Our Italian Summer

by Jennifer Probst

  Mom quickly turned and pretended to study a painting, but not before I saw the hurt expression she tried to hide.

  On impulse, I went to reach for her hand, feeling bad, but she’d already walked ahead and refused to look back.

  Whatever. It wouldn’t have meant much to her anyway.

  Later on, I jumped on Snapchat with David.

  How’s the road trip? I typed.

  Chill. Managed to book a gig at small club tonight. Freda wanted to sing but I said no.

  I put a laughing emoji in the text. At least let her hum backup.

  Nah, after a few drinks she’ll be hooking up and won’t care. Having fun? How’s your mom?

  Still pissed but distracted with the tour. Gonna see how long till she bails on me and her crap about bonding time. She’s never gone a whole day without work before.

  Don’t let her jail u while she works. She already ruined your summer. Push back.

  Yeah, he was right. If she began missing stuff for calls or meetings, I’d make sure to do what I wanted. Truth. Saw the Vatican.

  Was it as pompous as I imagine it? Gold and glory for fat old guys who pretend they’re better than anyone else.

  I hesitated at the venom in the text. Of course, most of my friends sneered at any established religion, and I never judged people’s beliefs, but I remembered the way Ian knelt and prayed, as if humbled to be in God’s home. Maybe the church was messed up but some people found comfort here, like Nonni. Right?

  The art was sick. The Sistine Chapel was beautiful but I got a neck cramp looking up, and got smooshed between a bunch of strangers. Not what I expected.

  It never is. Gotta go. Wish you were here. TTYL.

  I sent another emoji and clicked off. He wished I was there. That was the second time he’d said it, so he probably meant it. I thought of him playing in clubs, getting high, and picking up girls, and of Ian, who said he liked his parents and who prayed in church.

  David was right about one thing. Mom swore she was taking a real vacation. If she thought she could drag me to Italy and leave me with Nonni for the whole time, I’d show her how wrong she was.

  I pocketed my phone and went to join my family on the bus.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Francesca

  I remember taking an art history class back in college and studying the Sistine Chapel for weeks on end, until I became tired of Michelangelo and his endless work of religious figures and naked muscled men in loincloths.

  I got a C and I blamed it on that segment. But staring up at the familiar panels, my neck already cramping from the position, I experienced a shudder of recognition that tingled through my nerve endings and settled into my bones. The feeling of seeing greatness up close.

  The soaring, colorful images squeezed together created an unending row of visual treats—a feast for the senses. Angels were not only people with wings but held fierce expressions that reflected basic human struggles, from envy to pride, and agony to joy. Cloaks rippled and flowed with delicate wrinkles. Fingers stretched out to grasp at God, and God judged and found man lacking. No inch of the ceiling remained untouched, and I felt locked into a small space of artistic vastness.

  Cell phones vibrated. Occasional coughs, exhalations, and quiet murmurs and shuffled steps were the only sounds in the chamber. I soaked it all in, letting the experience overtake the nonstop chattering in my head, and in that brief moment of time, I touched a tiny piece of nothingness.

  It was beautiful.

  The reprieve lasted fifteen minutes. Soon after, we were ushered back outside, stripped of our earbuds and mini speaker attachments. We boarded the bus to get back to our hotel and spend the afternoon on our own. I took a seat in the front, but Allegra stuck with Mom and sat behind me. I glanced at my watch to calculate the time difference back in New York and estimated I’d need at least a few hours to work. Kate and Layla had been holding back on sending emails, but I knew they were trying to respect my vacation time. They’d agreed to keep me informed of every move on the Lexi’s Lemonade account, even though they were both technically the leads.

  The idea of all I was missing back at the office, especially after the panic attack, bothered me. I needed to be available to weigh in on decisions so I was still involved. I’d still have plenty of time for the tour and family time. A few hours per day was practically nothing.

