the cemetery.”

  Just as Ren had suspected. “And the people of the village don’t want to turn it over to the government.”

  “Do not think this is an ordinary case of greedy people trying to hide an artifact. If only it were that simple.”

  “But this is a very valuable artifact.”

  “Yes, but not only in the way you are thinking.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Giulia tugged on her small pearl earring. She looked drawn and exhausted. “Ombra della Mattina has special powers. This is why we do not speak of it to outsiders.”

  “What kind of powers?”

  “Unless you were born in Casalleone, you cannot understand. Even those of us born here did not believe.” She made one of her small, graceful gestures. “We laughed when our parents told us stories about the statue, but now we are no longer laughing.” She finally turned to look at Isabel. “Three years ago Ombra della Mattina disappeared, and since then not one woman within thirty kilometers of this town has been able to conceive.”

  “No one has gotten pregnant in three years?”

  “Only those who have been able to conceive away from the town.”

  “And you really believe that the disappearance of the statue is responsible?”

  “Vittorio and I were educated at the university. Do we believe it rationally? No. But the fact remains . . . The only way any couples have been able to get pregnant is to do so beyond the borders of Casalleone, and this is not always so easy.”

  Finally Isabel understood. “That’s why you’re always traveling to meet Vittorio. You’re trying to have a child.”

  Giulia’s hands twisted in her lap. “And why our friends Cristina and Enrico, who want a second child, must leave their daughter with her nonna night after night so they can get away. And why Sauro and Tea Grifasi drive far out into the country to make love in their car, then drive back home afterward. Sauro was fired from his job last month because he kept sleeping through his alarm clock. And this is why Anna is sad all the time. Bernardo and Fabiola can not get pregnant to make her a grandmother.”

  “The pharmacist in town is pregnant. I’ve seen her.”

  “For six months she lived in Livorno with a sister who always criticizes. Her husband drove back and for
th every night. Now they are getting divorced.”

  “But what does all this have to do with the farmhouse and old Paolo?”

  Giulia rubbed her eyes. “Paolo is the one who stole the statue.”

  “Apparently Paolo had a reputation for disliking children,” Isabel told Ren that evening as they stood in the kitchen together, gently wiping the dirt from the porcini with damp cloths. “He didn’t like the noise they made, and he complained that having so many children meant they had to spend too much money on schools.”

  “My kind of guy. So he decides to cut the town’s birthrate by stealing the statue. And what part of your mind did you lose when you started to believe this story?”

  “Giulia was telling the truth.”

  “I don’t doubt that. What I’m having trouble comprehending is the fact that you’re taking the supposed powers of this statue seriously.”

  “God works in mysterious ways.” Ren was making a mess of the kitchen as usual, and she began clearing space on the counter.

  “Spare me.”

  “No one has conceived a child in Casalleone since the statue was stolen,” she said.

  “And yet I’m not feeling any compulsion to throw away your condoms. Doesn’t this offend your academic sensibilities just a little?”

  “Not at all.” She carried a stack of dirty bowls to the sink. “It supports what I know. The mind is very powerful.”

  “You’re saying there’s some kind of mass hysteria going on? That women aren’t conceiving because they believe they can’t conceive?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “I liked the Mafia story better.”

  “Only because it had guns.”

  He smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the nose, which led to her mouth, which led to her breast, and several minutes passed before they came back up for air. “Cook,” she said weakly. “I’ve been waiting all day for those mushrooms.”