“Oh.” Julia wasn’t sure what to say, and she walked quietly, allowing her emotions to settle. “So if I came on another day, there would be someone else there?”
“Yes, or it would be empty. But”—Alessandra smiled—“there’s good news. We share the money from the sale.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t come here to take your money,” Julia protested. “Absolutely not. You are the daughter who’s always been here. I’m a total stranger.”
“No, no, I’m happy to share. My parents were rich. I have a lot of money. I don’t know what to do with all this money. If I knew you were coming, maybe I wouldn’t sell the house, but it’s too late. It’s better for you to buy something in Milan. Closer to me?” She hugged Julia by the shoulders.
“We’ll need to talk about all this later. Right now, I’m trying to cope with my mother being dead,” Julia said. “My head is spinning.”
“I understand. But you come to Milan, right?”
“I haven’t been to Milan. Is it really very fashionable?” Julia asked, happy to change from the topic of money.
“It’s magnificent. You must come see. I show you everywhere. We go shopping and eating and dancing. Oh, look, we have arrived.”
They ducked under a stone arch and entered a small outdoor area with tables set up under flower arches and lanterns.
“This is the best ristorante,” Alessandra said. “Come sit next to me, and we will talk about everything. I must know all about your life. I’m so happy we met. I always wanted a sister. And now I have one, and it’s like we were always together. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Julia did. She knew almost nothing about Alessandra, but her sister was an easy person to love. They would learn about each other in time. Details didn’t matter. Money didn’t matter. She had family. Family she had never expected to find.
“What a beautiful place,” she said, as she sat down.
“Everything in Malcesine is beautiful. It’s from medieval times. Antonio and I come to relax here,” Alessandra said, examining the menu. “And now you can too.”
“In Italy? Oh, no, I don’t belong here. I’m a small-town Texas girl. From the moment I got here, it’s been one disaster after another. I haven’t even learned a word of Italian.”
The waiter appeared with a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses and asked Julia if she had any questions about the menu.
“No, no questions,” she answered. “I just want to order. I’m starving.”
“Of course,” he said and took out a small notebook and pencil from the pocket of his apron.
“I’d like tortellini, please,” she replied.
“Prego.”
The waiter looked expectantly at Alessandra, and Julia looked around as her sister ordered a pasta dish as well.
“So you haven’t learned any Italian?” Alessandra asked, laughing, as the waiter left.
“No, I’m hopeless.” Julia shook her head.
Alessandra doubled over, still laughing.
“What’s the matter with you?” Julia started laughing as well.
“Do you know that you answered to our waiter in Italian?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Si, you did. You said you were hungry, sono molto affamata. He asked, “Cosa prende? And you answered, “Per me, tortellini, per favore.”
Julia sat back in shock. The conversation most certainly felt to her as if it had taken place in English. “You are sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. How long have you been speaking in Italian without realizing it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Italian is in your blood, sister. And so is Italia. You can’t fight it. So you’ll take the money and stay in Italy, right? Why did you say you had disasters?”
“Well, when I first came to Rome, I rescued a dog from a homeless man on a tram, and then I met a man from London who was going to help me find a home for the dog. So he drove me to Tuscany and pretended to like me, but it turned out that he only liked my dog.” She couldn’t believe she was telling Alessandra all this, but it poured out.
“Oh, Julia, Julia. You never trust a man in Roma.” Alessandra shook her head.
“And you say Italy is in my blood. But he wasn’t an Italian. He was British.”
“It doesn’t make it better. Where is this dog now?”
“I left it with his family. The family was nice. He was the only jerk.” Julia looked away.
“Oh, I see.” Alessandra tapped her fingers on the table.
“What do you see?”
“Amore.”
“There’s no amore.”
“Did you have sex with him?”
Julia blushed.
Alessandra whistled. “Amore. That’s all right. You get over him. I take you on a trip and we find you another man. You are Italian. We fall in love all the time.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to take me on a trip.”
Her sister sighed. “I need a vacation. Maybe we go find your father.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Sorrento. We visited him many times. Nico Marino is a nice man.”
They walked the streets of Malcesine after dinner, Alessandra pointing out the sights, Julia trying to imagine herself living there in this small beautiful town where her mother had walked, where she could feel her presence everywhere. She saw the bakery her mother always bought bread in, the cheese shop she preferred, her favorite restaurant, the produce market. Was it really possible for her to fit in here? Could she learn about her mother’s life if she stayed for a while?
Back at the house, Alessandra showed Julia the boxes lining the walls of her mother’s bedroom and guest bedrooms.
“I think maybe we look through and you find something you might like to keep that was our mother’s. I’m sorry it is so much mess, but I started packing when we sell the house.”
Julia tried not to cry as she looked at the boxes full of her mother’s things. This was all that remained of her Italian mother. Just like the boxes back in Texas, packed full of Barbara Ramos’ things that she wasn’t ready to take to Goodwill. A garage full. A person’s entire life reduced to cardboard boxes full of junk.
“Are these Mom’s clothes?” she asked, wiping away a tear that escaped her eye.