  Enzo stood in the front of the bus and raised his hands. Today he was dressed in a smart cream-colored suit in a light cotton material, with a bright blue T-shirt underneath. His shoes were a supple leather and his socks matched his shirt. A pair of dark sunglasses perched on top of his head amid thick brown curls. Italian men certainly knew how to dress.

  “I hope everyone enjoyed the Vatican and Sistine chapel. Beautiful, sì?”

  Everyone shouted in agreement.

  “We will get you back to the hotel so you can nap or go out to explore the city. I am here if you have questions on where to go or need recommendations. And tonight we will have dinner at a delicious local restaurant, so please be ready by six p.m. in the lobby.”

  I slipped my phone out and opened up my email program.

  Enzo dropped into the seat beside me. “Are you posting your pics to Facebook?” he asked in his usual teasing manner.

  Relief cut through me. Since last night, I’d been worried he’d be cold and businesslike after I accused him of hitting on me. But it seemed he was back to normal, and I was grateful. “No, I’ll leave that to my daughter. I’m actually checking in at work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Advertising. I run my own company back in New York.”

  He nodded. “Ah, big responsibilities. Do you create commercials or print ads?”

  “Both.” I tried to concentrate, because his scent was all around me again. Why did he smell like fresh-baked cookies and rich chocolate? “We just scored a major account, so I’m trying to make sure everything is going smoothly.”

  “Then you must love it. It is good to love what you do.”

  “It is. Do you love being a tour guide?”

  His face lit up. His features shifted and changed with each of his expressions, his dark brown eyes alive. “Sì. My father was a tour guide, and I learned from the best. I love teaching people about Italy.”

  “Is it hard to travel all the time? I imagine everyone misses you back home.”

  I hoped my question seemed low-key. I was kind of dying to know if he had a partner or kids back home, even though he wore no ring. “A bit hard for a serious relationship,” he said thoughtfully, “but it is part of who I am. I’m gone for a month, then return for two, then back out again. So far, I haven’t found the true love of my life who is meant for me, so there is no one to get back to except my dog.”

  His statements on true love threw me. Men didn’t talk like that, so I wondered if he was being a bit mocking. “What breed?”

  “An old-fashioned mutt. Her name is Sophia, for Sophia Loren—our most famous movie star.”

  I laughed. “I have to tell my mother she has a namesake. I’m sure your dog misses you when you’re away. Who takes care of her?”

  “My neighbor, who spoils her rotten. We share custody, so this makes Sophia happy. You must take care of your woman, no?”

  His gaze met mine in that intense way again, but this time I didn’t jump to conclusions. He was just a passionate guy who acted different than I was used to. “Yes. Or she craps all over you.”

  His hearty laugh made me smile. Most men I encountered were so serious, I rarely felt comfortable being silly. It was fun to be lighthearted. “This is true. Now, tell me what you want to see this afternoon. Can I be of any help?”

  “My mother mentioned the Spanish Steps. Is there a nice place for lunch and some light shopping?”

  “Ah, sì, I can text you a few suggestions. I advise you to avoid
any restaurants where you cannot see the kitchen—this means the food is not fresh but frozen. And a few shop owners will give you good price if you pop in. May I text you?”

  “Oh, that’d be great.” I recited my number and he plugged it into his phone and began typing a short list. “Will we have time if we go a bit later? I wanted to work a few hours.”

  A frown furrowed his brow. “I’d say wait no more than an hour or you shall miss your afternoon. Free time is precious on such a busy tour. Many people tell me that is their favorite part of Rome.”

  “What?”

  “Getting lost. You must get lost in each city to experience the true flavor. You agree?”

  “No, I like to know where I’m going. That’s why GPS was invented.”

  He sighed and gave a shake of his head. “Then there are no side-road adventures. I know your job is important, but take at least one detour today and let me know how it went tonight.”

