“I know it’s sudden,” Jason said, “but we—your families…” He tucked that in with a deprecating smile, which made Rina flinch and turn away. “We felt it time for you both to get back to your real lives, especially in view of the escalating hostilities here. No telling where the next rocket will hit. Mae and Giorgio were in complete agreement with me.”
“So was his mother,” Rina said under her breath, grasping for a vestige of rebellion as he wandered to the window and pulled the curtains closed against the night. That’s what he always did at home, wasn’t it, he and her father both, although her father had liked his closed against the sunlight as well. Interesting that she’d just made that connection.
“What?” Jason retuned to her side.
“Nothing. What time are the flights?”
“Just like that?” her friend asked. “What about Uncle Adam?”
Jason leveled his gaze at Acie. “Rin and I have decided we’ll come back after we’re married to visit her uncle. Why don’t we go down to the café and let me buy you both a nice nightcap, then we’ll get to bed early? We need to leave right after breakfast tomorrow.”
“No thanks. I’m ready for bed.” Acie waved at her robe. “As you can see.”
“Fine,” Jason said when Rina also shook her head. “Breakfast at seven-thirty? We should be on the road by eight-thirty.”
At the click of the door click, Acie asked “Rin?”
“A nickname he uses when I’m in favor.”
“Rin.” Acie shook her head.
Rina fell backward on the bed. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What do you mean? That’s easy. Tell him to go away.”
“But he’s come so far, has tickets for us both…”
“So what? He’s manipulating you.”
“A few hours ago, you said we should both leave. Now, we have the chance.” She covered her eyes with her forearm.
“But not like this. Girl, wake up. This isn’t the Rina I know. If I thought you really wanted to go, really loved him, I’d pack your bags myself. Instead, you sound as though you’re about to head off to your own funeral.”
She lifted her arm but only stared at the ceiling. “I’m just so tired of it all. Tired of not knowing anything, tired of waiting for who knows what, tired of feeling guilty because I’m keeping you here when I’m too stubborn to leave.”
“That’s not…”
“Yes, it is.” She sat up again. “I’ve been incredibly selfish. And into that comes Jason with the blessing of your sister and her husband and Nicco, I’m sure, and he’s got tickets with a stop-over in London, with my future mapped out, planned for me. A little comfort wouldn’t be so bad, you know. And he loves me, needs me. That’s not such a bad basis for marriage.”
“It’s not a good one, especially when you came so close to something a lot better.”
“Tony’s dead.”
“You don’t actually have proof of that, but even so, why does that mean you have to settle for Jason?”
She sighed. “You’re right. I probably won’t marry him, but it wouldn’t hurt to go home long enough to think things through and get my act together. Would it?”
Acie shrugged, but she didn’t look happy. “I guess not. If that’s what you really want to do.”
“It makes the most sense.”
“And it does take care of the gray-jacketed man.”
Rina turned on her side and curled around a pillow. “It does.”
How quickly life changed. Was it just now coming full circle?
But if this were full circle, what did that say about her time in Perugia? She tried to picture herself back in North Carolina, but only the old her emerged in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t seem to fit her new self—at least, not the self she’d donned during those illusory Perugian months—inside the Morehead she’d known. And there was no way that new Rina would fit inside Jason’s house.
Did that mean she’d have to regress if she went back? She’d felt it happening when Jason stood next to her, that slipping of her personality into some place it had been before, some groove that fit, although no longer comfortably. If she stopped there long enough, it might grow comfortable again.
No. She wouldn’t think like that. She didn’t want to go back to pre-Tony days, pre-freedom days. Pre-self days.
It had started, hadn’t it, when she’d found out about the money? Found out about her father’s lies. He’d made her wear old, ill-fitting clothes because he couldn’t afford new. And she’d bowed, succumbed, and worn an ill-fitting self.
Lord have mercy, but thinking about the old clothing brought to mind that navy coat in which she’d hunched over to hide her long self. She’d been, what? Twelve, thirteen? No, twelve. Uncle Adam had come for her birthday, carrying a big doll, and had taken one look at her and realized she was much too old for dolls. But he’d seen her coat, the way her wrists stuck way below the cuffs. The style was all wrong, with its high waist and a woolen ruffle down the front.
He’d taken her to Van Ellen’s, the most expensive store in town, and told the saleslady to bring the best they had in coats for young ladies. The woman had brought out plaids or dull, dark colors, all very respectable, but Adam must have watched her eyes, because he bought the jade coat with matching belt she’d sighed over. It was so very grown up, so very elegant. She hadn’t said a word, and she was sure he really couldn’t afford it. Her father, of course, had said it was extravagant. But, oh, she’d worn it proudly until it too became too small. Everything had been too small to fit her too-tall self.
Until Tony.
Tears formed and began to spill onto her cheeks. She swiped at them and sniffled.
Acie came out of the bathroom. “Will you write a note for your uncle?”
“I do wish I could see him. But, yes, I’ll write.”
“Why don’t we just stay and finish what we started?”
