Spring In Sicily (Escape To Italy 4)

by Melissa Hill

  “What about you Olivia. Where is your heart? What place is your villa comunale?”

  She sunk into deep thought as she retraced her travel memories, all of which were now a blur of deadlines and rewrites.

  As a travel writer, her stories from the road were dissected and dismantled by people other than herself. Her photos and notes were just keepsakes, until she had moved on. She had little time to actually take in a moment, let alone find the unique treasure of it. “I don’t know if I’ve found it yet,” she admitted. “Is that a bad?”

  “You’ll find it,” Marco said, giving her a reassuring smile, “but in the mean time, you can borrow this park.” His playful brown eyes softened as they caught hers. It wasn’t pity that she saw inside of them though; it was a powerful warmth and fortitude she had not experienced before.

  She longed to let go of his hand and place hers on to his chest, just to feel if his heart was beating like hers, fast and in a rhythm all new.

  But she didn’t dare do so. Instead, Olivia turned back to the sea, content on taking this moment in.

  Chapter 10

  “You’ve reached Ed O’Toole. I am unable to answer my phone at the moment. Please leave me your name and phone number, and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Cheers.”

  Beep.

  “Hello, love. It’s noon here in Taormina, and I’m pretty sure you’re in the thick of things at work. I am assuming that is why you are not answering. I just wanted to let you know that I am fine. Well, I’m better than fine. This place is amazing, and Chef Isabella is, well … amazing too. She left sunflowers for us all this morning. How lovely is that? Anyway, we have the afternoon off, so I am going to a spa at this place her grandson recommended. I hope you’re not too jealous. It would, of course, be better if you were here with me, but I understand why you are not. At least, I think I understand. I’m not sure. I …I really want to talk to you and tell you more. Will you ring me when you get back from lunch or when you’re not so busy? Okay. I think that’s all. I love you.”

  Kate felt instant regret settle over her. She had promised herself that morning that she wasn’t going to call Ed or even worry about why his phone seemed to just ring and ring whenever she tried to get through.

  Yet, here she was leaving him a long and rambling message whereby she practically confessed her frustrations and need to see him.

  The thought of the spa had never sounded more appealing to her than this moment. Marco had been able to convince the best spa in Taormina to take her for the day. Though the Hotel Lusso already looked packed with guests wrapped in white downy robes and slippers, the manager guided her to a private room where he handed her an English menu of their offerings.

  She carefully selected the stone massage with Sicilian oils, a dip in the salt water pools, a manicure, and a pedicure. Many of these treatments were things Kate had always wanted to try, but the high price of the fertility treatments had kept her from indulging at home. Even a trip to the beauty salon would have triggered instant guilt that she was spending too much on herself and not on the future of her family.

  But as the manager came back with towels, robes, and slippers, the need for self-deprivation melted off as Kate stripped down her layers of clothing. She removed her wedding ring last, placing it carefully in the safe assigned to her along with her still silent mobile phone.

  * * *

  The orange umbrella Martha rested under glided back and forth gently in the wind, and the pink concoction the bartender at the beach had made her, was just what she need to cool her nerves. Stretching a seemingly endless distance, the pale sand and pebbles of Letojanni beach beckoned her and the hundreds of other sunbathers surrounding her, to give in to its charms.

  She had never been one for the beach. When the children were young, she and William took regular family trips to the shore in the summer months. But as a mom, she considered those vacations more like business trips: there was always sunscreen to apply to someone’s nose, and sandwiches to protect from sand and bugs. Her time to relax was more or less limited to the moments in which her husband would distract the children long enough for her to take a nap or read a chapter of a book.

  But today, Martha was without worry or care. On the ride in on the beach bus, she had left a message for Kurt basically telling him that there was little she could do from Italy, and that he would need to deal with it as a man. She hated doing it, but she understood that she needed to let him stand on his own two feet. It wasn't as though freshman drinking exploits were anything new to a college principal - or indeed serious - and certainly nothing she needed to get involved with. Anyway, a little scare like that would only stand her son in good stead for the remainder of his time in college.

  So Martha decided, for the rest of this trip, a trip given to her as a means of escape from her children, she was off the grid.

  And on her first day as a free woman for the first time in almost thirty years, she went to take a swim in the Ionian sea.

  While all the other women her age sat dry and baking, she boldly removed her cover up and marched herself into the sea.

  The waves gathered and nipped gently at her legs, and the salt water frothed and foamed around her body as she waded deeper in.

  She dipped her head back, soaking her hair in aquamarine sea, and eventually, she placed her whole body in, letting it rise to the surface to float lazily on her back.

  As Martha stared up at the cloud-speckled sky, with a weight off her shoulders, suddenly the world seemed to open up to her like never before, and she imagined all of the other seas and oceans she could experience now.

  She imagined herself trekking in Brazil, diving in Egypt, and snorkelling in Australia.

  It was all so new and fresh.

  A dream that was once her husband’s, to travel and explore, had now taken over and become her own.

