by Melissa Hill
Naomi looked at the pair and smiled. The girl was bundled up against the cold and clearly not enjoying it; she pulled her hood up over her red hair in a bid to stay warm. The boyfriend kept one arm protectively around her.“We were always glued at the hip,”she mused.“Whatever happened to us?”
“We got busy,”Max conceded. They stopped at a caféfor coffee and took a quiet table where they could watch the falling snow and talk. Naomi wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and studied the scene outside without speaking.
“Sometimes I think you don’t worry about Julia like I do,”she said suddenly, and almost immediately her cheeks reddened, as though she hadn’t really meant to speak out loud and was embarrassed that she’d done so.
Max was a little startled, but he thought guiltily of how often he wished they could have more time apart from the baby.“It’s not that,”he began.“It’s just that I miss you—I miss us, before we got so wrapped up in real life—and now you’re so wrapped up in being a mum, it feels like we don’t get much time together. And I don’t like that. I miss my wife.”
To his utter bewilderment, Naomi suddenly started to cry. Alarmed, Max patted her arm and fished in her bag for tissues, unsure of how to react.
She dabbed at her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears without disturbing her makeup.“I just get so worried about her! I’m afraid to be a bad mother. I’m constantly thinking, what if something happens, and I’m not there? What if she needs me, and I’m busy doing something else? It feels so—so selfish to have fun!”
Max blinked, still unsure of how to respond to this sudden outburst.“But I am having fun, and now I feel terrible for it!”she continued, sniffling.“I’m enjoying spending time together, just the two of us. I enjoy going out for dinner, and sleeping without listening for a baby monitor. I like getting dressed up and going out, instead of packing a nappy bag. This whole weekend, it’s been—“she flailed her arms a bit as she tried to find the words.“It’s been brilliant, and I don’t want it to end. But I feel like a bad mum because I’m not checking in on my daughter every few hours.”
“I don’t think that makes you a bad mum,”Max said cautiously. He still wasn’t sure if this was his cue to say something, or if he should let her keep talking. She didn’t respond though, only sniffled, so he kept going.“I think you’re an amazing mum to Julia. And I love you for it. I wouldn’t want you any other way. But you need to take care of yourself, too. And I don’t want us to be so wrapped up in being parents that we forget about each other. That was the whole point of this trip—for us to reconnect.”He grabbed her hands in his own and gave her a pleading look.“Please don’t feel bad for that. I don’t want you to feel bad, I want you to be happy.”
Naomi sniffled and nodded.“I am happy,”she admitted.“This whole trip has been so lovely. I just…I’m torn. I feel guilty for not missing Julia more, and I feel guilty for being away from her, and I feel guilty for ignoring you…”
“You can be all those things. It’s normal, I promise. I feel them too.”
“Really?” Naomi looked doubtful, but Max nodded.“I miss her, and then I feel bad for not missing her enough. And I feel bad because I don’t think about how you’re feeling sometimes.”
Naomi wiped her eyes and drained her mug of cappuccino nearly in one swallow. She set her mug down with a sigh.“Today I woke up glad that I’ll see my daughter tomorrow, and then I felt sad that it’s our last day in Venice.”
“Then we should enjoy it,”Max said firmly.“Tuck the phone away in your bag. You know your mum is perfectly capable of handling anything that come up.”
“I know but…”
“So let’s get going. We can tour the city, eat as much Italian food as we can, and go home tomorrow happy and contented. How does that sound for a plan? C’mon. We might only get this one chance to explore the city. Let’s make the most of it.”
Naomi seemed to finally make up her mind.“OK,”she said, tucking the phone in her bag. She gave Max an apologetic look.“Just don’t get upset if I check it now and then throughout the day.”
“Promise,”he said, grabbing her hand.“C’mon. I know you have a notebook full of destinations and notes tucked away in your bag; tell me where we’re going today.”
They started with a map of the city and no real destination. It was cold out, but they were dressed warmly and there were plenty of cafes dotting the streets where they could buy hot coffee, hot chocolate or a snack to eat while they warmed up.
The snow was falling only lightly, drifting past them without a whisper. They started out from their hotel and begin wandering across the map, exploring tiny side streets and playing a sort of treasure hunt game. Could they find the narrowest lane in the city, Calle Varisco? Could they find the house labeled“1”? They also looked for street addresses that reflected their birth years and anniversary year. All of this was marked down with a pen on the map.
When they had crisscrossed the city, they ended up near Rialto Bridge. Naomi’s notebook listed the Rialto food market as an interesting place to linger, and while Max had no interest in the actual food on offer (lots and lots of seafood), he did find it interesting to see the cultural side of the markets. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into the lack of farmland available or how most Venetians got their food, and a look at the market gave him a greater appreciation of the many types of seafood up for grabs at local restaurants. I still want English fish and chips when I get home, he thought with amusement as a vendor showed off fresh squid.
After that, tired of walking, they decided to hop a water bus and cruise the Grand Canal for a daylight look at the city. The snow had stopped by now, and they had a nice view of the hotels and other business lining the water, along with glimpses of some of the side streets and canals. It was nearly dusk now, and the Rialto Bridge was well lit up for the night. Further down they spotted the Bridge of Sighs—somehow less impressive now that they had heard the story of its name—as well as a myriad smaller bridges, quiet and deserted in the gathering dusk.