“Yes, I need to donate them,” Alessandra said, as she bent over one of the boxes. Then she stood up. “Unless you want them? But they’re so old.”
“No, of course not. I just want to look.” She touched the fabric of the dresses her mother had worn, and a coat. There was a leather shoe, stuck randomly on top of a box. She pulled it out. Her mother had had small feet like she did.
“Is it right? The shoe?” Alessandra asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Try it on.”
Julia shook her head but then tried it on. The shoe fit snugly, but it did fit. “Sort of fits. I have large American feet. I eat too many breakfast tacos.” She smiled at her sister.
“Take these.” Alessandra pulled out a pair of shiny black leather boots from another box. “Mother loved these. She only wore these for a very special day.”
Julia touched the fine leather. “So soft. You really don’t mind?”
“They’re not the right size for me. Let’s find more things here for you to keep.”
“It’s okay. The boots are fine.”
Alessandra disappeared in the sea of boxes, followed by a few sneezes. “Here is a box she kept special on her desk.” She reappeared holding a small box. “We take it down and look for something good here.”
They spread the contents of the box on the dining room table, looking through letters and papers. “I don’t know why I keep all this. I should just throw all away.” Alessandra sighed.
“I’m so glad you didn’t, though.”
“Oh, here is my letter for you.” Alessandra pulled out a wrinkled envelope and held it up. “See, I paper-clipped my card on it.” She laughed. “I never sent it. I’m so sorry
.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Julia said. “Wait, what’s this?” She pulled out a small yellowed envelope with a single name written on it: “Julia.” Her heart beat wildly, threatening to burst out of her chest.
“She didn’t tell me about this,” Alessandra said.
“I’m going to cry,” Julia whispered.
Alessandra excused herself to the kitchen, kindly giving her space to read. Julia sniffled through the letter, a short note, really. Her mother’s only words to her that she’d ever get.
Mia cara ragazza, my Julia,
I’m so sorry I left you in America, but I had no other way. Please forgive me. I hope you were always loved by Barbara and Manuel, as I always loved you. I hope you have a happy life. I asked Alessandra, your sister, to send you art your father drew. You come meet your sister and learn you have family in Italy. Then come meet your father, Nico Marino. He live in Sorrento. 10 Via Parsano. He is a good man.
Your mother, Giulia.
“Alessandra, you can come back,” Julia called out after blowing her nose.
Alessandra returned with a tray of cookies and set them down. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m okay.”
“You are not. How can you be? Let me see this letter?” Alessandra asked and read it slowly, mouthing the words. “She wanted you to find Nico. So we go tomorrow, see your father, right?”
“Don’t you have to be at work or something? Or plan a wedding?”
“How many times I get to spend time with my sister?” Alessandra hugged her. “I call Antonio. We have a friend with a villa in Sorrento. It will be lovely. We swim, we ride in his boat, we meet your father.”
Before Julia could protest, her sister got on the phone and proceeded to explain the entire situation to her fiancé. Julia closed her eyes and tried to relax. She’d been chasing her mother all these days, and now she would chase after her father. Well, it wasn’t all a waste—she did find a sister and a brother-in-law, apparently.
“We go tomorrow,” Alessandra announced, getting off the phone. “Tonight, we look for some more special things, talk, and rest.”
“Okay,” Julia agreed. “When did Nico paint the picture of this house?”
“He came here when I was still in school, and he had a small affair with our mother. It was after my father left to live in Rome. They didn’t want to be together anymore.”
“You are very calm about this.”
“Ah, this is Italy. Everyone has affairs. But my father already decided their marriage was finished, and no one asked my opinion. What could I do? I was happy that my mother was happy. I was only a child.”
“Do you have a good relationship with your father?”
“It’s a very good relationship because he gives me a lot of money any time I want. I can’t ask for better, right?” Alessandra laughed and pointed at her Gucci purse.
Julia had a feeling that Alessandra would have liked more than a wad of cash from her father and suddenly felt lucky to have had memories of Manuel taking her to soccer practices, teaching her to fish, going hiking with her. Maybe she didn’t have her biological parents, but her adoptive parents had been great.
“After we come back, you stay with me in Milan,” Alessandra said, getting her bed ready on a couch.
“I have to return to America. I’m not Italian, Alessandra.”
“But of course you are.” Alessandra pulled her to a mirror. “Look at your face. Just like mine. It’s our mother’s face. Smile.”
Julia smiled obligingly, then pointed to the mirror in shock. “You have the same dimple on the side.”
“Si. And this side of my mouth curves up just like yours. It’s Mamma’s mouth.” She turned to Julia. “You belong in Italia.”
Later, as Alessandra went to bed, Julia walked through the house, searching for answers. Anything that could explain why Giulia Rigazzo decided she couldn’t be a mother to Julia but could be a mother to Alessandra. Anything that would help her understand why Giulia and Nico couldn’t be her parents when she was a baby but suddenly wanted to know who she was as an adult. And why did the universe mess with her so that she’d arrive too late to ever get to know her mother?
