by Renee Ryder
“Your friend seems well known around here,” Susan observed, watching.
“Are you sure that you’ll remember how to cook these fish?” Roger teased his wife.
While they argued about memory and culinary questions, Nico returned to her.
“Here you go,” he said and held out the bag.
“Thanks. Um, how much should I pay to you for these?”
“Pay me?” He blinked. “No. It’s a gift. A gift to welcome you to Porto Loreno.”
“Oh, thank you. This is such a surprise! Are you sure?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not someone who chases tourists down to sell them things!” He gave her a wink.
The way he looked at her made her self-conscious. But not unpleasantly so … She sidestepped it by translating for the Corwins.
“Grazie,” they told him, struck by his generosity, as another inconvenient fact came to her mind.
“Now I think I have to put them in the fridgerator.”
“Yes, you should,” Nico confirmed.
“Okay … Sue?” She explained what she needed to do.
“Certainly, dear. Go on. We’ll wait for you here before going to the beach.”
“And while you’re there, remember to get your hat, ’cause there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Oh, my hat. Thanks, Roger. I already forgot it.”
“Goodbye,” said Nico to the Corwins while she stood.
Susan responded with a smile and a nod. Roger, on the other hand …
“Bye. Grazie. YOU ARE VERY KIND!”
“Roger! Shouting isn’t going to make him understand English,” his wife scolded, possibly still annoyed with him about the pastry.
Nico walked by her side along the short stretch of street from the cafe to the beach without speaking until they stopped just before the sand.
“It sounds like you guys are renting a house in this area.”
“See the white shutters up there?” She pointed to the window of her room.
“You’re staying there?”
“Yes. We wanted to stay near to the sea.”
“I see. And where are you from?”
“The US. Seattle. You do know it?”
“I’ve heard it mentioned in movies, but couldn’t find it on a map. Anyway I hope you have a wonderful vacation in our country.”
“Thank you. I should go.”
“Okay, Anna. Have a nice day.”
“Too, you,” she echoed, before turning in the direction of the apartment with the three pezzogne.
9. Doubting Thomas
They spent the morning at the beach. The water was warm but not particularly clear, so for the most part they stayed on the sand, Hannah under the umbrella lost in the electronic pages of Sense and Sensibility, the Corwins tanning on chaise longues. In the afternoon they had lunch at a restaurant, then explored the city a bit and did some shopping, returning home exhausted but satisfied.
Susan took on the task of cooking the fish from Nico and was impatient to try out the Italian recipe. Roger, after putting the bottle of wine they’d bought down on the table, retired to their room to rest his legs and check what was happening at his company. Hannah found herself with nothing to do, which she disliked. She preferred to make herself useful.
“Hey, Sue. Can I give you a hand?”
“Sure, dear.”
Following instructions, she took the parsley from the fridge, washed it in the sink, and set to chopping it.
“That doesn’t bother you?” she asked Susan, who was cleaning the first of the three pezzogne. “It would gross me out.”
“No, by now I’m used to it. Ever since we were engaged, we’ve spent at least one weekend each season camping. More when we were younger than now. And just like back then, Roger always brings fishing paraphernalia with him, in case we come across a lake or little river. We’ve practically been to every one in Washington State,” she added, laughing, and picked up the second fish. “Not that I aspire to spending my days out in nature, among the mud and mosquitos. Especially since at our age we’re more vulnerable to aches and pains. But he loves to fish, and to bring home the food he’s caught for his woman to cook.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane!”
“Exactly. But I have to admit there have been some lovely moments. In the evenings we’d sit around the fire and Ryan would play us songs on his guitar, like Country Roads.”
“He still plays that one sometimes! ‘Almost heaven, West Virginia …’ ” she sang briefly. “It’s one of his best.”
“It’s a classic.” Susan paused from her work and smiled. “One night he started playing it and singing. After the first verse, one of the other campers joined along from their campsite. By the time he got to the chorus, people all over were singing, their voices coming through the trees. Like the forest itself was singing! It was an indescribable feeling.”
“It must have been amazing.”
“Absolutely.” Susan nodded and picked up the knife again. “It’s not just because he’s my son, but Ryan has the gift of pulling people into whatever he does.”
“That’s so true.”
“Now, has he shown you any of the pictures of him and Roger camping? There are some really adorable ones where they’re both wearing fishing hats and vests … do you know the ones I mean?”
“Yeah, but no, I don’t remember seeing those,” she replied as she searched the cupboards for an oven dish among the assorted plates and bowls. “I’ve gotta say, Ryan’s such a city boy that I can’t imagine him in that getup. How’d he look?”
“Lord knows I love him, but seeing him dressed like that is rather hilarious. Especially when he wears that ridiculous hat.”
“Now that I’ve gotta see!”
“I might have one on my cell phone. We’ll look later.” Susan laughed and reached for the last fish. “What about you? Where did you go on vacation with your grandmother?”
