by Fiona Grace
She scrolled down a list of properties. Just addresses. She clicked on one that said “Piazza 3,” and it brought up a photograph of what looked like a map of a housing development. There was a big circle and an arrow around one of the boxed-off sections.
She imagined it, right then, in perfect detail. Going out to her little wooden mailbox to grab a letter from her sister, smiling at the address. To: Audrey Smart, Piazza 3, Sicily, IT.
She tapped to see if there were more photographs, but no. Really? Would someone buy a home, sight unseen? It sounded risky.
Then she thought about what Brina had said to her. You are not a risk-taker. You were born in Boston. You’ll die here.
Why did that sound so boring? She’d been happy with Boston up until a few years ago. But lately, something had been building inside her, and like a bottle of soda being shaken, the lid was about to come off. Explosively. All of her friends at the reunion last night had done things, gone places, had experiences. And what did she have? Did she want to live her life not having done absolutely anything?
“That’s nice,” a voice said beside her.
She looked up and realized Salami Guy was peering into her lap. She couldn’t tell whether he was infatuated with Sicily, too, or if he was another creep who’d lean in and smell her hair. It didn’t matter. The T was coming to her stop at the Back Bay station.
After one last glance at the almost-mythical land of Sicily, she decided it was nothing but a pipe-dream. A lottery? She’d probably never have the winning bid. And even if she did, would she be able to drop everything and fly there, alone? There were other, safer ways to do something with her life. Work at the food pantry. Write a novel. Send in thirty-three cents a day to spiritually adopt a child from a third-world country. She didn’t have to go crazy.
She quickly extricated herself from between her two travel companions, pocketed her phone, and made a mad dash for Back Bay Animal Care.
*
Audrey yawned for the hundredth time that morning as she helped a little old lady out the door with her carrier. She lifted the hard-sided case up and peered at the hazel-eyed Persian. “You take care of your momma, okay, Pumpkin?”
As was typical, the cat gave Audrey an uninterested look, like, No thanks.
Audrey handed the carrier to the woman. “Here you go, Mrs. Heffelbower. Are you sure you can make it to wherever you’re going?”
“Oh yes. I’m just a block down the road. Such a nice young lady,” she said with a smile, patting Audrey’s hand. “You should settle down. Marry one of those nice, competent doctors in there. Let them take care of you.”
Audrey smiled. Pumpkin had been under her care since she started working at the animal clinic, but Mrs. Heffelbower still didn’t seem to realize that Audrey herself was an actual doctor. Join the club. She’d already explained that twice today, and didn’t feel like going into it again.
“Thank you,” she said as the lady turned away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She went back inside and came face-to-face with Dr. Ferris. He frowned. “Smart.”
“Ferris,” she replied, matching his tone.
Of all the more experienced vets on staff, she liked Ferris least of all. Even less than Brice Watts, if one could believe it. He looked like a soap opera doctor, with his thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes, and he had quite a way with patients, which accounted for Mrs. Marx’s infatuation. But under those surface good looks and that winning bedside manner?
Dwelt a total, complete, and utter jerk.
Emerson Ferris was a lot like Brice Watts ego-wise, except worse, because instead of just thinking he looked like a movie star, Ferris actually did look like one. Thus, though all of the women in the practice fawned over him, none were actually good enough for him, not even for a tumble in his office, like Dr. Watts was rumored to be fond of. When he wasn’t tending to his patients or schmoozing their owners, he stalked about with a major stick up his backside, criticizing everyone for existing. He had complaints that ranged from moving his Vitamin Water in the fridge to standing in his all-important way while he attempted to get from point A to point B in the hallway. Audrey had come around to calling him the Scarecrow. Behind his back, of course.
Oh, and another thing? As nice as he was to the patients? It was all a lie.
He hated animals. Their owners, too.
In fact, he really didn’t like anything except himself. Whom he loved with a passion.