  Chapter 11

  Kate blew quickly on her nails, attempting to speed-dry them as she hurried up the stone steps back to Isabella’s home. She was late—almost twenty minutes now—and hadn’t had time to wait for the blue light machines to work their magic.

  So instead, she ran, hoping to keep her freshly painted pink fingernails safe from harm.

  She wasn’t late on purpose. In fact, she had been watching the time meticulously, acutely aware of her obligation to be back at the villa for dinner preparations. But instead, it was the hotel manager that had kept her back. As she had requested the bill for her day at the spa, he had insisted that she had already paid.

  “Signor,” Kate explained, “there must be some mistake. I haven’t paid for anything, and I am in a hurry. Can you just process a bill for me so I can pay and be on my way?” Her impatience was growing thin and the benefits of her relaxing day quickly wearing off.

  The manager’s thin mustache twitched as he looked her over.

  “Signorina O’Toole,” he explained, “I am telling you that your bill is already paid. You are free to go whenever you need.”

  “I don’t understand,” she countered impatiently, “How can that be possible? I haven’t even given you my credit card!” She curtly handed him her Bank of Ireland debit card, insisting that he take it. The man’s hands rose quickly as if to guard him from it, and she finally sighed and gave up, returning the card to her purse. “Fine. I will take my free day at the spa then...”

  She waited for him to reply, but he instead walked from behind the long birchwood desk and graciously walked her to the door. “I hope you enjoyed your stay,” he called, “Please do visit us again.”

  As she strolled along the cobblestone path outside the hotel, she found herself at a loss, wondering what to make of the situation.

  Would another less charitable employee track her down later to try to get more money out of her than she owed?

  Just in case, she sped up a bit, attempting to retrace her steps from earlier in the day when Marco had shown her the way to the hotel.

  Rounding the corner, she spotted Martha
, who brushed a patch of yellow sand from her skirt with a pink-tinged hand.

  “Kate! Were you at this hotel?” the older woman gushed, running up to her. “Did you check out the beach at all? It was to die for.”

  “I thought you were staying back at the villa?” she replied distractedly. “Did you get everything sorted with your son?”

  “No,” Martha admitted, “but that’s the thing, I figured that if I am on vacation, I should actually be on vacation. So, instead, I spent the entire day at the beach drinking these pink little cocktails and reading this brilliant book I picked up from the library back home. I totally lost track of time!”

  “That sounds great,” Kate smiled, pleased to see her looking so happy. “I spent my day at the spa here. For some reason, there was an issue with my bill, but I guess it worked itself out.”

  She didn’t dare tell Martha that her opulent day of me-time was apparently on someone else’s account.

  The two women instead spent the rest of their quick walk back to Isabella’s villa recounting their day, from the pedicurist who spoke nine languages to the bartender at the beach who purred at Martha while calling her “carina.”

  Olivia was already back at the villa.

  Still glowing from her own day in the sunlight, she moved around the kitchen effortlessly as she worked on her assigned recipe.

  Marco walked her through a new, more efficient technique for chopping up tomatoes. Both stood arm and arm, sharing laughs and long glances.

  Joining them at their workstations, Martha and Kate couldn’t help but raise eyebrows at the pair of the them, a budding couple if ever there was one, Kate thought.

  As they made their sincerest apologies for being late, Isabella quickly handed them their handwritten recipe cards and dinner tasks of the evening.

  Kate had the secondo, a swordfish chop, while Martha was assigned the primo, a most famous Sicilian recipe, the pasta alla norma.

  Marco would make the dessert, a Sicilian version of cannoli.

  Fluttering between stations, Isabella guided each woman with their dishes. She tasted everything, savoring even the simplest of spice combinations. When assisting Kate with chopping the swordfish into smaller pieces, she didn’t flinch as she deftly added even more olive oil to the pot.

  All the while as the dishes cooked, she hummed a sweet tune while pointing out opportunities for what she called “vista breaks” to take in the sight of the sun floating lower into the sea.

  Occasionally, she stopped for lessons. For Martha, she applauded her instinct to double the garlic cloves to the pasta’s already flavorful palate. Looking over Kate’s seafood dish, she reminded the women that patience is a virtue. Cooking a meat on low was sometimes the only way to get the best results.

  And for Olivia, she reassured her that perfection wasn’t necessary in a dish’s appearance; and that sometimes, the look of a meal was deceptive with the worst tasting often being the most eye-catching.

  As the group finished their final touches, Isabella gave her last lesson of the night on the virtue of wines.

  None of the women admitted to being big fans or frequent drinkers, giving Isabella time to speak.

  “Most of you probably only serve one wine per meal,” she explained, “but in Sicily, we know that not every meal will have its perfect pair for each dish. Instead, we drink a glass with each course. For tonight, we have Olivia’s arancinette. Deep fried rice balls probably doesn’t seem like any match for a wine, but every meal has its mate. The heaviness of it calls for something red, light, and full of flavor. Martha’s pasta needs something to balance, rather than to detract, so a simple table red that is low on acidity is best. And finally, with Kate’s swordfish, we will drink a glass of Inzolia, a white grape wine.”

