Designs of the Heart

by Renee Ryder

  “Yes, I know, now. But when I felt you in my arms … The fact is that … Anna … I … I think … I’m falling in love with you.”

  He had spoken with hesitation and tense gulps, and she had listened while focusing on her own feelings; but the final explanation jolted her even more than the boom of thunder earlier. And the reaction to look up into his face was as out of her control as hugging him had been.

  “I wasn’t trying to kiss you ’cause … You’re not just a tourist to hit on, like so many Italians do. As soon as I saw you, something inside me broke out that … Um …”

  A clear bashfulness tugged at his features and lowered his voice; however, she didn’t understand the calmness that shone in his eyes, despite his red face. And it blinded her so much that she had to go back to looking at the little paper mat.

  “When I’m with you, I feel like I do when I’m at my secret place. That’s never happened before with anyone.”

  “But Nico, I have the boyfriend. You knew it.”

  “Yes, but when you hugged me … You smelled so good, like flowers, and … having you in my ar—”

  “It had been the smell of my shampoo,” she explained, wanting to promptly demolish the idea that she had put on perfume for him—that morning she had washed her hair, and when she undid her braid it had released a pleasant fragrance into the air.

  “The thing is … These days have been some of the best in my life, and … and you looked happy, too … So … so I thought …” He trailed off. “Do you love him?”

  “Of course,” she said, annoyed by the question and restoring eye contact.

  “And he loves you?”

  “Yes. He loves me.”

  “Then why he isn’t here with you?

  “Well, that’s personal. Anyway, something came up with the work. It is why.”

  “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t send you on vacation with my family ’cause I had to work. Maybe it’s a different mentality, I dunno, but I … That’s why I thought … Then we had such a good time together … Remember? We told each other things we never shared with anyone. And when you hugged me … the smell of your shampoo got into my brain … I told myself that, maybe, the things with your boyfriend might not …”

  The irritation from what he’d asked trembled under the weight of her guilt. She just realized that her spontaneity with him had drawn lines that he had seen a figure in.

  “Nico. I’m so sorry. I fear I unconsciously sent you some wrong messages.”

  He remained silent. His eyes were bright and his mouth twisted, as if he was trying to conquer his emotions.

  “I don’t know what to say. I thought I was clear, but maybe wasn’t. We already talked of my boyfriend coming tomorrow, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. Now I see it was me who … I wanted to see things that weren’t there. I get it now.”

  She’d deeply wounded him, and felt profound remorse. Apparently she wielded a power over him which she hadn’t realized before and would gladly give up now.

  “I shouldn’t of told you how I feel. I just wanted to explain so you wouldn’t think I act like most of my friends do when they meet a beautiful tourist. I wanted to let you know that you’re really special to me, even if that’s weird since we only met three days ago. It’s like it is for you, with the hanging laundry thing. You told me you continued that family tradition even though Americans don’t usually dry them like that. You said you did it without knowing why, and then yesterday you realized that it was the Italian part of you that was looking for something to hold on to so it could survive inside you. There’s that connection, deep down. I only know that when I saw you Monday morning, my heart stopped. I felt as if God was talking to me, but that seemed too impossible. So I tried not to think about it anymore, but you’d already gotten into my head and I couldn’t see anything else but your face. My dad said stuff, but all I heard was your voice. Then when you came to the boat the next day, I said to myself ‘So God really was talking to me!’ ”

  She stared at him, astounded. His idea that God had orchestrated their meeting scared her. And he seemed to actually believe it.

  “Nico. It’s so deep and moving what you just said. But try to understand me. I can’t.”

  “Sure, Anna. I wasn’t trying to convince you. I just wanted to explain why I tried to …” He shook his head. “I hope we’re still friends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I felt this same way about you when you came to our storage place and when we went to the festival. I didn’t say nothin’, and we had fun. But nothin’s changed for me. What I mean is … I’m sorry if we can’t be friends anymore just ’cause of what I said.”

  “Yes, I spent two wonderful days with you and I’ll always have a good memory of you. But now … All looks different.”

  “Can’t you just pretend I didn’t say anything?”

  “Nico …”

  “You know,” he went on, visibly disheartened. “When I told you yesterday about the view I wanted to show you, I really had my secret place in mind.”

  She frowned.

  “The problem is that you can’t draw that. And since your goal was to draw, I thought of the landscape that you can see from the top of the hill.”

  “I can’t draw it?”

  “It’s a place I’ve never shown to anyone. Never even talked about it. This is the very first time. It’s a unique place. When I wanna be alone and think, I always go there.”

  “So you’re not talking of the place we were going today?”

  “No. My secret place is somewhere else. I really wanted to show it to you. Just you.”

  The regret in his voice was impossible to ignore.

  “Will you come with me?”

  She’d understood how important it was to him, but had hoped that somehow he wouldn’t ask the question. Thinking about Ryan helped her move in the right direction.

  “Listen, Nico. You have become a dear friend, but after you voiced of your feelings, I think that you and I shouldn’t go anywhere.”

  “But I’d never hurt you!”

