The Sweet Life

by Sharon Struth

  Another passenger, whose name Julian didn’t remember, loudly shared a joke. A roar of laugher rose above the table. Mamie’s eyes brightened and full lips curled upward, softening the tension—or maybe pure sadness—he’d sensed earlier. What caused such misery in her wet eyes as they’d neared Monteriggioni? Was it an illness, as he suspected, or something else?

  Once he finished reading the poem on the bus, Julian almost asked her if something was wrong. He’d stopped himself just in time. No sense in getting involved. He had enough problems of his own.

  With the thought, hardness engrained in his heart since losing his parents wobbled and stole his emotional footing. Since watching Carlos die on that jump, the horrible hot air balloon fire that had taken his parents’ lives twisted into his subconscious every single day. Helplessness and unsatisfied desire to save them had left Julian with lifelong regret, only compounded by the latest tragedy. Now, he could not stop thinking about them.

  The food at his side lost all appeal as he wallowed in disgust for himself over the role he’d played in the loss of another life.

  He again focused on the pretty stranger, taking a deep breath and exhaling to get rid of the negative thoughts pummeling him. Mamie. Unusual name, but it suited her. She smiled again at someone’s remark and Julian breathed in her delight from across the room. Maybe he’d done one right thing by letting her join them. A small contribution toward helping whatever mysterious thing ailed her.

  Julian left the doorway and pulled up a stool near the food. Only a fool would let this wonderful meal go to waste. He selected another crostini, better than thinking about his problems. “You’ve outdone yourself, Saburo.”

  “There’s more to come.”

  Julian patted his gut. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

  “We need to fatten you up.” The rotund chef grinned and patted his own extended belly. “Like me.”

  Julian’s cell phone buzzed and he pulled it from his front shirt pocket. The display showed Josef’s name.

  “Hey, buddy.” Julian’s mood lifted at the call from one of his closest friends at Wanderlust Excursions. “Where are you this week?”

  “Naples. I’ve got a lively group of forty singles that are in a chorus. The Singing Singles.” Josef’s German accent delivered the line rather straight, but Julian detected light sarcasm in his tone. “I swear, you can’t make this shit up. We’re headed north to the lakes over the next eight days. What about you?”

  “Smaller group. Survivors of the famous Woodstock concert. They’re pretty fun. We’re doing Tuscany.”

  “I heard, from Claudia.”

  Julian had always suspected the German tour owner and Josef were closer than either let on. Since Claudia insisted everyone follow her rules, though, Julian wasn’t surprised they were both quiet about it.

  “My tour is scheduled to head north after Naples and we’ll be in Siena for a couple days. Want to get a drink while I’m there?”

  They worked out the details and were saying goodbye when a thought occurred to Julian. “Hey, question.”

  “Ja?”

  “You know the company rule about transferring trip packages to other people?”

  “The one Claudia fired a guy two years ago for abusing?”

  Julian put down his fork, the food suddenly like lead weight in his gut. “Yeah, that one.”

  “Why?” Josef asked, saying the “w” sound with a “v.”

  “Just reviewing the rules.”

  “It’s still a rule.”

  Julian should’ve kept his big mouth closed. “Thanks. I’d better run. Looking forward to that drink.”

  He hung up just as Saburo came over carrying a plate of thick pappardelle noodles covered with a meaty red sauce in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.

  “Here you go.” He placed the dish in front of him. “A little red wine to go with it?” Saburo arched his thick dark brows.

  Julian nodded as he eyed the Chianti, a surefire way to cure his woes. “Make it a large.”

  * * * *

  Mamie tied her bathrobe tighter, crawled beneath the bed covers, and tucked a pillow behind her back. She sent a text to Allison, to let her boss know she’d arrived safely. No point in mentioning the problems on arrival since she’d worked them out on her own. She reached for a notebook and pen on the nightstand and started to write.

