by Kristin Rae
I lounge alone on the deck surrounding the pool. I like the chair that Gram always sat in. It makes me feel closer to her somehow, more connected, to touch things she touched. To sit where she sat.
The morning sun warms my skin more than I expected, and I’m just about to jump in the pool when my phone buzzes on the little table next to my chair, a sound I’m still getting used to after not hearing it all summer. Chiara’s name illuminates the screen.
“Chiara!”
“Ciao, Pippa! Come stai?”
“Oh, it’s so good to hear Italian, I can’t even tell you.” I sigh. “I’m okay. It’s been tough.”
“I am still so very sorry. I feel as though I should be there with you. For you.”
“I wish you were here too,” I say, fighting to keep the emotions under control. “How are you? Are you in New York yet?”
“Yes! I arrived early this morning and this is the soonest I could call you. We are in the same country once again!”
We laugh together. “Are you so excited to start school?” I ask.
“Sì! But I must tell you, it is hotter here than it was back home. Truly miserable.”
“It’s warm here too, but the wind helps.” I adjust the phone on my sweaty ear. “Hey, Chiara?”
“Cosa?”
“I thought you said you didn’t see Darren after I left.”
“I did not see him. I am sorry—”
“But I got a note in the mail from him. On the back of a picture he took of me in Rome.”
“È vero? What did it say?”
“Only that he missed me.”
“That is sweet,” she says. “But how—you gave him your address somehow?”
“No …” My eyebrows press together. She’s not breaking.
My phone beeps in my ear that I’ve got another call coming through. It’s a number I don’t recognize so I let it go to voice mail.
“Chiara, if you’re keeping this a secret for him or something, I think it’s safe to tell me now.”
“I promise to you. I did not know what you had planned. I only wish I had been there to meet him for you.”
“Well, this is all too weird then,” I conclude, truly stumped. Surely my home address isn’t that easy to find on the Internet. I mean, I spent hours looking for Darren to no avail. Apparently he’s not that into social networking.
“Sì. Questo è strano.” Chiara mutters something in rapid Italian to someone on her end, then says, “Mi dispiace. I must go now. Liana and I are going to shop in the city!”
“Okay, have fun! I miss you,” I say.
“I miss you. Addio, Pippa.”
We hang up, and I click on my voice mail button from the missed call.
“Wow, there’s a voice I miss hearing. It’s Darren. I really want to talk to you. You can call back this number. It’s my cell. Hope to hear from you soon. Bye.”
Holy. Crap. He has my number too!
I press CALL BACK and my pulse pounds in my ears. But it’s a short ring. Straight to voice mail. No. This is not happening. I hang up and try again. It goes to voice mail even faster this time, but I let it run so I can hear his voice.
“Hey, this is Darren’s cell. Leave a message and I maybe might possibly call you back. If you’re lucky.”
I clear my throat just before the beep. “Hi, Darren. It’s Pippa. I was actually on the phone with Chiara when you called. I can’t believe you have my number, but I’m so glad you do. I can’t wait to talk to you. Call me. Bye.”
I program his number into the contacts and listen to his message a few more times. Then I stare at my phone for ten minutes before I allow myself to get in the pool. Turning the ringer all the way up, I nestle it in the middle of a beach towel so I can reach it without getting out of the water. Just in case.
Chapter Forty-Two
“Pippa!” Mom shouts to me from the back door. “Another letter from Italy.”
In what feels like slow motion, I race through the water and up the ladder to meet her. She sets the envelope and a sandwich with carrot sticks on the table.
She studies me, looking me over from head to toe as I dry off. “You’re so tan.”
“Spent a lot of time outside,” I say slowly, fingers crossed that she doesn’t want to talk too much about my summer of lies.
“And I don’t think I told you yet, but I like that dark hair on you.” She grabs a carrot off the plate and crunches. “Your roots are coming in, though. Maybe next week I can take you to get it touched up? Maybe bring Morgan too? We could get mani-pedis.” She finishes her carrot and smiles. The first smile I’ve seen from her in ages.
“That sounds great, Mom.”
“Hey, Pippa! Mrs. Preston.” Morgan appears from inside the house. “I rang the bell but no one answered, so I figured you were back here.”
“Hi, Morgan,” Mom says. “We were just talking about the three of us going to get makeovers next week. How does that sound?”
“Uh … great! I’m free!” She takes a seat across the table from me under the umbrella.
“Excellent, I’ll make the arrangements.” With a pointed look to me she adds, “But I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten all the trouble you’re in. The coach always turns back into a pumpkin.”
I crinkle my nose. A small part of me thought she might let it go. “I know.”
She smiles, satisfied with her new parenting style, and heads for the house. “Would you like a sandwich too, Morgan?” she calls before opening the door.
“No, thanks. I already ate.” She waits for Mom to disappear inside before shooting me a Who is this woman and what did she do with your mother? glance.
“I know. I keep waiting for her to slip back to her old ways.”
“You think she will?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” I say, munching on a carrot and fingering the padded yellow mailer. “Bring your suit?”