  “I know! I didn’t mean in that sense. I meant it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Then you won’t come?”

  She had never seen such a valiant struggle between disappointment and pride on a person’s face.

  “Try to understand. It’s a lot for me taking in right now.”

  He remained silent, the light in his eyes quickly extinguished. She lowered her head again in sadness; it was then she noticed the shadow of her legs extending along the floor. She turned towards the entrance.

  “Look, the water bomb is over!”

  Spots of blue and light traces of a rainbow had appeared in the sky.

  “I think we should go now. We don’t want for it to start raining again, do we?” and, without waiting for his answer, she headed for the coat rack to get her things.

  She couldn’t wait to escape the situation.

  Once her hat and sketchbook were in the backpack, she donned her helmet, leaving her hair loose.

  “Do you want to put your bag inside, too?”

  “If there’s space, it’d be more easy.”

  The bag was wet, so she took out the sandwiches and drinks and put them directly in the backpack. Then, without a backward glance at him, she walked to the exit.

  “Anna, wait.”

  She stopped and turned, remembering only now to cross her arms over her wet shirt.

  He stood by the coat rack, putting on his T-shirt.

  “You’ll get dirty again.”

  “Well, I can’t fly,” she retorted, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “Carry me?”

  He put on his helmet and went to her with arms outstretched, showing her that he meant to pick her up.

  “Come on, Nico. No, you don’t need to put your coat in the puddle for me.”

&nbs
p; “Okay. Now you feel uncomfortable. I understand that. But, hey! Let’s be practical. Why should we both get dirty? ’Cause I already am.”

  “I can re-wash off the mud when I get home.”

  “At home?”

  “My sketchbook is dripping now. I can’t draw anything on that.”

  He looked dismayed. Evidently, he’d assumed their plans hadn’t changed, when clearly the train carrying their friendship was heading towards its final stop.

  She’d been right to sidestep the real reason why she wanted to go home and avoid inflicting another blow on him. She tried to keep consistent.

  “Nico, we’re both wet. We need to change clothes or maybe we get sick.”

  “You’re right,” he murmured, feeling his jeans. “But I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

  “Piggyback ride?”

  When he had explained that expression to her, she imagined climbing up and wrapping her arms and legs around him, with his hands holding her thighs like Proserpina. She inhaled sharply at the thought and decided that might be worse.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” and she started towards the part of the fence where they’d snuck in.

  The stretch of the concrete section with weeds and cracks ended, and she stopped at the edge. The ground they needed to cross had become a marsh, much less viable than when they had previously faced it.

  “So, will you accept a ride?” Nico asked when he reached her, once more holding out his arms.

  She saw no lust in his smile as he repeated his offer.

  She looked at the muck again, and returned to him.

  “All in all, your idea isn’t so bad. But no piggyback.”

  She put the backpack on her front, only partly to make it easier for him to carry her …

  The main reason she had accepted was to avoid getting dirty again, but she couldn’t deny a morbid desire to see how he would behave when had her in his arms. One of those challenges where you have more to lose than win, but is impossible to resist. She was betting on the friend Nico, not the in love Nico, believing he would beat the odds.

  She felt uncomfortable only when she had to wrap her arm over his shoulders; then, once “aboard,” he remained serious and focused ahead. As he carried her with cautious steps, perhaps meant to keep down the inevitable splashes of mud, she remained confident that he wouldn’t slide his grasp up to her thighs, since he’d held her on his forearms so far. The most surprising thing was seeing that what had happened between them didn’t affect her sense of safety. True, his declaration had irremediably changed their relationship, but his honesty simply reinforced her trust in him.

  “By the way, it was ‘cloak,’ ” he said, after passing the fence that separated them from the road.

  “Cloak … what?”

  “A guy doesn’t put his coat in the puddle. He puts his cloak on it.”

  “Oh. Okay, thank you.”

  She had the feeling that the linguistic blooper would have been a source of hilarity in another moment; but right now neither of them seemed to feel much like laughing.

  When he set her down near his Vespa, she thanked him.

  He made several attempts before he could start the engine, growling what sounded like colorful curses. She figured he must be upset it was hard to turn over, but maybe also with himself, if not directly her.

  When she clambered up behind him without saying a word, she took care to hold back from too much further physical contact. She wondered whether clinging to him during the journey there had given him more encouragement.

  The asphalt, besides being wet, had leaves and mud scattered around—she guessed that must be why he took the long descent at a slow, steady speed.

  The gargles from the engine and the hiss of the tires on the pavement played a soundtrack for this, their last ride together. She enjoyed the silence between them because it spared her the pain of a back and forth that, in those circumstances, would only have increased her gloomy misery. Their friendship would be as brief as it was deep, and that it was ending in this quiet fadeout twisted a knife in her gut … But why did she keep feeling guilty?

  It’s not my fault. I didn’t encourage him. He was the one who misunderstood. Maybe I was wrong to talk about my mom with him. Why the hell did I tell him? Well, it’s normal to confide in someone who’s got the same problems. I didn’t mean to get along so well him! If I weren’t with Ryan … But I said I had a boyfriend. So I guessed right, after all! He did have expectations! But it was all on him. I did nothing to lead him on.