“Because he may not come for weeks, and you could be killed before that.”
“Chicken.”
39
TONY
Adam had dropped him off at headquarters for a debriefing that had ended with him sitting across from his cousin. Tony eased out of his slouch in this chair that was much too small for him and his arm. A too-small car, a too-small chair. Yep, the usual suspects at work to make him feel jittery and out of place.
Zif leaned back in his comfortable desk chair. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find your friend. We know she left Perugia and bought a ticket to Florence, where she stayed a few days. The word in Perugia was that she planned to tour Europe, but we don’t know where she went next or how she got there. If she took the train and didn’t use a travel agent, we’re out of luck. Our man did learn that someone else was also asking about her, probably trying to find you. But if she’s touring Europe, she should be fine.”
“I wrote to her aunt in the States. Eventually, she’s bound to check in there.”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks for trying. I know one lost girl isn’t a priority now.”
Sighing, Zif opened a drawer, drew out a large envelope, and slid it across toward him. “Things are a mess, and they’re going to get messier.”
He took the envelope and looked inside.
“You will be glad to know I’ve included some of the cash from your old account in here. We liberated everything and transferred your assets to your new name and your new bank. You’ve a debit card and credit cards, along with your new passport. Anton Rasad is dead. Anthony Walker lives.”
“Appreciate you keeping the first name.”
Zif’s thinning hair needed a cut. In the days when his wife had been alive, Zif had been impeccably groomed. His clothes were still clean and pressed, of course, but Tony couldn’t help noticing the slight fraying of his collar.
“Achmed may not know where you are, but sources say he put out an alert and dispatched men to look for you. Here and elsewhere.” Zif removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We
sent a notice of your death to your employer in Jordan and to relevant newspapers in Amman and in the States. But it would be best if you leave. It’s not like you blend.”
Tony eyed his much shorter cousin with a raised brow. “That shouldn’t come as news.”
Zif laughed. “You’ve done good work, my friend. We’re grateful. Now you just need to keep a low profile until you leave.” Zif swiveled his chair so he could reach a box on the credenza behind him. “Here’s your new cell phone. It’ll work internationally, but it’s registered in the States.”
“What address?”
“I thought you might like Los Angeles.”
“You thought so, did you? And why?”
“Across the country from New York.”
“I’ve never lived in L.A. I hope I have a good address.”
“Of course.” His cousin pointed to the packet. “There’s information on your house. You’ve been renting it out.”
“Clever me. May I continue to rent it out?”
“Doesn’t matter. Your curriculum vitae says Anthony Walker studied mechanical engineering and worked with a British firm in Bahrain. It just so happens that one of our own is employed there and is ready to vouch for you when you go job hunting.”
“Good thing I spent time in the Gulf States.”
“You should do fine. You know how to find me if you need anything.”
Tony extended his left hand. “Thank you. I’ll let you know where I end up.”
He inhaled deeply when he emerged from the nondescript building. He was mere steps away from freedom, but before he sent out his newly minted resume, he had to find Rina. Then he’d apply to companies in places like Wyoming. Or Nebraska. Maybe even Montana. The views were supposed to be spectacular in Montana.
He set off for one of the outlying shopping areas. Ninety minutes later, he climbed in a taxi laden with two changes of clothes and a supply of sundries.
He used the key Adam had given him to open the front door. The entrance hall was narrow and opened up to a living room, beyond which was a small kitchen. Bedrooms were off another small hall. He dropped his bags near the kitchen entrance, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of root beer.
Then he lowered himself into an overstuffed chair in the living room. It was an interesting space, immaculately clean in areas untouched by clutter, a disheveled mess where stacks of books and papers and boxes of pottery shards littered the floor. It was as if Adam had cordoned off his collections against a maid’s encroachment, and to make up for being forbidden these places, the woman had scrubbed and polished other surfaces to a high gloss.
The back door opened, and Adam called, “Tony, you here?”
“In the living room.”
Adam filled the doorway, plastic sacks dangling from his wrists. He smiled at his guest. “Glad you found something to drink. I’ve brought a few staples.”
Tony took two of the bags. “These all you have?”
“My suitcase and a few things are still in the car. I’ll get them. I have two hands available.”
“I can use mine for the light stuff.”
“Just don’t hurt that shoulder. Gila gave me my marching orders.”
When they’d stashed everything and had settled again in the living room with a dish of nuts and an open bottle of wine between them, Tony asked, “Did you have any luck at the office?”
“Unfortunately, no. My secretary has gone off to help her sister pack up and move out of harm’s way. Seems rockets landed near her sister’s house, and her nephew has been called up.”
Tony rolled a peanut between his fingers. Surely, Rina would have written to her uncle to say where she was going next and what she planned. Hadn’t she said she wanted to invite her uncle to meet her in Europe? Her silence didn’t make sense.
Unless something had happened. “What about the aunt? Have you tried again?”
