Designs of the Heart

by Renee Ryder

  “And how much do you make?”

  “Roger!” Susan admonished him, saving her from having to answer. “Some questions mustn’t be asked. Pardon him, dear. Sometimes curiosity makes him forget good manners.”

  He took another sip from his ginger ale and looked ahead, as if he were blaming himself for his intrusiveness.

  “So, you were telling us,” Susan resumed. “Why did you pick Porto Loreno for your first trip to Italy?”

  “Well, my reason might seem silly to you.”

  “Why ‘silly?’ ”

  “Let’s say that there’s no great logic to it.”

  “Now I’m even more curious,” interjected Roger, perhaps eager to delve into a new topic in order to leave his gaffe behind.

  “It all started from a painting.”

  “A painting?”

  Sitting in between them, she had to turn right and left as she spoke.

  “It’s an anonymous painting that was in Grandma’s bedroom. When she passed away, I had to take all of her stuff out of the apartment we were renting. That’s when I realized the emotional value of that picture. It had always been hanging on the wall, but I’d never really paid attention to it until then. I don’t even know if it was a purchase or a gift. Does that make sense?”

  “It does, dear,” Susan comforted her, rubbing her forearm. “So much that you remind me of our old Chevrolet Camaro. You know, my father used to take Paul and me to school every day. Paul, my brother.”

  “Yes, I know him. Ryan took me to his retirement party.”

  “Oh, that’s true! You both came. You just stayed so briefly that I had forgotten.”

  “His fault,” she joked. “He had a business meeting that night.”

  “That work-obsessed son of yours!” Roger said towards his wife.

  “Anyway, at age twelve my dad bought a new car. I should have been happy that it was a trendy one, but somehow I felt sad. I missed our Camaro, with its worn down seats, familiar smell, and the scratches on the windows! As if it had absorbed part of my relationship with Paul, the feeling of going home, and—”

  She was listening to Susan with unanticipated emotion that she tried to conceal. More than simply sharing their affection for objects from childhood—the painting and the car—it was the whole world of feelings about parents picking up their children from school that moved her. A world that she thought she’d exorcised from herself long ago.

  “—also of the sense of safety that my father gave me over the years. And I never realized it until the first time we climbed into the new Ford. It was like being a guest in your own house.”

  “Yeah! Although in a different way … since I couldn’t climb into the boats in the painting … I did feel something similar. While holding the frame, it was like wiping off the dust from a piece of my childhood.”

  Roger smiled at her joke and that buoyed her confidence. The tension that she’d felt since getting to the airport was disappearing.

  “Of course, I brought that painting with me when I moved.”

  “And what about its connection with our trip?”

  “I’m getting there, Roger,” she said, massaging the pain in both ears now. “After Ryan told me of his idea about a vacation in Italy, I looked through possible destinations on the internet. I’ve always been fascinated by small towns. For some reason, the big cities and famous tourist places there have never inspired me that much. Looking over the countless options, I ran across a picture with some rowboats pulled up onto the sand. And somehow the angle was similar enough that I saw my grandma’s painting in that photo. It was just a moment, but that feeling struck me.”

  “I bet the photo depicted a Porto Loreno beach.”

  “Your insightfulness is astonishing, Roger,” Susan mocked him in an affectionate way.

  “Wow. Was it so obvious?”

  She and Susan giggled at his amazement.

  “But it’s not as illogical as you said.”

  “No?”

  “It’s clear that the bond between you and Italy passes through your grandmother. Sadly, she’s no longer with us. I’m sure there are many things that remind you of her, and one of those is …” and she leaned over, looking at her husband to mockingly inviting him to finish the sentence.

  “The Chevrolet?”

  He said that as if he were a competitor who doesn’t know the answer to the final question of a quiz show. She and Susan found him hilarious, and he seemed pleased to amuse them.

  She would never have thought she could feel so comfortable with Ryan’s parents, almost strangers to her, without him being present.

  “I dreamed of going to Italy with Grandma,” she resumed. “But then …”

  “I see. Um, would you consider it overly intrusive if I asked why you lived with her?”

  Susan’s question caught her off guard. She’d assumed that Ryan had told them her story. However, thinking about it, she recognized she should have expected this because, although Ryan was an outgoing and talkative guy, he had also repeatedly shown great discretion with regard to personal matters.

  “Sue, come on. There are some questions you just don’t ask,” Roger dug back.

  “No, don’t worry. I have no problem telling you.”

  She took a sip of water before answering.

  “My mother left me with her mom, Grandma Julia, when I was seven. We haven’t heard from her since. Family tradition, you may be thinking,” she added, alluding to the story of her grandma’s youth.

  “No.”

  “Not at all.”

  “As for my father, I never met him,” she hastened on, afraid that they might misunderstand her self-irony. “Grandpa James had passed away a couple of years before, so it was just me and Grandma. She worked as a secretary for a lawyer when I was in school, and took care of me the rest of the day. Thanks to her job and Grandpa’s social security check, we were able to carry on until she retired, too, the year I started high school. Everything went great until the second year in college, when I lost her in a car accident. So I found a small apartment, where I live right now, in a neighborhood ten minutes away from downtown.”