  Digging into her memory in search of her possible mistake, she ran across something from only two days before, but that seemed much longer ago.

  No! She paled in realization of why she could feel the word “guilty” scrawled across her heart.

  At some point, most people make the pompous error of assuming they know themselves well. She’d fallen into that trap, too, and not for the first time.

  The Mind is the “war room” where we form intentions for our actions. Our real personalities come from those intentions, not the actions. She took for granted that she knew everything about her own mind, and therefore her intentions. But she’d forgotten the other war room: the Heart, where feelings form. This mysterious room’s power overrides the other one. It influences our action before we can even begin to piece together an intention in order to justify the feelings. Her habit of hanging up the laundry in her apartment was a perfect example, because it hadn’t started from an intention, just like Nico had alluded to earlier.

  She’d felt strong guilt about him and connected it to having rejected him. Her new awareness of having inadvertently sent him mixed signals only strengthened this theory. Inadvertently. Which meant she hadn’t intended to flirt with him. And yet, she felt her guilt must connect to something intentional. However, that meant she felt guilty because she had intended to flirt with him, which wasn’t true. So she dismissed the idea and returned to examining her memories.

  This time she connected it to when Susan told her that Ryan had postponed his departure, when she’d sunk into apathy until … until she went to look for Nico. From that moment, when she had helped him cover his boat and followed him to his storage, her Italian vacation had become what she’d dreamed since childhood. All thanks to Nico! And his reward? Being discarded when she’d finished with him. Ryan would arrive tomorrow and she wouldn’t need Nico anymore. After breaking his heart! Deciding to look for him was the source of her guilt. She had consciously used him! She never thought she’d do such a thing, but reality told a different story.

  She looked at the sky. Behind some banks of spent, gray storm clouds, it was the bluest she’d seen it since being in Italy. She wished the wind could sweep away all her thoughts as it was doing with those clouds; but her thoughts remained anchored and bare where they were, exactly like the sun that had almost dried the streets of …

  Porto Loreno? So soon?

  While she was pondering about her unwitting but deplorable selfishness, they had already arrived at the marina.

  Nico stopped the Vespa at the foot of the staircase that led to the apartment, where Roger and Susan may or may not be—since they knew she was going to spend the day with her Italian friend, they’d made their own plans.

  She got down and stood beside Nico.

  He peered at the sea, seeming wistful.

  “I’m going to get my things from your backpack,” she said, placing it on the ground.

  He looked like a defendant awaiting the verdict. Or rather, a convict about to be executed.

  While pulling out her hat and drawing tools, she continued to mull over the right thing to do.

  She returned his backpack to him, unbuckled the helmet and handed it to him, too.

  He took them, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

  “I can’t no longer use this,” she murmured, staring sadly at her sketchbook.

  He just nodded. She found a trash can nearby at t
he edge of the beach. While heading towards it, she rolled up the remains of the sketchbook and stuffed it in the garbage.

  Coming back to him, she remembered something.

  “Oh, Nico. I was forgetting your phone,” she said, pulling it out of her purse.

  “Thanks … Um, Anna?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are we gonna try to go up the hill again, or … or is this … are we saying goodbye?”

  “I don’t feel like drawing anymore today. However, I have no plan for this afternoon. I thought of what you told me of your secret place. I would be honored if you still want to show me.”

  21. Adrift

  Hannah had heard Susan and Roger talking about a local street market and the supermarket where they wanted to stock up on food before Ryan arrived the next day. Susan intended to make him “his favorite dinner” with genuine Italian ingredients, positive that after the change in time zones he’d prefer a relaxing evening with his family instead of walking around Porto Loreno and ending up at a chaotic restaurant. Apart from that, she’d had no news of them since breakfast, when Nico had picked her up with the Vespa.

  Arriving back at the apartment and finding herself alone, she thought about calling Susan to inform her of the new plan. She didn’t, though, because she hated the idea of them cutting their activity short to come see her. So, after a hot shower that washed away the remnants of that stormy—in every sense—morning, she made herself a corn salad and took a nap on the comfortable couch in the living room.

  When she woke up, the Corwins hadn’t returned yet. And the time to meet Nico loomed.

  He’d asked her to wear a bathing suit, which was kind of worrying because her bikini, although not racy, showed off her body. Considering the situation between them, she went out to buy a modest one-piece suit.

  When she got back, she put it on under a loose coverup and grabbed her purse, ready to visit his secret place.

  She was having a hard time figuring out how their impending encounter would go. Anxiety pulsed in her heart. Seeing him again could objectively be viewed as inappropriate, but then again, she owed him. She remembered how it felt when others took advantage of her. She’d fallen for that more than once or twice, and each time she’d vowed to be more careful in the future. But she had never considered the possibility of a role reversal. A role which—she’d just figured out—completely conflicted with her altruistic nature. To take the weight off of her heart, she had to do something for Nico. She hoped to remove this heaviness from her conscience after having taken advantage, unintentionally, of his kindness and availability. Then she’d think about the rest.