by Renee Ryder
Susan didn’t say anything, just looked at her with an affectionate expression showing she understood the desire to be alone.
“Are you sure? If you want, we can stay. We could play some cards,” suggested Roger, proving how well “male intuition” works.
“No, really. I think a good nap will make me feel better. Last night I didn’t sleep a wink. I just need to catch up on some sleep.”
Roger started to say something else, but brusquely turned towards Susan. Judging by the sound under the table, she had kicked him quiet.
“Okay, Hannah. So, we’re going to the beach. If you need anything, give us a ring. We’ll come back right away, all right?”
“Thanks, Sue.” And the clone merged back with the original …
Meanwhile, the quarrel between them continued. The closed door muffled their voices—Susan was threatening to disown him in public because of those ugly maroon knee socks—and she began to doubt that their spat at the table had been for her benefit. The only thing she knew for certain was that their squabbling was getting on her nerves, to the point where she covered her head with a pillow so she didn’t have to listen.
When she heard the boom of the front door shutting, she went to the window. She opened it and waited for them to pass by.
“Have a nice swim!” she called, with a big wave and a smile.
Not sure whether she had done it to show them she was fine or to verify they were gone, a gust of salt air hit her in the face and shook her from the stupor that Ryan had left her in to rot. She lifted her gaze and searched in vain for the moon where she had gotten used to seeing it in the Italian night sky. Maybe it was there, but hidden by the sunlight. Certainly in Seattle it would be visible in this very moment, its show wasted because everyone was asleep there—meaning that if someone planned to write her back, they would have already done it …
But it doesn’t even matter!
The disarming thing was that she didn’t have the strength to string these five words together. She just tightened her lips into a grimace, the only reaction that her bad mood allowed from her.
She turned, ready to go lie down. Instead, she hesitated. The bed only reminded her of how many hours she’d spent tossing and turning, intensely awake, at the mercy of depressing thoughts. A mournful smile formed on her mouth. She was bored of being bored.
A bath seemed like a good way to free herself from the weight of inertia that had been suffocating her since the night before. But undressing, going to the tub, washing, first her hair then herself, drying off, first her hair then herself, coming back to the room, getting dressed … no. All of that would require a superhuman physical effort. Much easier to look out the window.
This was ruining the Italian vacation she’d dreamed about for so long and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Ryan, why did you do this to me!
The mattress tempted her with the promise that sleep could save her from this misery. However, she resisted the urge. For several minutes she’d taken her mind off of Ryan and his foolishness, finding a brief respite besides the fresh air on her cheeks. She watched Susan and Roger heading down the cobblestone steps, the scooters zigzagging through the pedestrians on the little street along the shore, the fishing boats on one side of the beach, on the other the big umbrellas and children digging in the wet sand, the sea, horizon, and sky. The scene was becoming oddly familiar, almost like it was turning into a part of her. Or she was turning into a part of it.
She found her sketchbook in the closet. It had been her companion through many solitary adventures and just feeling it in her hands increased her impulse to draw. As though there were flowers inside her that had shriveled from Ryan flip-flopping on her, and now began to tentatively bloom once more.
Pencil stashed been her lips, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then set her eraser and sketchbook on the small table before pushing it over to the window. Sitting on it, she had a better view than from a chair and the panorama spread out before her of the buildings to her left, the beach ahead, and the sea to her right.
She started to sketch, lost in thoughts—mainly about throwing Ryan out of the window she was drawing from …
“Hannah?”
A voice startled her.
“Sue?!”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Come on in,” she said, confused, rising from the table and going toward the door.
“How are you, dear?”
“Fine … Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Did you forget something?”
“What do you mean?”
Susan’s perplexed look amplified her disorientation.
“Do you feel well, Hannah?”
“Huh?”
Susan stared at her for a few more seconds.
“How did you spend your morning?”
“How did I spend the morning?” she asked, even more lost.
“I see you were working on your hobby,” Susan replied, indicating the book on the table. “May I?”
“Go ahead. It’s only a basic sketch. The details need filling in.”
“Oh! It’s the view from your room … Here’s where we were. You just have to stick some blue umbrellas in the sand there, hahaha! You’re really good.” She seemed impressed, looking back and forth from the drawing to the real thing to compare.
“Thanks, Sue.”
“So, what did you have for lunch?”
“Lunch?”
“Roger and I went to the little restaurant near the bus stop. We had seafood risotto. Delicious! The waiter said that the clams and mussels they serve near the beach are always fresh. Just caught.”
“Clams and mussels at ten in the morning?” she answered back, halfway between wonder and laughter.
"Ten? No, dear. It’s 3:30.”
“3:30?” Her eyes widened.
At first she thought Susan was joking, but seeing that her brow remained furrowed, she checked her phone.
Oh, shit!