  “Forgive me, Hannah. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s fine, Susan.”

  “Oh. It’s just that you seemed … how to put it … uncomfortable digging up those memories.”

  “Oh, no. It’s not that. My ears have been kind of aching for the last few minutes.”

  “It might be the pressure of the altitude,” Susan guessed.

  “Wait, go like this,” Roger said, closing his mouth and holding his nostrils. “Then blow a little bit through your nose. It depressurizes the tubes in your ear.”

  “But don’t do it too hard,” Susan warned her. “Breathe out very gently.”

  She followed their instructions because they seemed confident about it. At first, she felt her head compress. Then something happened.

  “How’s it going?” Susan asked.

  “Better. I feel like I have cotton balls in my ears, but the pain has dulled.”

  “That’s the important thing,” said Roger.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  “Getting back to the subject …”

  “Yes, Roger?”

  “Did you apply for a student loan to graduate?”

  “No, I preferred not to. I went to community college because we—”

  “Community college?”

  “Yes, Susan.”

  “I heard they aren’t too bad. Right, Sue?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sorry, dear. We’re just surprised because Ryan told us that you graduated from Washington State University.”

  “Yes, I got my BS in Web Design there. I went to community college only for the first two years, but Grandma planned it all out. She would have helped me transfer to a University, but she was only able to leave me a small inheritance. After that, I worked as a w
aitress to pay my way through school.”

  “We’re proud of you, dear.”

  “Of course it’s not like going to Stanford,” she went on, always in awe of Ryan’s alma mater. “But I had no other options.”

  Why the hell was she justifying herself? They hadn’t shown any snobbery. Perhaps the answer was nestled in her awareness that Ryan belonged to a different social class.

  “See, Hannah, we love our son, so of course we provided him with the best education possible for him. You weren’t so lucky in having a family who was well off. But let me tell you something. You made up for that with the type of energy and tenacity that, I have no doubt, made you a valuable person, much more than many people who studied at the best universities. I’m so pleased that my son is with a girl like you.”

  “Thank you, Susan.”

  She found these words very moving, especially when filled with such clear compassion and affection.

  “Call me Sue, dear. Please.”

  “Okay, Sue. Um, since we’re getting to know each other and all, do you mind if I ask you guys something?”

  “Shoot,” said Roger, breaking down another barrier with his wit.

  “Okay. I was wondering … How did you take the news that Ryan wouldn’t be travelling with us?”

  Roger answered with an instinctive grimace. Susan maintained the same affable expression she’d kept the whole time.

  “I won’t deny that it rattled us.”

  “Who expected that after so much talk?” asked Roger.

  “But when he told us that you considered it a nice opportunity to spend some time with us, we felt much better. So we did as he suggested.”

  “And it was the perfect solution to his problem,” Roger added.

  “Speaking of that, dear, I wanted to tell you that we were pleased by your reaction. I don’t think there are many girls who would welcome this sort of change in plans like you did. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose you’re right, Sue,” she confirmed, remembering the chat with Lauren and praying that her voice and face wouldn’t betray her. “We never had a chance to really talk before, so it’s nice to have one,” she concluded, mentally thanking Ryan for the white lie.

  “That’s exactly what I said to my son. ‘Let us get to know your beloved Hannah!’ ” confirmed Roger. “And maybe we’ll also discover that one of your great-grandparents actually came from Porto Loreno …”

  She had to admit, Ryan was damn good with interpersonal relationships. Seeing this talent in action, she understood better why, despite his engineering degree from the prestigious Californian university, he had chosen to use the knowledge he’d gained through his studies to sell software rather than create it.

  5. Disoriented

  Excited, emotional, delighted, satisfied, amazed. If Hannah had predicted which adjective would describe her state of mind after arriving in Italy, she’d never have imagined choosing “disoriented.”

  First going through the corridors in the arrivals area and then at the baggage claim, she realized that reality did not match her expectations.

  “Are you sure this is the right way?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, flight 732 for Turin is now boarding at gate fifteen.”

  “Who knows how long we’ve gotta wait before they put the baggage on the conveyor belts.”

  “Come on. The flight attendants on this airline were way nicer.”

  Recognizing that English was no longer the dominant language around them gave her the unusual sensation of being a foreigner. It was like taking the elevator from the ground floor of the Space Needle and getting out to find herself at the top of the Eiffel Tower. And that she understood almost everything made the situation even more surreal. At a certain point, though, once safely tucked into the car service from Fiumicino airport to Porto Loreno, the disorientation began to wear off and she lost herself in deep thought.

  She sat with Susan in the back seat, while Roger took the front. Both husband and wife had dozed off, and while the chauffeur drove, she meditated on their trip.

  With Grandma Julia, she had seen many movies set in Italy, as well as photos and videos on the internet. She still remembered her grandma’s voice, hoarsening over the years, telling her confusing stories referring to Italy. Grandma’s stories were chaotic and not very consistent because they came from distant memories—from adolescence or even childhood—often distorted by the unhappiness from that time in her life. Memories that came back to her by seeing certain scenes or landscape, and that, as a good grandma, she’d shared with her young granddaughter. Perhaps time had cut away the bitter peel of those memories, leaving only the sweet fruit of a naive nostalgia—because a memory is enjoyed more when shared rather than in silence and in solitude.