“You know it.” She flashes me a pink strap near her neck. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Your tan is amazing.”
“Right? I hope it lasts. Hey,” I say, investigating the penmanship on the address. “This isn’t Darren’s writing.”
She leans onto the table. “You got another one?”
“Yeah, but this one’s different.”
I pull the tab and peek inside to find a smaller envelope. Inside that one is a stack of euros. I count it out. Six hundred.
A Post-it note is stuck to the last bill. It’s written in Italian.
“Can you read that?” Morgan asks, on the edge of her seat.
I read it slowly, piecing together what I know with guesses at the words between.
“I think it says: ‘Pippa, I’m sorry about everything and I want to thank you. You have helped me more than you can know. You have helped me become a better me. A thousand thanks. With love, Bruno.’”
“You can read Italian!” she squeals. “That’s so unreal.”
I read through the note again, gaining confidence in my interpretation.
“It’s seriously pretty. Like from a board game,” Morgan says, investigating the bright green bills. “Why did Bruno send you money, though?”
“I lent him some.” I can’t help but smile. There might be hope for him after all.
We swim for a little while, then lie out on the lawn chairs. Morgan’s engrossed in some biography, and I bring out the red leather journal from my trip, opening it to the next blank page. I’d decided to write out the entire story of my summer, starting at the very beginning when my parents announced I’d be going. So far I’ve written up to the part where I see Darren in the metro.
My phone blares on the little table between us and we both jump. I hastily mute the ringer, then nearly drop it when I see the name.
I gasp. “It’s Darren.”
“WHAT?” She rotates in her chair to face me, throwing her book down. “Freaking answer it! What are you doing?”
I answer the call and swallow, talking myself into staying calm so as no
t to appear psycho. “Hey!” I say, excited yet relatively restrained, considering who’s on the other end of the line.
“Hey, you.” His familiar, rough voice melts my insides.
“How are you?” I ask, cheeks killing me from smiling so hard.
“I’m great now. You? How’s your grandmother?”
“Oh,” I say, my shoulders falling. I catch eyes with Morgan and her smile fades as she tries to read my face. “She passed away actually. Before I got home.”
“Oh, Pippa. I’m so sorry.”
My chest is tight. “But … how did you know something happened to her?”
“When I went to meet you, Bruno told me what was going on.”
“Bruno did?” I ask, shocked. Morgan’s eyes widen as she deciphers the other half of the conversation.
“Yeah, he brought me to the apartment and had me copy down your contact info since we’re totally lame and never exchanged on our own.”
“Totally lame,” I agree. “I can’t believe you guys actually conversed.”
“Please, he’s my new BFF.” Darren cough-laughs. “So, what are you up to today?”
“Morgan and I are just hanging out by the pool.”
“Oh yeah? Hey, pass the phone to her for a minute.”
“To Morgan?”
“Yeah, I still need to thank her for making you that little journal thing.”
“Okay … hang on.”
I hold the phone out to her and she raises an eyebrow expertly. I mouth he wants to talk to you and she takes it from me.
“Hello? Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you too.… Wha—Oh.” She holds up a finger, wraps a towel around her waist and whispers, “I’ll be right back,” before scampering into the house.
“Do you have to take him with you?” I shout after her.
I grunt and return to my journal. I write a few lines but it’s impossible to concentrate.
The back door opens again a few minutes later and I stand, fully prepared to wrestle the phone away from her. But Morgan’s not standing in my backyard.
“Hey, you.”
I blink. He’s here. Dark-red T-shirt, brown fedora. I blink again. The corner of his mouth turns up and I take off in a sprint, fly down the stairs of the deck, and jump into his arms, which he wraps tight around me.
His hand cups the back of my head and repeatedly strokes my damp hair. Our bodies sway back and forth, and I slowly slide down until my feet touch the ground. I take a step back to study him.
“You’re a hat guy again.” I grin. “But, that means—” I gasp when I pull the hat off him. “Your hair! You cut it!” I reach up and rake my hand through his subdued curls, more like waves now.
“I cut it for you.” His hands at my bare waist send shivers through my core.
“I liked the curls, you know.”
“You thought I had a perm!” He leans his head back and laughs fully. “That’s the very definition of not liking the curls.”
I giggle and shrug. “They grew on me. But this can grow on me too.”
I circle my arms around his middle and press my cheek against his baby-smooth face. “I’m so sorry I never got to meet you that morning.” My body shudders.
“Hey,” he whispers into my ear. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I was worried I might not see you again. And then when Gram died, I—” The threat of tears choke out my words.
“I’m so sorry.” He strokes my hair again and presses his lips against my forehead.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, clasping his hand in mine. “Where were you when you left that voice mail earlier today?”
“Ah … I was waiting for my connection in Newark. I was supposed to fly home, but I changed my ticket for Chicago last minute. Like, seriously last minute. I was the last person on the plane before they closed the cabin door.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says. “I had your address, so I crossed my fingers that you were home.”
“Risky.”
“Worth it, though. Here we are.” He rubs his thumb along mine.