Rising above all they spotted the bell tower and clock tower in St. Mark’s Square, and the spires on the cathedral. Max checked his watch.“If we’re ready, we can get through a quick meal and make the late Mass. You up for it?”
“Definitely.” Naomi’s eyes were sparkling.
They grabbed food at a small takeaway cafe nearby—more pizza for Max and a paninifor Naomi—and then headed into the Basilica with the other tourists and worshippers who were joining the Mass.
They were in for a treat. They’d been expecting a regular service, but tonight there was apparently a visiting choir who would be singing the Mass. The voices that rose up to the gilded domes filled the cathedral with the same spine-tingling sound they’d heard that morning, yet somehow it seemed even more impressive at night.
Outside, the Basilica was flooded with light for the nighttime hours, and Max and Naomi took a moment to admire it as they stood in the piazza. Finally the cold got the better of them, and they all but ran back to the hotel, laughing at their own attempts to hurry without slipping on the fresh snow.
Back at the hotel Naomi made a quick check of her phone.“No calls,”she said happily, and stayed it away again.
Max plumped up a pillow and handed it to her.“Aren’t you going to call and check in?”
She thought about that for a moment.“I don’t think so— not today,”she said at last.“It’s our last day and I’ll let my mom do what I asked her to do—watch Julia. And I’ll enjoy us for one more night before we go home.”
“Speaking of the night— look at this.”Max turned off the lamps and opened the curtains, gesturing out the window. Naomi joined him and gasped a little. They could just see down the canal to Rialto Bridge, and it was still lit up with an ever-changing rainbow of Christmas lights, even at this late hour. Very faintly, they could hear the stream of a jazzy-sounding Christmas carol drifting down the water.
“It’s magical,”said Naomi.“Like something you see in
a movie. And we were lucky enough to see it in person.”
They stood in the window for a while longer, holding each other and not speaking. Sometimes, they both realised, you didn’t need words to express a feeling.
Just being in the moment and sharing it was enough.
Chapter Ten
On her last full day in Venice, Lucy slept late. She indulged a little, ordering room service so she could linger in bed a while longer, watching a local English-language morning news program and nibbling on a croissant. Finally she took a hot shower and dressed for the day.
She made sure to pick out the nicest outfit she had and tied a scarf around her neck. She wanted to see the morning Mass at the Basilica, and afterward, she would do a bit more sightseeing in the city, go to dinner.
Then return to the bridge, do what she came here to do and go home.
After the late Mass she found a caféwhere she could get a quick snack—more coffee and croissants sounded just about right—and then set off to do her shopping. She wandered through the Rialto food market and was fascinated by the variety of items available for purchase, but declined the vendors’inquiring nods regretfully. Unfortunately she had no way to take home fresh squid or crab meat in her suitcase, however delicious they might be. She would have to settle for one more evening of stuffing herself with local delicacies before heading home.
After the food market she spent some time spent admiring Rialto bridge from the windows of a local café, where she snacked on deep-fried meatballs, olives and bread drizzled with plenty of olive oil and herbs.
The waiter who dished up her antipasti had plenty of suggestions for where to shop on her last day, along with a warning that if something seemed cheap, it probably was:“Many shops import goods from China,”he explained,“so stay away from the cheap stuff. Real Italian quality, it will cost you. But it’s worth it!”
Lucy kept his warning in mind when she caught a water bus out to the island of Burano. She wanted to take a peek into the Church of San Martino, which looked positively rustic after the decadence of the Basilica, and the Oblique Bell Tower.
She also hoped to see the school of lace-making, where she was told a few dedicated Venetians hung onto the craft of making fine lace by hand. She was impressed by the number of hours that went into the craft; for herself, she’d never had the patience for fine handicrafts, so she couldn’t imagine spending hours and hours on one tiny piece.
Besides the church and the lace-making museum and school, Burano boasted rows of colourful houses along the main canals that looked even prettier with a dusting of snow on the roofs. They reminded Lucy of colourful cupcakes with icing on top. Too soon it was time to board the bus back to San Marco, and she looked one more time at the colourful waterfront as they sailed away.
Back in the city, it didn’t take long to find all manner of shops with tempting goods that she knew her family and friends would love. Leather goods, Venetian masks, handmade chocolate and more—it was hard to pick out just a few things.
Finally she settled on a tooled leather journal for her dad, one which she knew he would enjoy writing in and would look lovely sitting out on his desk. He prided himself on keeping a neat and tidy study and this journal would fit right in. There were lovely cashmere scarves and tiny blown-glass paperweights for her mother and sisters.
She picked up an extra blown-glass necklace charm for herself—a souvenir of her trip—and finally returned to her hotel as dusk fell and the shops began to close up for the day. In the distance she could hear the bell tower chiming out the hour, and she knew it was time to find something to eat—her stomach was rumbling even louder than the chatter of passing tourists.