  So far, Wanderlust Excursions got good grades. Julian proved to be knowledgeable and knew many locals. Beppe, though a fast driver, loved to joke and offered a smile to everyone. The Siena hotel decor pulled off contemporary and Tuscan in the same breath, and offered their guests million-dollar views of the countryside.

  The restaurant where they’d eaten left her certain about one thing: Italian food back home would never be the same. The feast spread before them tonight was worthy of a meal for the Medici family—who once ruled the region in the fifteenth century, she’d learned. Wild boar ragu sauce over pappardelle noodles would live forever in her dreams.

  She grunted as she leaned across the bed for her camera, her stomach so full she admitted she’d better pace herself with food on this trip. Flipping through the photos, she studied in more detail a vibrant hand-painted Tuscan countryside mural hanging in the main dining room, not far from the stone fireplace. Rustic goldenrod walls and flickering candlelight gave the room a certain romance. Almost a shame for her to have wasted the mood on a dinner with twenty-five people old enough to be her parents. But when she reached a group photo taken with her camera by the waiter, it struck her how she wouldn’t change a thing about tonight.

  She never wanted to forget these people. They’d welcomed her to their group, no questions asked. Reaching to the nightstand, she lifted the nametag Bernie had insisted she wear as an honorary member. Bob Leon, apparently the group’s secretary at large, pressed her for her favorite Woodstock song as he wrote her name on a blank tag. She only knew a few, but one of them suited her life. Running a finger along the words, only she understood why Janis Joplin’s “Piece of my Heart” held any meaning.

  As she placed it on the bed to her side, she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long in her life to visit Italy. A place rich in history, culture, and culinary treats.

  She lowered the camera and lifted her notebook, going straight to her short bucket list. At dinner, while the others talked about sights they wanted to photograph on the group’s free time, Mamie thought about how to fill this page.

  Earlier, she’d considered asking Julian for some advice. The idea disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Since he wasn’t thrilled about her being on the bus in the first place, her more adventurous plans might cause him some mild hysteria.

  Her cell phone rang. Allison’s name flashed in the display and Mamie answered right away.

  “Hope I didn’t wake you. I couldn’t remember if it was a five or six-hour time difference.”

  “I’m up. It’s six hours I think, almost ten here.”

  “Thanks for the text letting me know you got to the hotel. Did you have any problems with the tour company?”

  “I almost did. The guy in charge didn’t want to let me join them.” She explained about the communication problem. “I guess Felix never contacted them.”

  “So how’d you get on?”

  “The tour is a bunch of former Woodstock concert attendees. I think their chants in my support may have tipped the scales.”

  Allison laughed. “Holy cow. That three-day concert sure toughened them up.”

  “Just like you want this trip to toughen me?”

  “Nah, you’re already tough. You’re just rusty on how to use it. Is it beautiful there?”

  “It’s almost beyond words.” It struck Mamie even after one day here any visitor could love this place. But she wanted to understand the mystery of Tuscany. What was really behind the charm that lured i
n so many unsuspecting visitors?

  “Well, you’d better find some words. That’s why we sent you.”

  “If not, another glass of Chianti will inspire me.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’ll shoot off an email to Felix to notify someone he transferred his ticket.”

  “Don’t bother at this point.” Mamie didn’t want Julian to get in trouble for getting approval after letting her on board. “I think the director took care of it.”

  They said they’d be in contact later in the tour and hung up. Mamie reached for her laptop and jumped headfirst into a search for out-of-the-ordinary things to do in the region.

  The search hit the jackpot. Her excitement mounted as she read about paragliding outside of Pisa, hot air balloon rides, cave exploration, and riding the countryside on scooters. Ted-worthy activities. She scribbled the ideas onto her list. A few, like the hot air balloon or paragliding, seemed terrifying. All the more reason to add them.

  A half hour later, she stopped writing and admired the results. Ted would’ve loved this.

  Once in the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and stared at her face in the mirror. Dark circles beneath her eyes belied the tremor of excitement making her pulse sail.

