The Sweet Life

by Sharon Struth

  “Oh, I see. Never mind.” He lifted his mug and drank some coffee, but watched her over the lip.

  Her hands slipped onto her hips and she narrowed her eyes. “You see what?”

  He chewed and swallowed. “You’re scared.”

  A dangerous grin crossed her lips and... There it was again. Another glimpse of the confidence she possessed that convinced him to let her join the tour.

  She shook her head. “Reverse psychology? Are you kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, Mr. Tour Director. In fact, I’ll bet you ten euros I beat you to the top.”

  “You’re on.”

  She turned and disappeared down the hotel stairs. Mamie proved herself a walking and breathing conundrum; sadness mingled with bravado. What made her tick? Jesus, was he crazy for even wondering?

  Probably. He sure didn’t need a passenger who seemed hell-bent on doing things that could get him in trouble. Best to keep an eye on her. Losing this job was a chance he couldn’t take, both for financial and personal reasons.

  Would he ever be able to return to the job he once had?

  * * * *

  “This street is the Via S. Matteo.” Julian walked backward on the cobblestone pavement, facing their group.

  The flaps of his cotton button-down shirt hung on the outside of his jeans and his closed-toe leather sandals slapped the cobblestone. Who was this man? Sandy-brown curls brushed his neck and a handsome face hid behind a trimmed mustache and short beard. The appearance of a painter or craftsman, not quite what she’d have expected from their guide.

  After their talk on the rooftop, she found herself curious. More than she wanted to be. He obsessed over the rules, and yet it didn’t seem true to the man who stood before her. Just a feeling she got, confirmed by the way his eyes flickered when he’d said, “Accidents happen.”

  He stopped and motioned for them to gather round. “Shortly, I’ll be giving you an hour and a half for lunch. You might want to return to this area to eat or check out the local wares. Then we’ll be heading for the Duomo of San Gimignano. On the outside, it’s a simple church, but the frescos inside shouldn’t be missed. They were painted back in the middle ages.”

  Julian paused, as if he expected “oohs” and “ahs,” but the tour members listened with half an ear. Most of them were either taking photos or gazing into shop windows.

  “Anyway, if you decide against our afternoon plans and want to explore on your own, please tell me before lunch and make sure you return to the van by four.”

  Last night a church. Today another. There’d probably be one at each stop. If Ted were standing at her side, he’d say, “Mamie, honey. Let it go—this is about these beautiful paintings done on wet plaster during the Renaissance. Not your lost faith.” His uncomplicated outlook on life made everything light and easy.

  “Folks, listen up.”

  Mamie returned her attention to Julian, committed to the idea of visiting the church.

  “After lunch we’ll also climb the Torre Grossa—translated it means ‘big tower.’ It’s the only one of fourteen remaining towers open to the public.” He glanced around the group. “Climbing is optional.”

  “Julian, Julian,” Bob piped in from the back of the crowd while shaking his head. His wife, a quiet woman named Carol, stood at his side watching her husband with an unreadable expression. “Don’t worry. If you need a hand, you can get a little help from your new friends here.” He winked. “Right, gang?”

  Most nodded their agreement with smiles. Julian blurted out a laugh. His face softened, making the near-constant state of deep thought he carried vanish. “Ah, so you mean...” He raised a brow then cleared his throat. Using perfect pitch, he sang a line from the Beatles song about getting by with some help from his friends—not quite as good as Paul McCartney, but not bad either.

  “Hey, Cocker did that at Woodstock,” yelled a man from the back that Mamie didn’t know well yet. Julian nodded but didn’t stop singing.

  Suddenly, the Wanderers joined him. Tourists, store clerks, and wait staff watched, some surprised, others amused. Mamie listened, but then Ted’s voice whispered in her ear, “Have fun, join in,” so she picked up at the chorus. When they finished, the spontaneous moment of song left her feeling strangely free.

  They continued the tour, trudging up a hill. Tina came up from behind and fell in line with Mamie’s steps.

  A strand of thin blond hair fell loose from her low ponytail. “Little does Julian know, we seniors come prepared for anything. I’m wearing my Easy Spirits and brought along cream for my lower back. Nothing will stop me from enjoying this trip.”

  Mamie laughed. “First, you don’t look like a senior. And second, I may need to borrow that cream.”

  “Hon, it’s all yours.”