The cashews Adam had picked out only got halfway to his lips. “I did. And I’ll try again later. All I can think is she’s gone off gallivanting with friends. I should have gotten Rina’s email address. Surely, the girl checks email sometimes.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have it.” Tony picked up his wine glass and took a sip, his frustration over Rina’s lack of connection growing. “Doesn’t everyone use email these days? Except for someone who refuses to carry a computer or phone.”
“I wrote cards or called. Email never occurred to me.” Adam drew his hand down his face. “I wasn’t exactly the best uncle.”
For some obscure reason, that sparked a thought. Tony sat up. “Her friend in Perugia, Acie Smith. She’d know where to reach Rina. Her brother-in-law owns a restaurant.”
“Phone? You could do an Internet search.”
“Of course. I could kick myself.”
“You’ve been a little distracted trying to get well.”
Cursing himself for being dimwited, he followed Adam into the spare bedroom. Adam logged on to his desktop computer and waved Tony to the chair in front of it.
His search located three restaurants near the fountain. What was the last name? Giorgio somebody. Giorgio and Roberto. And there was that fellow Nicco. This was killing him.
Short. That was it. He opened the translation software. Up popped corta. Of course. Corta… corta… legs… Ah, Giorgio Gambacorta.
There were dozens of Gambacortas around Perugia. He searched restaurants linked to the name and voilà! Success. Punching the numbers into his new cell phone, he waited for the ring tone. And then for someone to answer.
“Pronto.”
“Giorgio Gambacorta, per piacere.”
What came back was beyond him. He should have gone to class more often. “Inglese?”
“No.”
“Giorgio è libero?” That sounded good. He hoped it asked if Giorgio were free.
“No.”
Okay. No, Giorgio wasn’t free or, no, this person wasn’t talking to him. He heard loud noises in the background, so maybe this wasn’t a good time.
“Telefono di casa?” That sounded a lot like telephone at home, so maybe he’d get an answer.
“No, non è possibile.”
Not possible. He got that. Okay. Great. Now what? “Grazie, ciao.” Thanks for nothing.
“Adam,” he called as he wandered in search of his host. He found him in the kitchen, cooking. “I got through, but the brother-in-law wasn’t available, and it’s not possible to get a home phone number.”
Adam continued chopping vegetables. “Telegram. You know the address of the restaurant, so send a telegram.”
“Of course, right. Excellent idea.” He stumbled over a chair leg on his way back to the phone book.
“There’s nothing here.” He did an Internet search.
Western Union only delivered money these days, but he found another company that would let him write a telegram online for delivery to Italy. Good thing Zif had given him a new credit card.
He filled out the form, put in his payment information, and clicked Send. “I should know by tomorrow, next day at the latest, shouldn’t I?”
“You should.”
“Can you believe I’ve never sent a telegram before?”
“Well, with cell phones and email, who needs to?”
“Yeah.” Tony’s laugh sounded hollow to his own ears. “That would be true unless you wanted to find one recalcitrant girl who likes being disconnected.”
Adam looked at him quizzically. “I wonder if she still feels that way?”
40
RINA
She shifted and turned and straightened her wrinkling nightgown as the minutes ticked by. Every pea in that bed had her name on it. God, please.
Her eyes popped open. What exactly was she asking for? God to stop her from leaving? God to talk sense into her? Her to talk sense into her?
She ought to have the backbone to make the decision herself. The thing was, in spite of not wanting to leave, she also didn’t want to mope around here any longer, and
she didn’t want to worry about Acie.
Leave, go, leave, go.
Snatches of sleep fit between those ticking minutes. Eventually morning happened.
Fine, she’d fly to London. That would get Acie back to Nicco and Jason on his way home.
She’d written a note to Uncle Adam, asking him to send her an email when he returned to town. If she heard from him and he wanted to see her, she’d buy a ticket back. Nothing was set in stone just because she boarded a plane today. She wasn’t crumbling to Jason’s will. She was just going to take the next step. Keep moving. Stop thinking.
By the time Acie climbed out of bed, she had dressed in a pair of jeans and was cramming shoes along the edge of an already stuffed bag. “We’re really doing this?” Acie asked.
“How’d these fit last time?”
“Maybe you folded things.”
“Maybe you’d better hustle. It’s almost seven. Pastry and coffee should be here any minute.”
“Must we?”
“Eat pastry? Not if you don’t…”
“You know what I mean.” Acie yawned.
“I can’t imagine trying to talk Jason out of it. Besides, I’m too tired to try. And I’ve got to get you back to Nicco.”
“He can wait.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
Acie pretended shock. “Nicco?”
“You know perfectly well I don’t mean Nicco.”
“Jason will probably make some woman a very fine husband. Just not you.”
She sat down opposite this woman who’d become her best friend. “Why not?” She really wanted to know.
“Other than the fact that you don’t love him?”
“Other than that.”
“Well,” Acie said, reaching for her brush, which she applied to her tangled hair. “Consider the you before Italy—the one I met at Santino’s that first day—and the you after you’d fallen for Tony.”
“We’ve both changed, haven’t we?”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Rina said, before remembering it was locked.
Acie started toward it. “I’ll—”
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