  Less than forty-eight hours ago, fear gripped her over the notion of stepping foot on a plane. Now, after a full day in a foreign land, pride swelled inside her chest, something missing for five years. When she’d forgotten how to live and only existed.

  A day of living a little sure felt damn good. Two weeks of this and maybe the fog of her life would finally clear.

  Chapter 3

  Julian entered the hotel restaurant. Coffee. With any luck, it would help wake him up. More damn nightmares had disrupted his sleep. Would they ever end? Considering the busy day planned in San Gimignano, lack of sleep was about the last thing he needed.

  He nodded to a table where several people from the tour sat eating breakfast. At this early hour, he was glad to spot many of them already seated at the round tables covered with white linens.

  He yawned on the way to a well-stocked breakfast buffet, tossed some cheese on a roll, and grabbed a coffee.

  “Hey, Julian? Got a sec?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to a table near the room’s old brick wall. A man with short salt-and-pepper hair from the Wanderers waved him over. Across from him was the blond woman who sat at his side on the bus.

  Julian glanced at their nametags, mentally remembered their names, and put on his best tour director smile. “Morning, Joel. Tina.”

  Joel jumped right in. “Listen, I enjoyed the short tour last night and am really looking forward to today. History is a bit of a hobby for me.”

  Tina raised one of her light brows and laughed. “Hobby? An understatement if there ever was one.”

  Joel affectionately grinned at her. “Okay, so history is a bit of an obsession.”

  “For me, too,” Julian said. “Italy is the place for history. Listen, feel free to share anything I forget, or ask questions.”

  Tina cracked the shell on a hard-boiled egg while nodding to an empty chair. “Would you like to join us? You two can catch up on the fall of the Roman Empire or something.”

  Julian chuckled. “Much as I’d love to, I’ve got paperwork to finish before we leave. But we’ll talk on the bus.”

  He headed through the lobby and up the stairs for the hotel rooftop, his thoughts drifting to last night in Monteriggioni. From his perch at the kitchen door, Julian had listened to the group’s stories about Woodstock, keeping him far more entertained than he could remember in ages. His last tour, a group of morticians from the Northeast, had been a subdued group. The only time their energy picked up came during a visit to the Catacombs of Priscilla, Rome.

  The Wanderers displayed a continued passion for peace, love, and rock n’ roll after over fifty years. A purpose. The way he’d felt when doing the show, when each exploit became another important chapter in his book of life.

  This past year, he finally recognized how those days were really spent adding empty content. Or as Jenny had said some four years ago when she’d handed him back his engagement ring, “Julian, you’re emotionally vacant.”

  An uncomfortable sensation stirred inside him. Maybe Jenny’s observation carried some truth.

  While watching the group’s antics last night, Julian couldn’t take his eyes off Mamie. Her face would brighten like a hundred-watt bulb at each joke. Gone was the raw pain he’d spotted in her gaze on the bus. For some reason, her happiness made him glad. So maybe his ex-fiancée was wrong.

  Halfway up the hotel stairs, Jenny’s comment persisted, though. Truth was, the day his parents’ died a part of himself had died, too. He’d seen it all. The descent. The landing cable getting caught in the helium tube. The blinding flash of light. And the explosion.

  A chill ran down Julian’s spine and he hurried up the steps before the pain that usually smothered overtook him. Bursting onto the rooftop patio, he sucked in a lungful of crisp morning air and took in fog-layered hills where the mist was beginning to rise. His state of mind slowly returned to normal.

  A family sat at a table in one corner, so he went to the opposite side. As he took a seat, he spotted Mamie with her arms resting on the bricked rooftop surround, her face tilted to the morning sun. A soft smiled enhanced her lips. Pretty lips. Full and pink and complementing her dark, curious eyes.

  Today, she’d brushed out her chestnut hair and it touched her shoulders. Cropped pants, a simple top, and white slip-on sneakers suggested a practical side—not a woman who’d attempt sightseeing in heels.

