It is still shaking so hard that I think I actually hear the poor thing’s teeth chattering.
Footsteps sound on the gravel drive. The round woman is back, assuring us that we will be able to leave momentarily since she has called the animal polizia. They are on their way.
I look at Lizzy and see the instantly stricken look on her face. I have to admit I feel a plummet of fear for the little guy myself.
“What will they do?” Lizzy asks.
“They have pole thing with hook to pull him out.”
Lizzy looks at me with a near-frantic expression.
“I will be inside if you need me,” the woman says.
“We can’t let them take him,” Lizzy cries, as soon as she leaves. “Maybe I can crawl under there.”
“He’s scared,” I say. “He might bite you. He’s young, but still—”
“What else can we do?”
I turn over on my back, stare up at the sky and do the only thing I know how to do. I start to sing, a low hum at first and then find the words to a song I wrote with Colby when we were just kids.
First chance to win this fight
Last chance to get it right
Come on now, you know it’s true
Give up now, and it’s all through
Make up your mind
Can’t take your time
“His ears are perked,” Lizzy whispers. “Keep going.”
And so I do. Snatches of one song or another for ten minutes before he starts to crawl toward me on his belly until Lizzy says, “It’s working.”
I feel my heart beating really fast and realize how much I want him to come to me. I’m still humming softly when I feel his small chin drop onto my shoulder. I reach my hand back to scratch his side, feel the mats in his fur and wonder how anyone could leave something so young and vulnerable to fend for itself.
I hear the crunch of gravel on the drive.
“It’s them!” Lizzy says, jumping to her feet.
I reach my other hand back, scoop the puppy up and stand. Lizzy gets in the driver’s side. I walk around with the pup tucked out of sight and get in the other door. She starts the Fiat and eases out of the lot, waving at the truck as we roll by.
“Just in the nick of time,” I say, looking at Lizzy.
She smiles a really beautiful smile, her eyes softening with something real and true.
“Who says you’re not a good guy?” she asks.
26
Ty
YOU COME AWAKE to the realization that you fell asleep at some point, despite the strong coffee.
Morning sounds echo around you, the clink of dishes from the nearby kitchen, conversations taking place at nearby tables.
You sit up and rake a hand through your hair, glancing at your watch. How could you have slept this long? You get to your feet, feeling the leaden weight of jet lag. Leaving your bags where they are, you walk quickly across the lobby to the front desk.
A young man is now behind the counter. He looks up at you and smiles. “Buon giorno, signore. How might I help you?”
You don’t return his ridiculously white smile. “My wife is staying in the hotel. Can you call her room and let her know I’m here?”
“Certainly, signore. What is her name?”
“Lizzy Harper.”
“One moment.” He checks the computer, taps a few keys, and then says, “Ah, I am sorry, signore. But it appears that your wife has already checked out.”
27
Lizzy
“WHAT EXACTLY DO we do now that we’ve saved him?” I ask, maneuvering the Fiat through another small town.
“Good question,” Ren says.
As it turns out, he is a she, which Ren soon discovers after holding her up for inspection.
“Think we ought to find a vet or something?” I ask.
“It kind of looks like she could use one,” he says.
The puppy is now curled up on his lap, sound asleep as if she hasn’t slept in days. Which considering her current state of survival, she probably hasn’t. “Can you Google one?” I ask.
“If I can figure out how to type in veterinarian in Italian,” he says.
“Use the translator – English to Italian.”
“Do you think Google has already thought of everything, or is there more to come?” Ren asks.
“I suspect there’s more to come,” I say.
Ren spends a couple of minutes tapping and typing and finally says, “Here’s one. It’s ten miles away. Should we go for it?”
“Yep,” I say. “Is your GPS going to tell me where to go?”
“It most certainly is,” he says with a smile.
“You have to give her a name,” I say, tipping my head toward the puppy.
“Kind of hard to tell what she looks like under all the dirt.”
“We should assume the best. Something to live up to. How about Sophia? As in the actress. Italian, too.”
He considers it, and then says, “Sophia. Definitely a name to grow into. Sophia, it is.”
Ren’s GPS is a little off on its calculations, so we spend ten minutes or so weaving through the cobblestone streets until we find a green door with a medical sign hanging above, a picture of a dog beside it.
I squeeze the car into a miniscule parking place. Sophia is back to shaking, her head tucked under Ren’s arm.
“Don’t worry, little bean,” he says. “We’re just getting you checked out.”
But she’s not buying it and tries to burrow herself between the buttonholes of his shirt. “I might end up with the fleas,” Ren says, smiling.
A very pretty Italian veterinary assistant greets us at the front desk. Fortunately for us, she speaks some English. Ren manages to explain how we found the puppy and would like to have her checked out and given any necessary shots. She nods in understanding, starting a file. She asks his name, and, to my surprise, he tells her his real name. She doesn’t appear to recognize it though and asks for the puppy’s name.