She attempted to scuttle past him, since she knew there’d be hell to pay if she wound up in his glorious way, but then she remembered Marx. She sighed. “Donut. In observation area six. Mrs. Marx wanted you to take a look at him. When you have time, of course.”
His frown transformed to an annoyed scowl. “What’s wrong with the little rat?”
“He imbibed alcohol.”
“Great,” he snapped, whirling on his heel and tossing a few choice curse words into the air. He checked his Apple Watch. “There goes my racquetball appointment. That Marx woman should be the one on a leash.”
Well, at least she agreed with him there. “Sorry.”
He paused for Audrey and motioned her ahead of him. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
As if he didn’t know where the observation room was. Audrey walked him down the hall, to area six. Donut was still in his kennel, looking much more alert. Better. She instinctively put out a hand, and he licked it.
Ferris looked at her. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head and stepped away, sticking her tongue out at him behind his broad back, and fully not caring how immature that made her.
Ferris set to taking the dog’s vitals, just as she had done. Stethoscope in his ears, he murmured, “You pump his stomach?”
“No. We ran intravenous fluids, and he seemed to respond to the charc—”
He straightened and turned to her. Uh-oh. Wrong answer. “You’re telling me you didn’t pump his stomach?”
She shrugged lamely. “I didn’t see the need of putting him through that. He seemed to be responding to—”
“The need was that this patient could’ve died,” he snarled, his voice growing louder. “This particular breed and size is sensitive to even one drop of alcohol. Or didn’t they teach you that in vet school?”
He should’ve known. He’d gotten his DVM from Tufts, same as she had, though he’d been a year ahead of her. And a pompous jerk, even then.
“You should know it’s traumatizing to an animal to have to withstand that, especially a small animal like Donut.”
He shook his head. “Death from alcohol poisoning would’ve been more traumatizing, don’t you think, Audrey?” he said, his voice condescending. And since when did he ever use her first name?
Vet techs had come in to see what the commotion was. Now there was a little audience. Audrey’s pulse pounded in her ears. She flipped her ponytail and crossed her arms. She didn’t want to get into this, but if he was going to make her, then fine. “First of all, Emerson—”
“What’s all this?”
They both whirled to see Dr. Carey, the medical director. The slight, gray-haired lady might have been small, but the woman packed a no-nonsense punch. Audrey had always admired the way she could cut through the other doctors’ conflicting egos and defuse all kinds of employee disagreements. She was smart. Just. A dose of sorely needed perspective around here.
Good. Audrey smiled. She’d put the Scarecrow out in the field, where he belonged.
“Dr. Ferris and I were just having a disagreement about the proper treatment of this animal,” she explained.
“No disagreement,” Ferris said, glaring at her. “Dr. Smart clearly administered the wrong treatment, and she’s trying to save face. This creature could’ve died.”
Dr. Carey was already grabbing her stethoscope, her eyes trained on poor Donut. She listened to his heart, as meanwhile, behind her back, Audrey and Dr. Ferris regarded each other like competitors in a dogfight, each daring the other to deliver the firs
t blow.
Dr. Carey removed her stethoscope from her ears and shook her head. “Well, that would be the standard treatment, though it appears the subject is doing much better, regardless. But I did receive a call from the owner.”
Audrey’s eyes snapped to the older vet’s. “What? You mean Mrs. Marx?”
She nodded and pressed her lips together. Not just a call. Knowing Mrs. Marx, it was a complaint. “Yes. But—”
“And what, exactly, was it about?”
“Well, she was pretty insistent that the care of Donut be transferred exclusively to Dr. Ferris. I asked what it was that upset her, and she said that she felt slighted, and that her concerns were dismissed.”
“Clearly dismissed,” Ferris echoed. “The dog should’ve had its stomach pumped.”
