“Oh. And he didn’t leave you his phone number?”
Mina hadn’t even thought about that. Emilia had a good point. He didn’t give her a phone number where he could be reached. Would she ever see him again? Was he playing games with her heart?
“He promised to call me. Any minute now.” She stared at the professor’s silent phone.
“I should head upstairs and start comparing my notes with the ones from City Hall. I’ll be home the rest of the day if you decide you must talk to me. Okay?” She looked tired as she rose from the couch and left.
Was it that hot and muggy outside, or was Emilia having a bad day? She hadn’t asked many questions about Diego, not even how he got there. For a lawyer that was pretty strange. Even for a retired lawyer. Maybe she should return the cross to Emilia. That would put an end to a lot of questions. Yes, she would do that and hope Emilia wasn’t offended.
Might as well clean the kitchen. Handling the coffee cups and the small plates felt sort of like touching Diego’s hands. Call me, please. The phone rang and she jumped. Yes!
“Pronto?” This time she answered like an Italian.
“Ciao bella.” Diego. A playful Diego judging by the tone of his voice. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”
“Plans? Of course, tell me about it. Your plans are my plans.”
He chuckled.
Good.
“Listen, you can get a bus to Vicenza in about forty minutes. Can you make it to the station in such a short time?”
“It depends. What happens if I do?”
“You’ll get off in Vicenza where a handsome man will be waiting for you, and you’ll go on an afternoon drive with him.”
“Can you be more specific? How handsome is this man?”
“Okay, smart mouth, if the answer is yes, you need to get moving.”
Mina fought to control the giddiness in her voice. “Any particular occasion? Where are you taking me? How should I dress?”
“Dress comfortably. We’ll be walking on unpaved streets. And Mina… make sure to wear the gold cross.”
Chapter 9
The big road sign read Verona Ovest. A smaller one announced Arena di Verona. Maybe they were headed to the Arena, the renowned Roman amphitheatre. That would explain his suggestion that she wear comfortable clothing. The sleek silver Audi crossed the Roman gate at the city entrance.
“Oh, how beautiful, and sooo old. It is old, isn’t it?” Mina asked.
“Very old. There are remnants of the Roman Empire all over town. We’ll park and walk, no cars allowed in the center of town.” The role of tour guide didn’t suit Diego. Since when did he adopt it, anyway? This was a man who always asked more questions than he answered. The new role-playing only added to the sense of edginess she’d felt since he picked her up in Vicenza.
There was no definite reason for concern. Diego looked so happy to see her. When he hugged her, she knew the warmth in his eyes was real. She chatted through the hour drive, and watched the green hills covered with row after row of vines.
If she were asked what bothered her, the answer would be elusive—what Diego didn’t say, gestures he didn’t make, more than what he did.
Why Verona? Why the hurry?
They parked in an underground garage that looked newly built and took an elevator up to the street level.
So far, Diego hadn’t mentioned the gold cross he asked her to wear, never even looked at her neck. She was self-conscious about it and ran her fingers over the chain many times during the drive. Her insecurity made her clumsy and awkward to the extent even Diego’s arm around her waist felt strange. He had done nothing to deserve her mistrust, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was somehow being used.
For what?
They crossed a small public park and stopped in view of the Arena’s main entrance. Trucks and vans with huge TV dishes and other antennas were parked everywhere.
“It’s opening night at the Arena.” Diego stopped under a large tree. “Sold out. That’s why we can’t get inside, sorry. Maybe next time. The show will be broadcast on all major Italian stations.”
Now all the colorful posters plastered around promoting Verdi’s Aida made sense.
Diego took her hand and they left. Within minutes, they strolled along a beautiful street with one after another high-end store, Dolce & Gabbana, Bottega Veneta. People lingering on the street looked like they might have just stepped out of one of the window displays. Mina was impressed and a little envious. She felt underdressed in her jeans and simple cotton top. Could that be what was bugging Diego? As soon as she thought it, she rejected the idea. He also wore simple faded jeans, a classy linen shirt and loafers with no socks, Italian-style.