“We didn’t have much money for vacations, but we went to Canada a few times.” She peeled the garlic as she spoke, at ease being so honest.
“Where in Canada did you go?
“Her favorite place was Victoria in British Columbia. We’d take a ferry boat to the island and stay at a B&B or inn, visit the Victorian castle there, spend time on the beach. Not as adventurous as camping, but I really liked being there with Grandma, by ourselves, in a place where we didn’t know anyone. She just loved the coast! Porto Loreno is very different, but I bet she would have loved it here, too.”
“Victoria is a gorgeous city,” Susan agreed, spreading oil and a splash of water in the casserole dish, according to Nico’s instructions. “Roger and I often go to the San Juan islands. They’re a paradise on Earth. If only the water weren’t so cold!”
“You know, looking through the travel guide, I read about an island not far from here. Takes forty minutes on the ferry. Maybe, if you two wanna …”
“Great idea, dear. It will be interesting to see how different the islands here are from the ones back home.”
When Susan agreed enthusiastically with her idea, she felt the connection between them click further into place.
“The water temperature here is much more reasonable. I’ve never been to an island where you could swim without wanting a wetsuit.”
“Nor have I. It will be so awesome, as you kids say,” laughed Susan, arranging the pezzogne tightly in the narrow dish.
“We just have to remember to bring our bathing suits.”
“And something to change into. I wouldn’t want to wear a wet bathing suit all day.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Sue. Okay, so then it’s decided. All that’s left is to pick a day and go to the ferry office to buy the tickets.”
“Except not Wednesday, when our cooking lesson at that trattoria is scheduled.”
“Oh right, Sue. Forgot you’re doing that Wednesday.”
“And I would avoid the weekend in hopes
of choosing a day when the beaches aren’t packed like a meat counter.”
“Yeah, yesterday was horrible that way,” she agreed, holding out the cutting board with the chopped garlic and parsley.
Susan added those to the other ingredients and covered it all with aluminum foil; she put the dish in the oven, then hesitated.
“What is it, Sue?”
“Nothing. It’s just strange to put the fish in at 200 degrees, not 375. I know Celsius and Fahrenheit are different systems, but both use the number 200.”
“I see. It makes it seem like we’ll die of hunger before it’s ready.”
“Or that they’ll be raw, no matter how long we leave them in there.”
Waiting for the oven to do its job, the perfect understanding between them also carried over into preparing the salad for a side dish. She grated carrots while Susan took care of the lettuce.
The pezzogne came out delicious, every bite as exquisite as Nico had promised.
During dinner, she and Susan continued to plan the trip to the island. An indifferent Roger went along with it. He concentrated on his plate instead, probably deducing that everything was already established and any potential dissent on his part would be calmly brushed aside.
After dinner, he washed the dishes so they could go relax.
She went straight to her room to look through the shopping bags from that afternoon. While in tiny ceramics shop, she’d noticed a cup decorated—meaning “completely covered”—with a layer of actual coffee beans, and Keisha immediately came to mind because of her limitless love and need for coffee.
She’ll love it!
Lauren’s gift had required some extra research, but in the end she’d found a small crystal dog of a breed that she couldn’t remember seeing in her friend’s beloved knick knack collection. She carefully wrapped the two presents back up and placed them on top of the dresser, thinking they’d be safer there than in the suitcase.
After that, she picked up the travel book and began hunting for places to visit with Ryan.
Twenty hours and he’ll be here!
She lit up just thinking about it, although a cloud of sadness hovered nearby because she missed him to death and knew how slowly those hours would creep by.
She wasn’t sure whether technology would actually help in handling these kinds of feelings, although that may seem true at a superficial glance. A video call would let her see Ryan’s face, and his expressions would give her a good idea of his state of mind. That way, she could feel like part of his day even with thousands of miles between them. Something more emotional happened when his voice reached through her room and gave the illusion that he was actually there beside her. Although, to paraphrase Doubting Thomas, sight and hearing are easier to fool than touch …
Since touch is the only sense that can truly eliminate distance, she wondered if a video call would make things better after all. At least being able to see him might take the edge off her melancholy, but it also might feel like the unbearable taunt “look but don’t touch.” Darkness and silence, even though depressing, might help her resign herself to him not being there, easing her into the only way to dull her desire: waiting. The phone calls in the last days had simply sharpened that desire and made her burn inside. Seeing his face only reminded her of how it felt to be in his arms, and hearing his voice brought back to her the taste of his kiss.
God! Better think about something else.
She browsed through the guide book, intending to plan something for Thursday—on Wednesday Ryan would want to take it easy to recover from jet lag—but the more she looked at the available options, the more romantic moments with him filled her imagination. And the more desire for him gathered in her body, the more she blessed technology for inventing smartphones …
Right now he’ll be at the airport.