Audrey shook her head. “She felt slighted?” Audrey said in disbelief, her voice gradually rising. “You weren’t there, Doctor. She dismissed me. Like everyone who seems to think I’m nothing but some kind of intern here. I have the same credentials as all of you and yet I’m treated like some lesser being just because of the way I look. I’m sick of having to explain myself twice to people! To the pet owners! To Watts! To Ferris!”
Meanwhile, Ferris grinned quietly, gloating. Smug jerk.
Dr. Carey took her by the arm. “Why don’t we discuss this in my office?”
Audrey shook her head, now indignant. She no longer cared about the audience. This should’ve been a lesson to them, anyway, that they could do everything exactly right and save little pet lives and yet still get in hot water.
It. Wasn’t. Fair.
She planted her feet. “No. What am I? In trouble? You’re going to write me up? I did everything right! Just because Marx didn’t like me, because I was young and a woman, doesn’t mean I did anything--”
“Dr. Smart,” the older vet said in a warning tone.
What, now they were going to say she was overreacting? Ferris continued to gloat, now chuckling at Audrey’s situation. God, she hated him. She hated him, and Carey, and everything about this place.
“You know what? Forget it,” she said, tearing her stethoscope off her neck, then ripping her nameplate from her coat. “You all treat me like a second-class citizen. I don’t need this. I’m done. I quit.”
CHAPTER SIX
Dr. Carey followed her out the door. “Are you sure you want to do this? Won’t you reconsider, Dr. Smart? You’re a valuable member of our team.”
Audrey didn’t even turn around. Valuable, my butt. She hoped that Dr. Carey would follow her into the T and attempt to lure her back with an extra big benefits package, but the second she reached the edge of the parking lot, Dr. Carey was gone.
It didn’t matter.
Free! She was free!
The feeling was beyond invigorating. No big benefits package was worth that. She’d been so delighted by stupid Ferris’s shocked expression (guess you’re going to be working overtime from now on, buddy, so you can kiss racquetball goodbye for the foreseeable future!), so pumped by the way Dr. Carey practically begged her to come back, that she was a little drunk on the power. She felt almost immortal. The overwhelming urge gripped her to scale a mountain, bungee jump off the Lenny, eat the questionable sushi from that walk-up place on the corner, anything. You say I’m not a risk-taker, Brina? Well, take that!
The sun was bright and warm, something she never took time to appreciate because she was always buried under work in the clinic. The midday T was nearly empty. She had a car almost to herself, something she never knew was possible within the constraints of that soul-sucking day job.
Good riddance! she thought smugly.
Yes, that job had really sucked. That stupid apartment in Southie, too. No wonder she had nothing substantial to list among her world experiences. It’d all been holding her back, squelching her possibilities, holding a thumb down on her ability to go out and suck the marrow out of life.
No more.
On the train, she pulled out her phone and navigated to the website, which had become part of her favorites—SicilyParadise dot com. After a quick scan of the twenty or so offerings, finding no pictures of any of them, she went back to Piazza 3 and clicked on it. She read:
This house is located in Mussomeli, a city in the heart of Sicily, Italy.
In Mussomeli you will live the ancient Sicily, the real Sicily that you’ve always dreamed of. The city of Mussomeli is home to the Manfredi’s Castle and traditions. It is a place of enduring beauty. If you buy a home in Sicily, you will not only have a house, but the opportunity to experience our culture, our timeless and treasured traditions, the slow and relaxed life of one of the most tranquil and safe lands in all the world.
Mussomeli is located in an inner hilly area, east of the Platani River, in Central Sicily, at 765 meters above sea level. It is 53 km from Agrigento, 58 km from Caltanissetta, 99 km from Enna, 199 km from Ragusa. The weather is continental, cool and dry in winter, warm and windy in the summer. There are few snowy episodes in winter. Street: Vicolo Piazza 3.