“Sophia,” he says. “Would it be possible to give her a bath and take care of these mats in her coat? They have to be making her miserable.”
“Of course, signore. Can you leave her for two hours?”
We agree that will be fine. She picks up Sophia who looks at Ren with completely mournful eyes as if she is sure she will never see him again. I can see in his face that he’s struck by her sadness.
“We’ll be back, little girl,” he says. “Don’t worry.” But as we’re walking out the clinic door, he looks at me and adds, “She doesn’t believe that, does she?”
“Probably not,” I say.
We stroll through the town, find some amazing views and sit in a small park watching some older men play a game I’ve never seen before. I glance at Ren. “What are they doing?”
“It’s called boccie. Goes back to ancient Rome.”
“They look serious about it.”
Ren nods. “Pretty good life, isn’t it?”
The men are laughing, clearly enjoying themselves, despite how intent they are about winning. “It looks that way,” I say.
“Do you ever think maybe we should live more of our lives like that?” he asks.
“Like what?”
“Just hanging out, not always chasing after something.”
“I don’t know. When we’re younger, we feel like we have something to prove. Sometimes, to ourselves. Sometimes, to others. Maybe when we’ve done that, we start looking for some other kind of fulfillment. Is that where you are?” I ask.
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug that seems to say he really doesn’t know. “Most people would call me crazy for saying so. Maybe I am crazy.”
“You’re you. And you’re entitled to be who you want to be.”
“I don’t think I know the answer to that anymore,” he says.
I hear something in his voice that I haven’t heard before. Raw honesty. Revealing and questioning. “What is it that you don’t want anymore?”
He doesn�
��t answer for so long that I think he’s not going to. That maybe I’ve been way too forward in asking the questions. “Being me,” he finally says.
I hear the layers in the answer. Something tells me that it is directly tied to the statement he made last night. I’m not a good guy.
We leave the park and grab a slice of pizza from a little place across the street.
As proof of Ren’s concern about Sophia, we arrive back at the veterinary office exactly two hours from the time we left her there. The same girl is at the front. She greets us with a smile and says, “Ah, Sophia. You will not recognize her.”
“Is she in good health?” Ren asks.
“I let doctor explain,” she says. “Please to come this way.”
She leads us into a small room where we wait for a couple of minutes until the door opens again and a white-haired man with spectacles that sit on the tip of his nose steps inside and greets us with a polite nod. “Signore. Signora?”
“Hello,” we answer in unison.
“I’m Dr. Giardino. Your Sophia is fourteen to sixteen weeks old.” He opens the file that now has her name on it. “You found her?”
“Yes. This morning,” Ren replies.
“Lucky for her, yes?” the doctor says with a smile. “She has many fleas. We have treated for this. And also for parasites. I have given her medicine for this, and we will also be sending some along with you.”
The door opens again, and the girl from the front comes in, holding Sophia. “Oh, my goodness, you’re beautiful,” I say.
She brightens at my voice and then looks at Ren, her tail starting to wag instantly.
“You did live up to your name, Sophia,” he says, reaching out to take her from the girl.
The puppy is all wiggles and waggles, licking his face, clearly overjoyed that he has returned, after all. Ren melts under her lavishing of attention, laughs and then tucks her up under his arm where she still manages to wiggle her butt in glee and joy.
The doctor laughs. “She was very shy with us, but with you, no.”
“Thank you,” Ren says, “for taking care of her and so quickly.”
“You are most welcome,” he says. “If there is anything else we can do for you, please ask.” He opens the door and leads us back out front where a young woman now prints the bill. Ren takes it and then hands her a credit card.
She runs it through the machine, gives him a paper to sign and says, “Thank you for coming.”
We turn to leave just as Dr. Giardino says, “Signore Sawyer?”
Ren turns back and the older man looks a bit embarrassed.
“Would you very much mind signing something for Annetta here and the other three ladies in the back? They are beside themselves that you have visited us today.”
“Actually, I’d be really honored to do that,” Ren says.
As if they have been listening at the door, three young women file into the lobby. One, sixteen at the most, the other two in their twenties. They stand slightly behind Dr. Giardino, unable to actually look at Ren.
“Hello,” he says to them with the smile I am certain has won him thousands of fans just like them. “Thank you so much for taking care of Sophia.”
They raise their eyes and smile at him, shy and charming in their appeal. Dr. Giardino moves over to stand beside them, and they each hold out an item for Ren to sign. A long sleeve T-shirt with the clinic logo, a note card and two of his CDs. They are overcome with giggles, and I find myself smiling at their astonishment that they have found themselves in this position today.
When he’s finished signing, one of the girls reaches out to give her a rub. “Lucky Sophia,” she says.
They thank him again profusely.
We walk out the door accompanied by many well wishes. Once we are out on the street, I rub Sophia’s soft, now silky, coat and say, “Who knew you were such a beauty?”
She wags her tail and licks my hand. I am happy to see I’m also working my way into her good graces.