“How about some real ice cream?” They stopped by a cart with an array of colorful buckets displaying gelato in assorted flavors.
“Tempting,” she said. “But I think I’ll pass for now.”
Diego shook his head in disbelief and laid his hand against her forehead. They continued on and turned onto a narrow side street. It was like landing on a different planet. No more fancy fashion names on the store marquees, no more beautiful people in haute couture. These folks looked more like people in California, baggy shorts, sneakers, cameras and water bottles.
Of course. Tourists. The heavy flow of foot traffic carried them along and they were soon at the massive porte cochere of a house in the process of restoration. A devious smile lit Diego’s eyes, and his hand stayed firmly at her waist. The temperature under the arched entry was much cooler in spite of all the people crammed together and craning their necks. What were they looking at? Hundreds of names scrawled on the wall, names entwined and circled by hearts. Lovers’ names, couples’ names.
Of course, they were in Verona. It was Juliet’s house. Euphoria rushed through her, from her toes to her split ends. She was too giddy to speak and only stared wide-eyed at the romantic fools climbing over each other to scribble their names and profess their love in this place of celebrated passion. Would she dare? Nah. It would feel like desecration. Would Diego even want their names written here?
“They power wash everything off every few weeks,” Diego whispered in her ear. She turned to smile, their lips met and there they stood, for one magical moment, before the storm of lovers swept them into Juliet’s courtyard. Her breath caught.
The rectangle of sky above the courtyard was streaked with the purple hues of an Italian sunset. Flashes from the cameras lit up the place, which was small, not at all the way it looked in the movie.
More of the crowd gathered beneath the celebrated balcony, taking pictures. A Japanese tour guide shouted to be heard over the cacophony of language.
“Would you like to go inside?” Diego asked.
“Is it worth it?” While she heard the awe in her voice, her eyes measured the line of people waiting by the entrance.
“The rooms are empty. The house is being restored. Seems like they are always doing some kind of restoration work to this poor house.”
“You come here often?”
The hand on her waist stiffened. “Not really.” His voice didn’t give an inch.
Message received, loud and clear. She had heard that tone before.
“The balcony doesn’t look like the one in the movie, how come?”
His smile was back as they walked out of the cave-like entrance. “The locations used by Zeffirelli are just around the corner. The exteriors were recreated in a studio for authenticity. Ironic, isn’t it?”
She nodded, asking herself if more than fake buildings were at play on this peculiar evening.
By the time Diego paid the dinner tab at one of the outdoor restaurants on Piazza delle Erbe, the stars shone in the sky. The Arena was alive with Verdi’s music. They walked back to the parking garage, hand in hand.
She wanted to talk to him about condoms and the night before, but somehow she lacked the nerve to broach the subject. It was crazy how easy it was to share her body with him
, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to talk about a lousy piece of Latex.
“Mina.” Diego’s voice snapped her out of her self-analysis. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get back home, I’d like to make a slight detour on our way back to Vicenza.”
For the first time since she met him two years ago, she sensed hesitation in his voice, reticence in his attitude. What was he about to say? Where was he taking her?
“Um, okay, I guess.”
He started the engine. “Don’t look so concerned, we’re just stopping to say hello to an old friend.”
“We are? An old friend of yours?” Was this good or bad? She was too stunned by the unexpected event to decide.
“She’s my friend’s grandmother.”
“You’re checking on her wellbeing or something?”
“Yes and no.” Of course.
“Will your friend be there, too?”
In the dim glow of the dashboard his face took on that familiar absent look she remembered from the first time she mentioned Italy way back when they met in Newport Beach. He focused on an invisible horizon. “No, she won’t.” He pushed the gas pedal and the car leapt into the dark night.