  She had built her own “Italian atmosphere” based on images and feelings by her grandma’s stories, but it didn’t match with the feeling of actually being in that country. She had worshipped a magnificent simulacrum. If Grandma Julia had been seated in that Mercedes with her instead of the Corwins, the fantasy’s atmosphere would have expanded until it blurred the reality opening around her. On the contrary, an if leads to a how, a how leads to a why, these links made reality more and more clear, and she lost herself in a maze of conjectures. She tried to imagine how different the Italy left by her great-grandparents must be, if they had ever regretted leaving their families, what her own existence would have been like if they had stayed, and …

  Oh!

  If they’d stayed in Italy, probably the two would never have met and she wouldn’t have existed.

  It was the first time that this observation appeared so clear to her, even though she’d often thought—especially after her grandma’s death—about that small Italian part of herself that claimed her attention every now and then. Was fate nothing but superstition? God’s designs simply coincidences?

  Or is it the other way? … Who knows!

  It was useless to harass her mind with such questions. Better to focus on the present. Once they arrived in the beautiful town from the photos, maybe this disorientation would turn into delight or even satisfaction; after all, she had only seen the airport and highway so far, and the one Italian person she’d talked to—although in English—was the driver while loading their bags in the trunk and during the first few miles on the road.

  Stop riling yourself up. Enjoy these two weeks in our Italy, little Hannah!

  She could almost hear Grandma Julia’s advice to her. And who knew, perhaps it truly was a message from her. Just like in Coco, she mused, when even death couldn’t make someone disappear as long as they’re still remembered.

  She had time to think because Susan and Roger stayed asleep, and not just from exhaustion. The car was comfortable and the driver skilled, so they barely felt the curves, lane changes, traffic, and uneven sections of pavement; plus, the noise from outside broke against the windows—likely soundproofed glass. During the flights, except for a respite over the Atlantic where each of them had watched a different movie, they’d chatted the whole time. It wasn’t a mere polite conversation in two acts, because she had felt their desire to connect with her. This made her happy. She’d felt so good that she’d even forgotten her anger at Ryan! Now she wondered why, in the hours before the departure, she had been so distressed by the certainty of an uncomfortable situation. The Corwins had surprised her by welcoming and accepting her.

  She didn’t know how it felt to open up to a mother, benefitting from maternal affection and advice. She wondered if it might be like she felt when talking with Susan. At the direct question about why she’d lived with Grandma, she’d instinctively cut it short; but if Susan had asked her just a couple of hours later, after they’d connected in a genuine way, she would have happily shared the entire story with her. In that very moment, she realized that a swift, powerful hope was urging her to tell Susan about how she’d been abandoned and confide her most intimate feelings about it. Not even Ryan k
new about her insecurity of being unwanted. Maybe, somehow, Susan could become the friend/mother she’d never had because of the selfish and cowardly woman who had brought her into the world. Susan fit the role both in age and personality. The only concern holding her back was the knowledge that need and hope can influence our perceptions, making us see things that aren’t really there. She’d learned wariness the hard way when she’d believed her very first boyfriend was Prince Charming.

  Thinking it over, she understood something else; the reason she didn’t suffer in the same way from the lack of a father. It wasn’t because they were both female or a mother has a special relationship. It was more like the difference between someone who has always slept on the floor and someone who sleeps there because they no longer have a bed. They both lie down in the same conditions, but the one who experienced having the bed feels worse because they know the difference between a mattress and the floor. The absence of what you never had is a philosophical rather than emotional torment, and while the mind may run in circles, the heart bleeds.

  She didn’t know if Roger could fit that role, but she liked the idea of acquiring a friend/father, and although a couple of his overly personal questions hadn’t thrilled her, he radiated good intentions. Thinking back about the flight, she still laughed at a couple of his jokes and the disgusted face he made when he’d commented on the powdered mashed potatoes served on board. Then, when her eyes fell on the folded newspaper in the net pocket of the seat in front of her, a thought taunted her.

  Who knows if I’ll be able to speak clearly?

  She was tempted to say something to the driver, this time in Italian, but her insecurities mixed together with the fear of awakening Susan and Roger.

  Her study of the language had been unbalanced. She’d always focused more on learning than practicing. That’s why she understood it well but spoke … how? Badly? So so? She sounded clear when she talked to herself at home, but, knowing what she meant to say wasn’t a reliable gauge for her skills. Maybe she’d been wrong to reject the idea of an Italian pen pal. She’d visited several websites about language exchanges between users around the world, and had been tempted to sign up on one of them, but between college and the restaurant, and then Ryan and Alex’s startup, she’d never had enough free time. Plus, with such different time zones, it would be hard to find someone who got up at dawn to chat with. Figuring it wouldn’t work out, she’d tried to meet up with a local group. There were a few, but the focus was more on socializing or learning beginner phrases. She’d finally given up on the idea of practicing and kept studying on her own.