  I hesitated. My first instinct fell to defensiveness. To explain that as a business owner I had responsibilities, and that detours usually ended up being a waste of precious time. But I bit back the words, not wanting to ruin the easy camaraderie, and nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Good.” He stood up and walked up the aisle, chatting with the various groups about their upcoming afternoon. By the time we got back to the hotel, Mom and Allegra were in an upbeat mood. “Mom, I found a cool café on Yelp we can go to for lunch, and then Nonni wants to do the Spanish Steps and gelato. We’ll have enough time, right?”

  I thought my mother would be tired, but she looked animated. “I just need to change my shoes and I’m ready. We can shower before dinner.”

  I bit my lip just as my phone buzzed. I knew it was Layla or Kate, needing some input on a few items. “Umm, listen, I have to do a few quick things for work. I’m really sorry—I promise it won’t take long. How about I meet you?”

  Allegra’s face fell. My mother’s expression pleaded with me to change my mind. “Honey, it’s only our first full day here! Can’t you get back to them tonight after dinner?”

  “We’re on a deadline and I really need to check in. It won’t take long . . . Listen, I’ll take an Uber right to the Spanish Steps in an hour.”

  “But I’m starving,” Allegra whined.

  “Go eat without me. I’ll grab a granola bar and make up for it with gelato at the plaza. Enzo said the cabs outside are trustworthy and most drivers speak English. Text me when you get there, okay?”

  Regret and guilt twisted inside me, but I had to check in so I could relax for the rest of the day. There were too many balls flying in the air that I had to catch.

  Allegra shrugged and turned away. “Whatever.”

  I winced, but my mother held her tongue, so I decided not to answer. We went up in the elevator together, and the moment I hit my room, I grabbed my laptop and a bottle of water and called Kate. “I have an hour,” I said after we exchanged the normal pleasantries. “Bring me up to speed.”

  Her voice was crisp and assured. “I’ve implemented a focus group to test out some tweaks to the video campaign, and Layla is working with Adam on the social media sets. We’re in good shape, Fran.”

  I should have been relieved, but my nerves pulled taut. I was used to being involved in every aspect for a new client. Yes, I hired good people, but I’d gotten to this point by having every decision run through me.

  But they didn’t want you, the voice whispered. They wanted Kate and Layla.

  I smothered the mocking reminder. “Who’s working on the brand-awareness proposal? Adam?”

  Her tiny hesitation gave me what I needed to pounce. “I put Sarah in charge because she did such a great job with the DesignIt campaign, and Adam has a full load.”

  I quickly clicked through the Dropbox folders and scanned the outline. “Kate, didn’t you take a look at this? It’s thin and she’s using the same technique used for fashion accessories. This is a totally different market. We need to target moms, kids, school groups, any type of outreach that revolves around organic juice. Have you seen how the Honest company branded themselves? It was brilliant.”

  “Jessica Alba was already a celebrity,” Kate pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter—it’s all about getting the moms to think putting Lexi’s Lemonade in their kids’ lunch boxes is the right thing to do. That’s our target.”

  “I’ll talk to her and have her revise it.”

  “No need, I’m on it. I’ll work on the new proposal, and let’s set up a conference call with Sarah so she knows where she’s missing the mark.”

  A hint of frustration interspersed her tone. “Fran, you’re in Italy. We can deal with this.”

  “I’m sure you can, but there can’t be any mistakes with this. I’ll send you the revisions in a few. Anything else?”

  “I have another meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon with the entire team.”

  “What time?”

  “Noon.”

  I mentally calculated my schedule. I’d be at dinner, but maybe I could sneak in a quick update. “I’ll call into the conference room around that time—pipe me in.”

  This time, Kate didn’t protest. “You got it. Enjoy Rome.”

  “Thanks.” I clicked off and began to pick apart Sarah’s plan. The more I changed, the more I realized how much it was lacking. Print ads were still important, but it was all about television, the internet, and social media channels. Facebook still brought huge numbers if the ad was click-worthy, and Sarah’s ideas weren’t high-concept enough. I considered batting it back over to Adam even if he was overloaded, but at this point, it’d be better if I handled it myself.