Chapter 10
The Audi climbed the hill at a snail’s pace, its headlights slicing a bright path on the bumpy road. Through the open window, the sound of traffic buzzed from faraway, but when they slowed at each turn, it was only the chirping of crickets that filled the night. They hadn’t passed any other cars, only a Vespa zipping down the hill on the opposite side of the road.
Where were they? The air smelled of hay and reminded her of Italian summers of long ago. Diego kept to himself.
She fought the strong urge to touch him, kiss him, and whisper in his ear, “How about a roll in the hay?”
What a fitting end to the day, making love under the same stars that might once have kept vigil over Romeo and Juliet’s ill-fated romance.
Sooner or later Diego would have to talk to her about this last minute detour. Perhaps it wasn’t last minute. Perhaps that was the real reason for the Verona outing. Maybe she should be flattered he planned to introduce her to friends. This had never come up before. She knew nothing about his background, his family. Whoa, what if he was taking her to meet his relatives? The idea produced a burst of anxiety. She turned to look at him, but as usual, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Like he was reading her mind, Diego pulled to the side of the road and left the engine running.
“Something wrong?” She rested her shoulder against the edge of the open window.
“Signora Cantú is blind.” He leaned nearer to her.
“Signora Cantú?”
“That’s her name. The person we are visiting. She isn’t totally blind. It’s a medical condition brought on by age. Sometimes she likes to feel a person’s face to ‘see’ them. I don’t want you to get upset or nervous if she does. She is a very nice person.” He spoke without slowing to catch a breath. Afraid she would interrupt with questions?
She was already nervous, and the stress she perceived in him wasn’t helping. “Cantú is a very unusual name.”
“It’s a family name.” The engine idled rhythmically.
“Right. Greek?”
“She’s Italian. Are you okay?” He reached to stroke her cheek then slid his hand under her chin and felt for the gold necklace inside her blouse. He ran a finger along the chain then let go. His hand returned to her face.
Who was this Signora Cantú, and why did he need to make sure she wore the cross before visiting her? Not family, he said, the grandmother of a friend.
“How far is this place?”
“Around the bend.” He sat back in the seat and shifted gears. The Audi resumed the slow climb.
He was right. They came around a turn in the road and a contrada, a small hamlet appeared. Tall houses in a row silhouetted against the starry sky. Light shone from a window here and there. Diego drove straight into the center of the common piazza. The buildings formed a semicircle around the dark square. He maneuvered the Audi between the wall of a stone house and a large fountain, a perfect fit. He seemed to know the area well. He’d obviously been there before.
He helped Mina out of the car and held her for a brief moment. His heart thumped against her. With his arm around her waist, he led her toward the door of the house nearest the Audi.
Somewhere a dog howled.
The door opened as he reached for it. A tall, thin woman with a mass of gray hair in a bun stood in the doorway with open arms. Diego let go of Mina and stepped into the embrace.
“Dear, dear Diego.” She moved back and wiped her cheeks with the back of a bony hand, all the while looking straight ahead. Mina felt like the woman was staring at her until she remembered what Diego said. “Signora Cantú is blind.”
The room had high ceilings with massive wood beams like many houses built in earlier centuries, but everything else looked new and expensive. A bright lamp cast a wide circle of light over a square table. Comfortable chairs with fluffy pillows formed a sitting corner around the imposing fireplace. The place smelled of furniture polish, burning candles and roses. A votive candle in a bright red glass sat in front of an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Goose bumps shimmied up Mina’s spine. Her grandmother had the same picture and kept a candle burning in front of it at all times. White roses in a large crystal vase lightened the mood. Not at all what Mina expected from the look of the outside.
“I’ve been counting the hours since your phone call. My dear boy, so kind of you to remember me.”
He phoned ahead, so he knew we were coming here when he picked me up.
“Signora Cantú, you are always in my thoughts, but tonight I may have something worth your attention.” Diego’s tone reminded Mina of the way she addressed Mother Superior when she went to the all-girls’ school, much respect and a bit of affection.