Even though the display verified that she had been drawing for six hours, she couldn’t believe it. Maybe her flawed perception came from the sketch, which should only have taken twenty minutes but that she must have stretched across six hours—hours that she couldn’t trace back now, apparently spent ruminating on her thoughts.
The shadows moved, she noted to herself, giving the street a cursory glance.
“Dear, is something wrong?”
“No. I mean, yes. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Oh, now I understand why you look so confused.”
“Yeah.”
“You mean, since dinner you only had some coffee for breakfast and nothing else?”
“Uh, yes. But don’t worry.”
“Twenty hours without a bite and I shouldn’t worry about you? Of course I’m worried! You must eat something.”
“I really don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Oh, baby girl.” Her expression softened. “Come here.”
The endearment gave her goosebumps, and the following hug made a shiver of contentment run down her back.
“Hannah. I can imagine what you’re going through,” she whispered, holding on tightly. “But it’s wrong to give in to disappointment. You can’t be like this until Friday. You’d make yourself sick, and we don’t want that. Right?”
“Friday?” She pulled back to look Susan in the face. “He’s coming Friday?”
“Yes. And today is only Tuesday. Do you really want to be like this for your Italian vacation?”
“No, Sue. Of course not. But I have to tell you … what Ryan did killed me inside. For months he made me hope that these would be the best weeks of my life. And I believed him. Then he doesn’t leave with us. Then he says some stuff that is so … so touching, that it makes you see how much he likes you, and after that you think ‘Okay, work is important’ so you take a step back. You take him at his word, start to make plans, and he … he …”
Susan interrupted her with another hug. Even bigger, this time.
“I know, I know. You’re right,” Susan murmured, gently smoothing her head.
With the motherly hug, disappointment poured from her heart into tears sliding down her cheeks.
They stayed like that for almost a minute before Susan spoke again.
“You know what I think?”
“No.”
“You need to get out of this room. Of this house. Outside the sun is shining and there’s a lovely breeze. I’m positive those will put the spring back in your step.”
“You think so?” she mumbled. The attentive care of an older woman like Susan made her feel supported and understood in a new way.
“You know, on the way back here we saw the guy who gave us those fish. He was washing his boat, in the same area where he asked you to take that picture. Why don’t you go chat with him?”
Again, she pulled away in surprise.
“Practicing Italian would get your mind off things, don’t you think? I bet you’d benefit from the opportunity to speak with some of the natives, unless you know some Italians in Seattle.”
“But … Sue! Are you encouraging me to … to go make friends with an Italian guy? You?!” she added, alluding to their connection through Ryan.
“I don’t see anything wrong with it. He seemed nice and polite. And anyway, I’m suggesting you go have a chat on a public beach, not go home with him, hahaha!”
She couldn’t believe her ears. Was Susan really pushing her towards friendship with a handsome, athletic Italian guy her own age? Even though the reasoning made sense, it sounded kind of inappropriate.
“Dear, besides that, I’ve seen what kind of a person you are. I know you’d never be disrespectful to us or, above all, to Ryan. So, why don’t you take advantage of the opportunity to improve your Italian?”
She hadn’t realized she’d earned so much trust from Susan. It must be from her behavior, the same as with Ashley and Daniel in college four years ago; she’d never sought their confidence, but they freely gave it to her. What more could she have asked for from her boyfriend’s mom?
“At any rate, I brought up this fisherman because he’s the only Italian I’ve seen you talk to. But you could go find a girl, if that would make you more comfortable.”
Yes, Susan was right. Having help from a real, live person instead of from a computer or cell phone would be a much more intriguing challenge, especially because she could ask questions and get more precise feedback.
“I still recall you going to apologize to him for the misunderstanding, and how much you smiled. You seemed to have fun talking to him. That’s why I was thinking that he might be able to help you while you wait for Ryan to come.”
“But don’t you think that it would look bad for me to go find him?”
“You could simply walk down that way and wait until he notices you. Then you go thank him for the gift. Also thank him from us, because those pessoni … what do you call them?”
“Pezzogne.”
“Those pessonay were truly exquisite.”
“Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad … But Roger? What would he think of me if he went past and saw me talking to this guy?”
“Listen, dear. I talked to my husband. We know how discouraged you are about our son’s comportment. And honestly, we are both disappointed in how he’s handling this vacation. However, and Roger agrees with me, it is pointless now to berate him or discuss it further, because no one can change this situation. Therefore, we say … Ryan’s thinking about work? Fine. Then it’s only right that Hannah thinks about her vacation. Remember, dear, this vacation isn’t about us and isn’t about you as a couple. Ryan knows that. It’s just for you. It’s our gift for your birthday.”
“You know what, Sue? You’re right!”
“That’s my girl! Now come in the kitchen and I’ll make you a nice prosciutto sandwich,” Susan added, to tempt her with the food that had quickly become a favorite during their stay in Italy.