We get in the car, and as I maneuver through the small town streets, Ren tells his GPS to take us to San Gimignano. We have not exited the town limits before Sophia is again asleep on his lap, curled up in a small poufy ball.
“You saved her,” I say.
“So did you,” he says.
“I think it was you she was waiting for. You’re the one who was meant to find her.”
I say it lightly, but I really do mean it.
He rubs the puppy’s back and looks out the window. “I guess we all need saving some time or other, don’t we?”
There’s a note in his voice I haven’t heard before. I can’t actually put a name to it. I just know it puts a clamp on my heart and squeezes so tight that it hurts.
28
Kylie
SHE CAN HEAR voices. Men’s voices.
At first, it sounds as if there are a dozen or more, words strung together in bits and pieces. She struggles to recognize their meaning, but can absorb nothing. They ping from the surface of comprehension like hail off a tin roof.
She tries to open her eyes. They’re so heavy. It’s as if they’ve been wired shut. Or stapled. She feels a tear seep through, slide down her cheek.
Her body hurts. Everywhere. She tries to force her brain to command movement. From her legs. Her arms. There’s no response. She’s trapped under a lead net, flattened by it, a moth in a spider web.
A word breaks through. A word she understands. Money. What follows she cannot make out. The voice rises with anger. If damaged. No money. Those four words crack like lightning in the distance.
What are they talking about? If what is damaged?
They want them untouched. Clean. Do you understand that?
I understand. Do I agree? No.
No one cares if you agree. Touch her, and you get nothing! Do you understand that?
Silence echoes around the question.
Kylie tries to scream. Tries to force her eyes open. But the lead net is still in place. And the only response she can summon her body to make is the single tear she feels sliding down her cheek.
29
Ren
SOPHIA AND I sit under a covered arch and watch while Lizzy shoots photo after photo, moving from one spot to another, quickly and efficiently, snapping, snapping, like a child in a candy store who can’t grab fast enough.
On the way here, she told me about the popularity of San Gimignano with photographers and how the light at sunset was supposed to be amazing.
It’s just after four-thirty now, and the light is every bit as beautiful as Lizzy had predicted. It’s hard to explain, really, without seeing it for yourself. But it’s special, and even though I’m no photographer, I can see it.
Sophia is again snoozing on my knee. I rub under her chin in a methodical rhythm that elicits from her a near purring sound. I wonder how long it will take her to finally feel rested.
Lizzy stands at the top of an angled set of stairs, shooting down into the square, and then, tipping her camera upward, aimed at an angle of roof and sky. Her love for what she is doing is so obvious that I feel a pang of sadness to think she spent so many years without it. I can only equate it with my music and how much a part of me it has always been. Leaving it alone would be like getting up in the morning and trying not to breathe in air.
She’s wearing jeans, the skinny kind, and a white tank top that scoops low in the front. Her arms are long and finely muscled the way lifelong runners tend to be. Her thick blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, the band midway down between her shoulders so that wisps of it escape around her face and cling to her cheeks.
My gaze falls across her mouth, her lips full and soft as I now know them to be. And suddenly, I’m thinking about last night and the unexpectedness of wanting her in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.
On the surface, I’ll be the first to admit that it makes little to no sense. Aside from this time together here, our lives are about as different as it is possible for two lives
to be. I don’t understand it, and yet I can’t deny how it feels to be with her. How the weight that has sat on my chest for the past three years is no longer so heavy that I don’t think I can ever push myself out from under it. It’s still there, but something is starting to occur to me.
I don’t want the weight to be there anymore. And that hasn’t been true since the day Colby died.
I’ve welcomed the boulder of guilt that crushed from me even the desire to go on living. Why now? Why this woman? I came here at peace with the realization that life as I have been leading it, is a life I no longer want to live.
And even beyond that, deserve to live.
That piece of my decision has never changed. Will never change. I know I’m not the one who should be here, continuing on with what Colby and I had built together. He’s the one who should be here.
Even if Lizzy has opened a door in me, let in a slip of light, of hope, none of that erases this second truth.
She drops her camera to her chest, lifts a hand and waves at us. Her smile hooks something low inside me and literally brings me to my feet, walking me across the square to where she is standing.
“You have to see,” she says, flipping the back of the camera open and clicking through some of the images she’s just taken. “It’s incredible. More than I ever imagined.”
“They’re beautiful, Lizzy. The setting is beautiful. But so is your interpretation.”
She looks up at me then, and I nearly regret the words. I see how they validate her, and I wish that it were someone else bringing this feeling alive in her. Someone who is not me.
She reaches out then and presses her palm to my face. Her touch is like electricity surging through me, turning off my brain to all reason. I dip in and kiss her, fully, without any attempt to hide exactly how much I want to kiss her.
Her camera is pressed between the two of us. She places her other hand on it and then slides her fingers up my chest until they are at the side of my face, her touch tender in a way that breaks something inside me. I change the tone of the kiss to reflect that same tenderness.
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