She tucked her bags safely away in her room and went down the street to a cozy restaurant that was just gearing up for the dinner rush. There were lots of other tourists out and about at this hour too, but Lucy had no trouble getting a small corner table and her dinner arrived quickly. She had a little trouble choosing what to order—there were so many delicious things to choose from, and this would be her last dinner in Venice—but finally she picked out fried crab and pasta with an anchovy and onion sauce. Fried doughnuts and strong coffee for dessert prepared her for the walk ahead of her, to find that cursed bridge.
Unfortunately, there was one small detail Lucy had overlooked in her planning: she couldn’t remember where, exactly, the bridge was located.
She had a map of Venice and she thought she knew the name of the area, but now she realised that she was somewhat off on the name. It hadn’t seemed important at the time—why would it be? she wasn’t planning on going back there—but now she belatedly realised that she had a bit of a search ahead of her.
It took the better part of an hour, but eventually she had circled several possible bridges on the map and was methodically setting out to each one.
The first bridge was a bust; not only did it not bear any locks at all, it was made of solid stone whereas the one she wanted was wrought iron. Another had some padlocks on it, but it was so close to the busier tourist districts that Lucy was almost certain it couldn’t be the right one. Nonetheless she checked each of the padlocks, wanting to be certain.
It was getting late now, and it was getting cold too. Lucy was discouraged, and she muttered under her breath as she marched to her last location. Stupid romantic ideas, stupid lock, stupid bridge in the middle of this stupid city…She thought she might start crying if she got mad enough, and she took a deep breath to calm down. It was just a symbolic thing, after all. Nothing to get all worked up about.
When she turned onto another street, suddenly she knew she was in the right spot. She walked to the middle of the bridge and gazed out over the quiet water. If she closed her eyes, she could picture it all: she and Dominic standing her under a snowy sky, their breath coming out in puffs, writing their initials on a lock and then locking it around one of the metal rails on the bridge. What a silly, romantic, yet lovely thing to do.
She opened her eyes and knelt in the fresh snow, feeling for the lock. There were a few on the bridge, and her fingers were getting cold when she found theirs. Feeling in her pocket for the key, she was about to unlock it when she heard footsteps crunching in the snow.
Lucy dropped the lock and stood up. There was a man standing at the foot of the bridge, hesitating.“Hello?”she called out cautiously.
“Lucy?”
Lucy froze to the spot. It can’t be! There’s no way…
But even while her brain was denying it, her eyes confirmed that Dominic was, indeed, standing in front of her now. He walked hesitantly on to the bridge, shoulders hunched up in his coat against the cold.
They stood looking at each other for a long moment, neither sure of what they should say next.
Then they both started speaking at once.“What are you doing here?”she blurted out, even as he started to say,“I was hoping I’d catch you…”
Embarrassed, they both stopped.“You go first.”
“No, you go ahead,”she said quickly, and he shuffled his feet in the snow.
“Maybe we could go somewhere warmer to talk? There are a few places around the piazza open late.”
“What are you doing here Dominic?”she demanded, remembering her original question.
In answer, he took a key out of his pocket.“I was hoping to persuade you to not use this.”
She stared at his key for a moment, then took her hand out of her own coat pocket and opened it to reveal a matching key. They stood silently, looking at each other and at the tiny keys that had once meant so much.
Lucy closed her hand and thrust the key back into her pocket.“Why are you here?”she repeated defiantly.“You broke up with me, remember?”
“I do.But I made a mistake.”
“And now what? You fly halfway around the world to stop me unlocking our old padlock?”
“That sort of thing usually works in the movies,”Dominic said, looking desperate. She snorted, and he burst out suddenly,“Look, the rea
l reason I flew here was that I was too stubborn to call you and admit I made a mistake. I thought you’d laugh or hang up on me, and I hoped eventually you’d be the one to call, and then I wouldn’t have to hurt my own stupid pride by begging you to take me back. But obviously that didn’t work, and when I found out you were coming here—well, I knew what you were planning, or thought I did, and I hoped I would catch you in time to stop you. And to tell you that I still love you, and I want to give us a second chance.”
She stared at him for a moment.“I almost called you,”she said finally.“I’ve missed you. I thought unlocking the padlock was the best way to let go of our past together and move on.”
“I don’t want to let go of our past,”Dominic said, moving closer to her.
There was just enough moonlight peeking out of the clouds to show the blue of his eyes and the gleam of his hair. He took Lucy’s hands in his own and drew her close.“I made the biggest mistake of my life when I let you go. But I want you back, if you’ll have me. I think we can give that promise a second chance.”
Her heart soaring, Lucy looked down at the padlock on the bridge, and then up at Dominic. Around them the snow had started again, softly.
“I think so too,”she whispered, leaning in to him. His lips brushed hers, and for a moment she forgot all about the cold.
Only for a moment, though.
“I think you’re right,”she said, leaning back from him.“We should definitely go somewhere warmer to talk about this. Preferably somewhere serving hot chocolate.”
“I know just the place.”Dominic tucked his arm through hers and pulled her closer as they walked slowly over the bridge, their bridge.
She leaned in to him and as the snow fell, touched the key in her pocket once more. I think I’ll hang on to this, she thought, but not to unlock the padlock.