11. Shame and Sin
Although not as crowded as the alleys downtown, the little street along the beach crawled with life at this hour of the afternoon. Besides tourists and locals heading to and from the beach, there were people strolling by, relaxing at tables in front of the cafes, working, and waiting for the bus. Hannah attempted to blend in with them, even though the long hair flowing from under her white hat created an eye-catching ruddy trail as she went.
She was torn between conflicting desires.
On one hand, she hoped to see Nico because talking with him had been fun. On the other, she hoped she didn’t because of the situation overall—that she was looking for him, the clumsiness of conversing with a stranger, her relationship with Ryan despite the Corwins’ approval, and (although pleasant) the stress of having to speak in Italian—which made her agitated. In the meantime, she continued on.
When she glimpsed Nico’s boat beyond the shapes of the sunbathers without seeing him, the balloon that Susan had breathed so much enthusiasm into … deflated suddenly. Disappointment pulled her back toward apathy
Are you sure finding him is the stronger hope? she asked herself when, seeing Nico appear from behind the boat—he must have been crouching down before—an explosion of anxiety brought her to a standstill. Tanned and athletic, wearing jeans cut off at the knees and nothing else, like the last time, she recognized him immediately. She lowered her head, hiding her face behind the brim of the hat and sped up, resolved not to let him catch sight of her. However, as she moved away, people crossed in front of her …
“After that joke, I dunno if I can be friends with you anymore,” a guy said to his buddy, laughing.
Two lovers walked with arms around each other’s waists. The picture of happiness.
“… because my grandson plays tonight. Are you coming to watch his game?” One elderly fellow asked another.
“… a tip. They were waiting for it when …” said a woman to her companion.
“Auntie, will you buy me a gelato? In a cone?” a girl asked a woman.
The couple discussing the tip spoke in English, the others in Italian. Everyone appeared happy. Or at least, carefree.
She felt miserable in comparison, as though they were all at an amusement park and she was the only one not having fun. This thought made her scowl.
She did another aboutface.
She retraced her steps down the street towards Nico’s boat, skirting the edge of the beach to keep the passersby from getting in between them. She slowed and looked in that direction; she had visual contact a few seconds later. He smiled at her and she paused briefly before going to meet him. The shouts of the beach-goers and the rattle of the waves dying on the sand got louder with every step. Apprehension about the imminent test of her Italian sped up her heart, to the point where she didn’t pay attention to the annoying sand slipping into her sandals. She felt hot as though she had been running; fortunately the sea sent her a cooling breeze.
“Hi, Anna,” he greeted her cheerfully, heading towards her.
“Hi, Nico. How are you?”
“I’m preparing the boat for tonight so I can go get some rest. And you?”
“I am goo— I’m good, thanks,” she replied, lowering her eyes because the intensity of his stare felt flattering and she didn’t know how to react. “Um, when I recognized you, I thought to come and thank you again for the pezzogne. They tasted so well!”
“What did I tell you?!”
“My friends were excited about that. Actually, I was wondering if you have some more,” she added, desperately trying to think of something interesting to say. “But I pay for it this time.”
“Bad news, no fish in the afternoon.”
“Why not?”
“In the afternoon, we clean up and prep for the evening, when we go set out nets and fish traps. You know, fish eat at night so we take advantage that they can’t see the nets.”
“Then early in the morning, when it’s practically still dark, we go check what we caught. That’s the best time, also ’cause there aren’t any speed boats or ferries to scare away the fish. Plus, you don’t have to worry about someone coming past while you’re pulling up the nets and fish traps. We get back around nine and the fisheries and restaurants we work with come down to get the catch.”
“Oh, that’s shameful!”
She had tried to communicate her sadness through her facial expression, besides just tone of voice, but he frowned.
“Everything alright?”
“I don’t see anything shameful in being a fisherman.”
“Of course no! Fisherman is a very noble job. Even the apostles were fishermen,” she told him with determination, truly confused by his response.
“Then why did you say it’s shameful?”
His smile showed curiosity, but he still sounded offended.
“Because I’m sorry that you do not have fish for us now.”
He blinked. Then started to laugh.
“Then you shouldn’t say ‘shameful.’ We say ‘it’s a sin.’ ”
“A sin?”
“Yes. It’s a sin that I don’t have any fish.”
“Why is that a sin? You have none fish because you sold it to your clients. You did not hurt us.”
“Not a ‘sin’ in that sense, hahaha! We say ‘it’s a sin’ when we’re sorry to hear about something.”
“Oh, it’s just an expression!” She realized it must be how they say “that’s a pity.”
“But why do you Americans say ‘shame’ in these situations?”
“Well, for the same reason you speak of sin, I guess,” she replied, promising herself that she’d add this phrase to her list.
“That’s a good one! Anyway, we say ‘shameful’ when an action disgusts us. Like beating a child or leaving a dog on the highway.”
“Oh, that’s why it upset yourself when I said that!”