  The stress took hold, but it was mixed with a familiar sense of necessity. Finally, I could prove why I was in charge. Why I was good. Why I was successful. Work was the only place in life I felt like a rock star.

  I got to work. Usually, I experienced a jolt of adrenaline when I tackled a problem, but my head throbbed with tension. I tried to breathe deep, but my lungs tightened up and it became harder to draw in air, and that’s when I knew it was happening again.

  The panic attack. God, no, not now, please . . .

  The harder I tried to calm down and ward it off, the worse the anxiety and fear came at me, pummeling me like tiny fists, and I moaned, falling off the chair and curling myself into a tight ball as I fought for sanity.

  My vision swam, and I clutched myself for comfort as I lost control of my body. My mind was pinging around like a tennis ball, a wild rush of thoughts and terrors all mixed up, and I surrendered to the madness. I had no idea how long I was lying there. Eventually, I crawled to my knees with shaky limbs, my skin damp with sticky sweat, and I gazed at the laptop and my consistently vibrating phone still lying on the desk and wondered if I would ever be okay again.

  How had my safe place become my trigger?

  I glanced at my watch. I’d been here for almost two hours, way past my promise to Allegra. I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face, repairing my makeup, and switched my shirt out for a clean T. Grabbing my phone and bag, I texted Kate and let her know the new proposal would be sent over tonight. I’d finish it up after dinner.

  My phone buzzed.

  Done with lunch. Just got to the Spanish Steps. TTYL.

  No smiley face. She was definitely angry. Muttering a curse, I headed out, intent on grabbing a cab and buying something fun and expensive for my daughter to make it up to her. The moment the elevator doors swished open, I was met with trouble.

  “Fran! I’ve been looking for you but forgot to get your number!” Dana rushed over and hooked her arm through mine, her face wreathed in a smile. “Where are you going?”

  I hesitated, looking past her to where Steve stood, giving me a polite nod. He was dressed in jeans and a button-down short-sleeve shirt and wore a Stetson hat. Dana had changed after the Vat
ican into a short summer dress with hot pink wildflowers and teetering matching spiked sandals. I winced at even the idea of the heels getting caught between the cobblestones. Next to Steve were Cherry and Laura, whom I’d met at breakfast this morning. They seemed nice, and easy to chat with, but definitely more low-key than Dana. Cherry was petite, with a cute pixie cut and big dark eyes. Laura was blond and wore her hair in a sleek bob. She was curvy and had a great smile, shown off in a peach-colored lipstick that complimented her fair skin. Both of them had on denim shorts and tank tops with flip-flops.

  “Oh, I’m going to the Spanish Steps. My mom and daughter are meeting me there.”

  Dana gave a delighted squeal. “Perfect! That’s exactly where we’re all heading—let’s share a cab and go together!”

  I opened my mouth to frantically backpedal, but I didn’t want to seem rude and Cherry began asking me questions about my thoughts on the Sistine Chapel, and before I knew what was happening, I was seated in a cab smooshed between Cherry and Dana and speeding away from the hotel.

  During the ride, I found out that Cherry and Laura were a couple and celebrating their honeymoon. Cherry worked as a nurse and Laura was a lawyer for animal rights. They owned a farm in Nashville and claimed to know Luke Bryan. They had horses, cows, pigs, two alpacas, five dogs, and more cats than they could count. They’d bought an old farmhouse for pennies and spent two years fixing it up themselves. Even though I preferred not talking to anyone on vacation other than my family, I became fascinated by their story. I loved meeting people who were open and authentic and didn’t make explanations for who they were. I’d gotten a ton of flack for having Allegra without a man in my life. People called me selfish and impatient. Once, I’d been at a bar with colleagues, and when I shared my story, a few of the wives got upset, telling me I was setting a bad example for young women who thought thirty was too old to wait for love. The discussion spiraled out of control, and after that, things were awkward between some of my employees. That was one of the last times I went out socializing with my coworkers. It was easier to avoid potential issues.