“Here we are.”
We move to sit side by side on the deck and dangle our legs in the water.
“Hey,” he says, waiting for me to look at him.
I smile as he leans in and presses his lips against mine. He palms the side of my face and I reach around the back of his neck, pulling him closer and hastily deepening the kiss, making up for lost time.
A little groan of relief escapes his throat. “I’ve been waiting for so long to do that.”
“Me too.”
“I missed your eyes,” he says, killing me with his intense stare.
“About that. Why did you say you’re afraid of green eyes?”
He chuckles. “I’m not afraid of all of them. Just yours.”
“Why?”
He meets my gaze head-on and inhales deeply. “Because when you look at me, you really look at me, like you’re actually listening and really care about what I have to say. From the first time I met you … I knew I was in trouble.”
“I think I knew too.” I lean against his shoulder, our legs entwined under the water.
“So, how did everything work out in the end? How did your parents deal with the subterfugery?” He looks behind us cautiously as if we’re about to get caught breaking the rules.
“I’m pretty much grounded until further notice.”
I steal a glance at the house and spot Morgan and Mom peeking through the window, but they back away as soon as I catch them. I’m surprised Mom is giving Darren and me so much time alone. Thank you, Morgan.
“Really? How bad could it be though, if Morgan’s here?”
“Oh, well … they’ve been a little relaxed because of Gram’s passing, but I’ve been assured once school starts my life will be all work and no play.” I kick my feet under the water and watch the surface swirl.
“Well, we better take advantage.” He pulls me in for another kiss and when we break apart, I’m overcome with laughter. This is so the opposite of how I saw my summer ending even just a few hours ago.
“You’re really here. I can’t get over it.”
“When I called and heard your voice mail greeting this morning, something inside me just clicked. I had to see you. Today.” He leans toward me until our foreheads press together, his fingertips trailing torturously slowly up and down each of my arms. “I tried all summer to talk myself out of liking you, to stay away from Cinque Terre once I knew you were there. Especially when I thought you might be with someone else. But I couldn’t. I want to make this work, Pippa. I know we met for a reason.” His breath is warm on my face as he whispers, “I can’t not be with you.”
I close my eyes and absorb his words. He wants to make this work. I want to make this work. It will. Somehow.
“You really like me that much?”
I hear him swallow. “I’m not sure like is a strong enough word.”
I lift my chin until our lips meet in a sweet, gentle kiss. And then I ruin it when I surrender to another giggle fit.
He leans away to look at me, alarmed. “Why is that funny?”
“No no no, I’m not laughing at you.” I stroke his wrist with my thumb. “It’s just … I actually brought a guy home from Italy. This is crazy.”
He relaxes a little. “What do you mean?”
“Remember when I told you about that list of goals Morgan had me write out at the beginning of my trip?”
“Yeah.”
“Ugh, this is going to seem so stupid to you.” I pause to get the last bit of laughter out, preparing myself for what I’m about to reveal to him. “One of my goals was to fall in love with an Italian.”
The dimples pop in his cheeks before he draws out, “Reaaally?”
“I was going to fall in love and bring him home with me when summer was over. But I just had to eat gelato before dinner, and there you were, throwing me off course on my first day in
the country.”
Now he laughs. “So I foiled your master plan, huh?” he asks, and I nod with pouty lips. “Am I that hard to resist?” He straightens, smoothing out the front of his shirt.
“Well, you kept popping up everywhere! How was I supposed to fall in love with anyone else?” My hands are shaking so I slide them underneath me. “It was a silly game anyway.”
“I don’t—wait.” Color spreads through his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”
Is that was I was saying? Am I in love with him?
I’m mute. All I can do is stare at him, soak him up.
Darren gets a spacey look on his face as he pats at the surface of the water with his feet, mumbling something that sounds like, “Oh, my parents are gonna love this story.”
“What?”
He ignores me and looks behind us. “That’s the journal on your chair, right?” He holds out a hand, demanding to see it. “Show me this list.”
I grab it and turn directly to the page with the list.
He takes it from me and holds out his hand again. “Pen?”
I eye him curiously but he doesn’t say anything, so I hand the pen over too.
He makes a humming sound in his throat as he studies my handwriting, then says, “Ciao.” When I don’t respond, he says it again and holds out his hand for me to shake. “Sono Darren.”
My eyes widen when I realize what he’s doing. “Ciao. Sono Pippa.”
He squeezes my hand. “Che bel nome, Pippa.”
I blush because I can’t help myself. He thinks my name is pretty. And I forgot how hot it is when he speaks Italian. “Grazie.”
“Arrivederci.”
I wave as if we really are going to part ways. “Arrivederci.”
Darren clicks the pen into action and strikes through “Have a conversation with someone in only Italian.” It wasn’t exactly my original plan, and it’s elementary at best, but it had a beginning, middle, and end. And summer’s not over yet, so I’m counting it.
The pen touches the paper again at the bottom of the page and I freeze as he draws a slow, thick line through “Fall in love with an Italian.”