  “That’s a ton of wine!” Kate exclaimed, as she held her first glass high while Isabella poured a generous helping of the first red. “How does anyone stay sober in this country?”

  “We drink slow and savor,” Isabella smiled. “It would be a waste to drink too fast and spoil our food. With nowhere else to go and good company, who would want to spend their time too ill to take in the fun?

  Marco gestured to the open doors leading out to the patio overlooking the seafront. The group followed, bringing their plates out to the main patio for an al fresco experience. Isabella too had brought out a handful of small table candlesticks to illuminate the white linen tablecloth and the shimmering blue ceramic dinnerware.

  The evening air was light and airy.

  While the lights of Taormina glittered, and the sounds of people on the street filled the night, the tranquility of it all gave the scene an almost out of body atmosphere.

  In her mind, Olivia recognized it as one of the most authentic travel moments she had experienced in years. It was free from obligation and pre tense and as natural as sitting with her own family.

  Her heart ached as she remembered that there would only be one more dinner like this.

  With her wine glass raised, she instinctively stood, turning towards the front of the table where Marco and Isabella sat, “To our host. To this beautiful, mythical town. To new friends. To new hopes and dreams. To life and food.”

  “Cent’ann!” Marco chimed in, tapping her glass with his. “100 hundreds of life and love!”

  “Cin Cin!” followed Isabella joyfully as she looked over her table. The group dived into their meal ravenously; the mixture of the swordfish, pasta, and rice warming over their senses and awakening their tired minds.

  Isabella talked endlessly about the tucked-away Taormina vineyards she traveled to for their drinks and her favorite vendor at the docks who always gave her the best deal on her seafood when the market was low.

  “Isabella, what do you do when you are not hosting your cookery course? Do you spend the time alone in this big home?” Martha asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Oh no! I go out on friends’ boats. I travel to see friends. I tend to my garden. And sometimes, I have my sons or grandsons take me dancing.”

  “Dancing?” Kate’s eyes lit up. Before she married Ed, she had loved to go to local night clubs and discos.

  “Of course! There are several dance halls here. And sometimes, I’ll even go to the modern clubs along the beach for young people. But that is when I am feeling my bravest.”

  Marco laughed, “You should see her! I’ve taken her to several beach bars and she will ask anyone to dance. She especially likes the men with longer hair… right, Grandma?”

  Isabella gently brushed him off with a wave of her hands as she stood to go retrieve the desserts from the fridge.

  Kate continued, “I would love to go dancing tonight if we could. Where would you recommend, Marco?”

  “I would say Passaggi. It’s a good mix of not too young, not too old. And it’s very romantic being out on the main square. Plus, the drinks are always strong. I could take you if you would like.”

  “Seriously, would you? That would make my night!” Kate clapped her hands excitedly and bounced like a child in her chair. “How about you, Olivia and Martha? Will ye come?”

  Martha readily answered yes, excited to continue on her adventure from earlier in the day.

  Olivia, on the other hand was reticent. She had spent all day with Marco, and she found him becoming less of a character for her travel article and more of a fixture in her own mind. Venturing out with him in such a charged environment might well push her in a way she wasn’t exactly ready for.

  However, she also knew that seeing some of Taormina’s nightlife was almost essential to getting the city’s entire profile. She had learned early on in her days on the road that what a town may appear to be in the day could totally change in an instant when the sun went down.

  This was her shot to capture the entire experience.

  Chapter 12

  The four quickly demolished their cannoli along with the final wine of the night, a syrupy sweet passitos. The women then went back into their rooms, changing into more
formal attire.

  Kate chose a black halter dress with a plunging neckline. Martha stuck with her long, golden maxi dress and a black sweater over her shoulders.

  Olivia spent the most time preparing, as she rummaged through her backpack for the pearly white shift dress she had picked up in Barcelona several years back.

  She paired the look with the teardrop earrings a friend from Tokyo had gifted her, and a quick dab of ruby red lipstick - a rare luxury she typically didn’t indulge in while on the road.

  Marco and the others waited for her down the terrace stairs near the front entrance.

  His eyes lit up at the sight of her descending the steps. She had swept up her blonde hair in a slightly messy ballerina bun atop her head, revealing her dainty neck and the slight curve of her bare, lean back.

  The light from the villa bounced off her white dress, almost giving her a halo as she glided down to meet Marco’s outstretched arm.

  As the group approached the town, the sounds of music, laughter, and shouting grew closer. Taking a prominent place right in the center of Taormina, right then it looked oddly part of the scenery, with its open air tables, and white and tan linen awnings.

  Locals and tourists mingled, chatting amongst each other on the tan sofas and huddled in secluded, corner tables.

  The music was a mixture of standard club songs with thumping bass and vibrating lyrics to softer, more traditional Italian standards sung by crooners with booming voices.

  Young couples danced dangerously close, locking their bodies to one another as they swayed with the beat. Older men and women sat circled around the dance floor, watching and pointing at the movements. When the music would suddenly, almost disjointedly, switch to a familiar tune, they would jump up effortlessly, weaving through the younger dancers to find their place in the center with their partners.