  A gentle breeze blew her hair. She blinked, stood upright, and scanned the view one more time before turning around.

  Her gaze landed on him. “Oh, hello. Or should I say...Ciao?” She frowned. He hoped it wasn’t because it looked like he’d just gone to hell and back, but found himself relieved when she added, “There are too many ways to say hello in Italy.”

  “Buongiorno is what they say in the morning. Literally, it means good day. Enjoying the view?”

  She stepped toward him. All the tiredness evident in her eyes yesterday had disappeared, replaced with a fresh, rested look. “It’s magnificent.”

  He motioned to the chair across from him and took a bite of his roll.

  She sat on the seat’s edge. “You speak such good Italian, but I don’t hear an accent in your English.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed the food. “I have dual citizenship between here and the U.S. Growing up, we owned a house in Cinque Terre. The Italian Riviera.”

  “Wow. Sounds like quite the life.”

  “No complaints.” He smiled and sipped his coffee, even though his answer wasn’t completely true.

  She glanced out to the hills along the horizon, her thoughts her own.

  “Your empty passport needs some stamps. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  She glanced his way. “I suppose. This might be my only trip. It just sort of fell upon me. My uncle, offering it to me and all.”

  “Quite generous of him.”

  “Yes.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “Exactly why I want to make the most of it. There were some excursions in the region that I wanted to check into.”

  “You’ll enjoy our visits to the hilltop towns. There’s even an organic vineyard tour in Chianti, a favorite with our passengers.” God, he sounded like a recording. When had he stopped being...himself?

  “Yes. Those sound nice. But I also saw parasailing just outside of Lucca, and hot air balloon rides.” She spoke quickly and excitement brewed in her eyes. “Oh, and scooter rides in the country.”

  “Sorry, but we won’t be doing those on our tour.”

  “I know. I figured I’d try them on my own time.”

  If she got hurt, Claudia would have his head for two reasons. “I’d rat
her you didn’t. I don’t need any problems.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like an accident. Remember, I let you join the tour but it violates my employer’s rules. If you get hurt, I’ll need to report it to my boss. Then she’ll know I let somebody on without her authorization.”

  She considered him for a moment. “They have guides. These things seem safe.”

  “Accidents happen.” The words made Julian’s gut tighten as the wing suit nightmare danced on the outskirts of his thoughts.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Technically, he couldn’t stop her. Hell, technically, he shouldn’t have let her on the bus.

  She stood before he could answer. “The Wallburgs invited me to join them for breakfast. I’m getting the full surrogate daughter treatment.”

  “Sandra and Bernie. Friendly couple.”

  She smiled, almost shyly. “They’re sweet. Another reason to love it here.” She turned toward the hills. A breeze lifted her dark hair, exposing her long neck. “This view...I simply can’t get over it.”

  “It never gets old.”

  She twirled around and looked at him, her eyes glistening. Tears? “I’d better go eat. See you on the bus.”

  “Eight forty-five. Sharp.”

  “I won’t be late. I swear.” She raised her hand with the palm flat. “Scouts honor.”

  “Are you a scout?”

  “Back in elementary school. I think using this still counts.”

  “Okay, then. I’m holding you to it.” He grinned, feeling lighter than when he’d arrived on the rooftop.

  She smiled and walked to the open door leading back inside the hotel.

  “Hey,” he yelled.

  Mamie turned around.

  “I’ve got something exciting you can do that you didn’t mention.”

  “Oh?” Those pretty eyes of hers widened.

  “How’d you like to climb a tower here in Siena with me one day before we leave for the villa? It’s five hundred steps into the sky.”

  She laughed gently and the hard weight inside his chest lifted further. “It sounds enjoyable, but climbing a tower hardly qualifies as the type of excitement I’m seeking. Unless we’re scaling the outside wall?” She raised a brow and her lips lifted in a playful smile.