Amenities:
Air conditioning
Balcony
Canteen
Chimney
Electrical system
Furniture
Garage
Heating system
Lift
Parking within 100m
Reachable by car
Terrace
TV system
Views X
Sounded good. Really good. Peace? Tranquility? Safety? Yes, please. Plus, it had air conditioning, a television, furniture, an elevator. It wasn’t just some hole in the ground. And it was only a dollar.
It was everything she wanted. Everything.
She clicked on the bright red BID NOW button, still thinking that she could back out if she really wanted to. But now, she didn’t want to. She clicked on the application, which asked her various questions, the first being: Why do you want to live in Sicily?
Audrey didn’t think. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard. She wrote: As a veterinarian, I have dedicated my life to helping animals. Though I love the work, I have lived all my life in Boston, and decided that at this point in my life, I would like to experience a different part of the world. It has always been my dream to visit Italy, so I feel that now is the best time to do so.
She flirted with the box that said, Please list your highest bid, imagining a number that she wouldn’t mind losing if she decided to back out. She didn’t really have much money to lose. Plus, there was the matter of that $1,000 deposit. Finally, she typed in $1.
Then she auto-filled the requisite information, her address, phone number, credit card info. Before she could talk herself out of it, she jabbed the PLACE BID button. The screen buffered for a second, and then that lovely Italian photograph that had lured her in appeared, along with, Congratulations! Your bid has been placed. You are one step closer to paradise!
Satisfied, she pocketed her phone as the train pulled up at her stop.
It only really hit Audrey when she’d left the T station and was on her way to her apartment, a tiny cardboard box of all her work belongings tucked under her arm.
She was not just free.
She was also jobless. Almost penniless, except for the tiniest little robin’s nest-egg in her 401k. Completely directionless.
And she’d just placed a bid on a home halfway across the world.
If that didn’t scream reckless, she didn’t know what did.
Doesn’t matter. I didn’t even get the house yet, she told herself, shrugging. Making plans to update her resume, she pulled out her phone and checked her email. An Old Navy ad, something saying her bank statement was now available, an Organizational Tip of the Day email her sister had signed her up for, a Cruises R Us promotion she’d opted into years ago.
Suddenly, her phone began to ring from a strange number. A really strange number. It said UNDISCLOSED, and it looked slightly … international?
Maybe it was someone in Sicily, confirming h
er bid. Likely. She answered. “Hello?”
“Yes. Audrey Smart?” a heavily accented voice said. Italian, definitely.
“Yes?”
“This is Maria Lombardo, a real estate agent in Mussomeli, Sicilia,” she said so quickly, Audrey wasn’t sure it was actually in English. “I received your bid?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you for confirming.”
“Are you really a veterinarian?”
Great. It wasn’t enough that she got doubt from the people she worked with; now she had to get it from halfway across the world. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Will you be seeking employment as a veterinarian in Mussomeli?”
She frowned. She’d only quit her last job twenty minutes ago. She’d expected to marinate in her unemployed status a little longer than that. “Well, I suppose, eventually—”
“There is a shortage of skilled people like you here. The house is yours, if you want it.”
Audrey froze in the center of the street, so that whoever was behind her nearly tripped into her. She stumbled over to a nearby streetlamp, holding onto it for support. “But—”
“We waive the deposit for skilled professionals who seek work in town. Si?”
She stared at nothing in particular on the sidewalk, now more convinced than ever that this was a scam. Or was there some catch? She’d submitted that bid not more than five minutes earlier. “Um …”
“I email you my details. Call me with questions. And welcome, Audrey.”
The call ended. Still clutching the streetlamp, Audrey’s knees wobbled.
Her phone dinged with a new email. Her face flooded with heat and her fingers trembled as she clicked on it.
Congratulations! We are happy to welcome you to our beautiful little community of Mussomeli, Sicily! Please call our office at the below number to arrange for inspection and to complete the additional paperwork.
Audrey let out a little squeal, turned on her heel, and walked right back to the train station.
I own a house in Italy, she thought in disbelief. I OWN A HOUSE IN FREAKING ITALY.