“Let’s sit, can I offer you something to drink? There is a pitcher of mineral water and some glasses on the credenza.” The signora moved slowly yet confidently in the space of her home. “I’m anxious to meet your young friend.”
Did she say young? What the hell did Diego say about her? Young? Of all the words he could have picked to describe her, he settled on young? Damn.
Signora Cantú sat in one of the comfy looking chairs. A light blue shawl was draped over the back. The side table beside it held a phone, a box of tissues, an empty teacup and a television remote. A large television sat on a stand on the opposite wall. Signora Cantú probably did a lot of listening and not much watching.
“This is my friend Mina Calvi.” Diego nudged her toward Signora Cantú.
Mina elbowed his ribs. He let out a muffled moan. Good.
The older lady smiled perceptively. Could she see?
Mina went and sat in the chair next to her.
“Mia cara, would you move your chair a little closer?”
Diego stared as she stood and scraped the large armchair across the floor, then plopped herself down. “Here I am, right by your side.” She glared back at him.
“Yes, you are.” Signora Cantú pronounced her words in perfect cadence, like a schoolteacher. She gathered Mina’s hands in hers and seemed to be studying her face closely. How was that possible? “Dear, I can’t see the way you see, however I’m able to detect shadows. At times, I get side glimpses of people, things. Would you mind very much if I feel your face with my hands? If you’re uncomfortable with it, I’ll understand.” Her voice was a mixture of sadness and surrender.
Mina wanted to hug the sad lady and let her touch her anywhere she wanted. Her eyes met Diego’s and she clearly understood his silent request against overreacting. So she said, “Please do,” and offered her face.
Signora Cantú started at her forehead and traced Mina’s features with the lightness of a makeup brush. Her cool fingers smelled of citrus. When she finished, she said, “You remind me so much of her.” And now the voice was all sadness.
Mina sat back,
eyes closed, trying to regain her composure. Something about the experience left her shaky and filled with sorrow. She wanted to reassure the grandmother, but she was ignorant of whatever loss this sad lady suffered. There was no way to know if things would ever be all right.
Diego’s hands were on hers. She opened her eyes and found him kneeling at her side. “Mina.” Hurt and regret played hide and seek in his usually brooding eyes. Why? “It’s okay. You remind her of her granddaughter, same size, same features—same sweetness.” He brushed his lips against the tip of her nose, and she asked herself if the kiss was for Mina or Signora Cantú’s granddaughter.
Silence lingered. Signora Cantú sighed. “Diego, dear, you wanted me to look at something?”
It was Diego’s turn to sigh. “Yes, the cross.” He put his hands on Mina’s neck; his eyes locked on hers. When he found the clasp, he asked, “Do you mind?” He unfastened it, carefully removed the necklace and laid it on Signora Cantú’s open palms. Mina had yet to answer his question.
What was going on? This whole day, the trip to Verona, Juliet’s house, the dinner—all just a ruse to get her to surrender the stupid cross to this woman?
She had to get up, get some air then kill Diego. She was that angry. No, she was that heartbroken. But she didn’t move. Her eyes were riveted to the tips of the fingers rubbing the gold crucifix. Images of her grandmother rolling rosary beads and humming prayers filled her mind.
The fingers stopped, and it seemed as if the whole room stood still. Signora Cantú flipped the cross and rubbed her middle and index fingers over the center, first with determination then with a soft, loving stroke. She bent a little as if protecting the precious object in her hands. Tears rolled from her eyes and fell to her lap, leaving dark spots on her linen dress. She pressed the crucifix against her heart. The tears became a river. Her chest shook with sobs. She made pitiful, mewling noises and stared at the blank wall. She had never seen a grown woman cry so intensely. It tore at Mina’s soul. What spilled from those sightless eyes was more than salty water. It was a grandmother’s heart.
Italian Summer (Mina's Adventures Book 3) Page 6