After a few rings it went to voicemail.
With a mix of worry and disappointment, she plunged back into the guidebook. Other than visiting the local history museum with Roger and Susan—they’d expressed interest in the idea—an archeological site with ancient ruins caught her attention; they could take a bus to go there.
Twenty-five minutes isn’t that long, she told herself, although mentally she was stuck driving on her own roundabout, circling Ryan.
She tried calling him again.
Still no answer.
She read about a large estate outside Porto Loreno that for generations had belonged to a wealthy family, who later donated it to the county as a cultural site. The large villa and gardens kept the 19th century atmosphere intact, and imagining Ryan and her immersing themselves in the most romantic time period ever made her feel like the protagonist from one of those historical novels she had a weakness for. But who knew, maybe he’d prefer they follow a trail that wound out through the green hills of the countryside in a hiker’s paradise. Susan had mentioned camping, so … all that was left to do was ask him!
Third try. This time, straight to voicemail.
God, I miss you so much!
This insuppressible desire for him subconsciously recalled another moment when she’d craved him the same way, when he’d just been a charming stranger at one of her tables while Lauren went back and forth between Chuck and the other diners. Something had immediately clicked inside, but at the time she didn’t know exactly what and didn’t want him to notice. She smiled now, thinking about how hard it had been to play it cool with him.
“Hi, my name’s Hannah and I’ll be your server today. What can I get for you?”
“An orange soda, please.”
“Nothing else?”
“For now, no. I’m waiting for a friend.”
Like Lauren, she was also busy in the half-full restaurant. But every time she passed by the guy, focused on his cell phone—a guy who could have been a model—her eye inevitably fell on him.
“Thanks,” he told her, when she stopped to fill his glass again.
“Did your friend flake on you?”
“No. His wife called him to say that their kid is sick and he needs to get him from daycare. Nothing serious. Just stomachache. She’s stuck at work and can’t do it, so she asked him to take the kid to the grandparents’ house.”
“What time were you supposed to meet him?”
“At one. Ten minutes ago. He just texted me. I think he’s on his way.”
“How old is his son?”
“That I don’t know, but … hey, wait a minute!” he said, noting the grin on her face. “Are you teasing me?”
“Well, I asked if your friend is coming and you told me his whole family story.”
“Hahaha! Okay, Hannah. I deserved that. Anyway, it looks like I’ve gotta thank him for choosing this place.”
“Since we serve the same orange soda you can get anywhere?” she said, lowering her eyelashes at his flirtatious tone and blatant interest.
“I wasn’t thinking about the orange soda.”
“No?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then what were you thinking about?”
“Hey, Ryan. Sorry I’m late.”
Of course his friend just had to arrive the moment she started to get somewhere, since the attraction seemed mutual. Plus, she liked his personality. Reality, though, kept her feet firmly planted on the ground; she was only there to serve the customers, which Chuck soon reminded her of by calling her to the counter.
She persuaded herself that this little seed of possibility had died before it could sprout when, after he finished lunch, she saw him pay at the counter and leave without saying goodbye. She went to bus the table and found a paper napkin there that was covered in words:
Hannah, sorry for ignoring you during my lunch. That wasn’t my friend, but an important client I was trying to get for my company. I had to be professional in front of him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re wonderful, witty, and smart. I’d love to take you out for a coffee sometime.
/> And he’d signed it with his phone number and name, Ryan.
“You’re not actually gonna call him?” Lauren asked, after reading the note.
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“Hannah!”
“He was cute, right? And polite for apologizing for acting like I didn’t exist.”
“Yeah, but you know how many guys write stuff on the napkins and receipts. They can’t win you over just by laying it on thick. If they’re really interested, ya gotta let ’em sweat a little, damn it!”
“But, I liked him.”
“He’s hot. I can’t argue with that. The fact remains that he left you his number. Just like I bet he does with every pretty waitress. He figures, ‘So I can date them without doing all the work.’ ”
Lauren’s words reminded her that this was no rags to riches fairytale and no one would be turning vegetables into carriages in her life.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Better to focus on work instead of dating. You know, yesterday I sent out two more resumes. Let’s hope I get lucky and they call me for an interview.”
“But why do you have to go? We’re doing so great here,” joked Lauren, aware of how hard she’d worked to become a web designer.
“That’s not the poi—” but she didn’t finish because Ryan entered the restaurant.
And headed directly for her.
“Uh oh,” Lauren giggled, and melted away into the kitchen.
“Hi, Hannah. I came back.”
“I can see you.”
“Um …”
“Ryan, right?”
“So you found my note.”
She smiled and, pulling out the napkin from her apron pocket, she waved it playfully at him.
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “Excuse the terrible handwriting. I wrote it in the bathroom because I didn’t want my client asking me about it.”
“Were you hoping I hadn’t found it yet?”
“No. I just had the most stressful half hour of my life.”