But the house was a regular house, like so many others. It was old, of course, with its stone walls and tiled floors and a large fireplace, but there were modern kitchen appliances and heating and cooling mechanisms, and new windows, even Ikea furniture all around. It was all clean and simple and not very helpful at all in painting Julia’s mother’s character. Perhaps she’d get no answers there at all.
She found an oversized green plush armchair in the library, perfect for beating insomnia with some reading. A large box, packed full of old leather volumes, sat next to the window. Mom must have been a book collector—that was a nice discovery. Julia traced the book spines with her finger. One Italian title after another, nothing she could recognize. And then her finger stopped. Shakespeare. In English.
Her breath caught in her throat. Julia hadn’t thought of Daniel for the entire evening. She was sure she was over her temporary obsession with the man. Her travel infatuation, because, of course, that’s what it was. She pulled the heavy volume out of the box, wiped the dust off gently, and sat down. Shakespeare. She hadn’t read any in years. Not since high school. She hadn’t even gone to a Shakespeare play.
She opened the front cover and began to flip through the pages, looking for familiar lines, then stopped herself. No, she wasn’t going to torture herself. Julia was never going to see Daniel again. There was no point in keeping those memories around. Unnecessary baggage. She was about to go on yet another lovely adventure with her sister and her sister’s fiancé, and she’d focus on that and not on her love-life failure.
She maneuvered the volume back into its spot in the box, then pulled it back out and went to bed, reading. Tomorrow she’d be happy on the way to Sorrento. But tonight, she’d let herself have a good cry over Daniel, while reading Much Ado About Nothing.
Chapter 30
Daniel stayed up most of the night, inputting the new design for the museum into AutoCad. As the sun came up, he emailed the team, with an apology for all the changes, with a copy to Roger. Roger hadn’t returned his phone call yet, and Daniel was unnerved by the lack of reaction to his giving notice. He supposed he should’ve expected Roger to sulk a bit. They were Cambridge buddies, and Roger would never let him leave easily, but it wasn’t as if Daniel was walking out on him without finishing the project.
There was still the matter of the next job. Daniel had been so pumped yesterday, about his meeting and about returning to Julia, it never occurred to him he was about to be no longer employed. It wasn’t as if he needed the money, as Mother reminded him, but he couldn’t just sit about his flat in London all day. He’d drive himself batty. But all this could be resolved later, after he found Julia and she accepted his apology.
There was breakfast, which he agreed to have with the family in the morning before he left, and Mandy promised to keep Mother away from him to avoid a scene in front of the children. He ate so fast he burned his tongue and immediately blamed his mother for that as he held an ice cube in his mouth.
“I’m sorry, everyone, but I must be off.” He finally got up, unable to delay any longer.
“Bring her these.” Francesca handed him a small package.
“What’s this?”
“Cookies.” She winked.
“I will not win her love with cookies,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.
“You will if they’re Francesca’s cookies,” Mandy corrected him.
“Fine.” He tucked the package into his suitcase and kissed everyone. “I will see you in a few days.”
He took off with rocket speed, sending clouds of dust into the Tuscan countryside. It would take four hours to travel north to Malcesine. He would make it in three. Another half hour to find the house Francesca described to him. Another two to apologize to Julia. He would be kissing her by dinner. Makin
g love to her by nighttime. It would all turn out all right. If only he could ring her and let her know he was on his way, apologize, send her flowers. But an in-person apology was better, anyway.
There was no traffic on the way through Greve, and he was congratulating himself on a fast start when his phone rang. He glanced at it. Mother. He would not answer. He proceeded on his route, the winding Chianti road reminding him of the vineyard where Julia and he had tasted wine and of the forest where they spent the night when he burned out the clutch. The memory of that night, the touch of her fingers on his hand, the smell of her skin, and the taste of wine in his mouth—it was all still so fresh in his mind.
The phone rang again.
“What is it you want, Mother?” There was no need to hide his irritation.
“You might as well turn around,” the cold voice announced.
“I’m never listening to any of your advice again.”
“Believe me, darling, you shall want to hear what I have to say in this matter.”
Daniel sighed. “What matter would that be, precisely?”
“The location of your American lover.”
“Her location is none of your business.” He increased his speed. The farther away from Mother the better.
“Very well, you can keep going in the wrong direction. Have a pleasant trip.” She hung up.
Daniel slammed on the brakes and turned off the road. Then he squared his jaw and redialed.
“What do you know about Julia?”
“Now you wish to hear?”
“Mother, for the love of God, would you please tell me?”
“I found your Julia on Instagram.”
“Since when do you do Instagram?” He rubbed his forehead.
“Since Eleanor showed it to me.”
“Who in the devil’s name is Eleanor?”
“Daniel, your language.”
“Never mind my language or Eleanor. What did you find out on Instagram?”
“Your Julia has taken quite a few pictures this morning, with a lovely and much prettier version of herself, I must add, who she says is her sister. The pictures were tagged in several places that Amanda says are en route to somewhere in the south of Italy.”
The House by the Cypress Trees Page 21