  They walked in comfortable silence. Mamie breathed in every sight and smell. Storefronts filled with cheeses, sweets, ceramics, and beautiful woodwork beckoned for her to return.

  “So, you and Julian, you’re getting along now?” Raised brows on Tina’s sweet face gave away her curiosity.

  “Sure. He was just worried about breaking the company rules when I arrived. Can’t say I blame him.”

  “Funny.” She twisted her nose, peeling from a little sunburn. “He doesn’t strike me as the worrying type, and yet, he’s a real mother hen.” She laughed and motioned up front. “Oh, my Joel. Already glued to Julian’s side. God, if only he hung on every word I said the way he does when someone’s talking about history.”

  Mamie laughed, remembering that Ted used to do the same to her. “Men are funny like that. Before he—” She’d almost fumbled, forgetting her story in this world was a made-up one. “Before we divorced, my ex used to do it too.”

  “Mine too. I thought when I started dating Joel he wouldn’t take on husband-like qualities. But after five years of living together, it’s exactly the same.”

  For the first time since losing Ted, Mamie tried to imagine herself with another man. It wasn’t easy, though.

  After seeing two more sights, they stopped. Julian reiterated the afternoon plans, adding, “After lunch, we’ll meet at the Piazza della Cisterna, the town square with the well in the center. Let’s say at one-thirty.” His gaze drifted to Mamie. “Sharp.”

  She pointed to her chest. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Did I say your name?” Julian grinned as he glanced at the others. “Did I say her?”

  “I hope not,” Bernie chimed in. “She was on time this morning.”

  “Yes. I guess she was.” Julian’s eyes softened and warmth niggled inside her chest. She got the feeling in check, considering her job required she spy on his tour.

  Tina turned to her. “Want to join us while we eat?”

  “I think I’ll wander around.” She’d gone from days alone working in her condo to being set in the midst of a large crowd overnight. A bit of peace would be welcome. “But I’ll see you at the church.”

  Mamie headed back to Via S. Matteo, her head held high. People would see her and think she was a woman who could walk around Italy alone, not someone who hated to leave her own house.

  Soon she reached the cobblestone hill they’d been at earlier and passed by stores filled with trinkets, clothing, wine, and food, all begging for her to enter. Pausing at a bakery window, Mamie gazed at the delectable goodies and her stomach growled. She went inside and left with a cookie she ate while walking. A shop with beautiful Tuscan ceramics so pretty she wanted to buy them all drew her inside. She entered, popping the last piece of cookie in her mouth.

  A dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her forties peeked up from the register and smiled. “Buongiorno. Let me know if I can help.”

  “Grazie.”

  How easily she’d started to use some of her limited Italian. She wandered along the rows of gifts, committed to
purchasing at least one memento from each town she visited. A shelf filled with smooth, opaque figurines caught her eye and she lifted one carved into an elephant.

  “Those are made from alabaster,” the shopkeeper said as she unpacked some new merchandise near the register. “A stone native to Tuscany, near Volterra.”

  “They’re beautiful.” She lowered the elephant and picked up a few other carvings.

  At a basket filled with alabaster hearts, she lifted one. She ran a finger over the smooth stone. Zoe would’ve loved these. A permanent scab on her heart reopened, again leaving raw and fresh pain. Sometimes it was a TV show. Or a sound. A word. Even a scent. Always unanticipated, it would leave her momentarily numb with only her memories.

  She clutched the cool stone in her palm, closing her eyes and embracing her sadness. Seconds passed then she inhaled, opened her eyes, and reached in the basket for a second heart. One for each of them.

  She walked to the register, acting as if she hadn’t almost been taken down. “I’m still shopping, but definitely getting these.” She carefully placed the two hearts on the counter, refusing to let grief steal these first big steps on her own.

  She spent five minutes admiring the ceramics, so pretty she almost forgot her problems. After deciding glass wouldn’t travel well, she wandered to some stone items as the doorbell sounded.

  “Andiamo, Lanzo!” A young girl entered, her head turned to look back over her shoulder.

  “Emilia! Shhh.” The woman behind the counter gave her a stern look.

  “Sì, mamma.”

  Her dark hair was cut to her chin and she mimicked a fairy in white leggings and a puffy skirt. A stylish sort of fairy. A boy followed behind her, who Mamie guessed was Lanzo. They ran to the woman at the counter and emphatically kept asking her for something, while she only shook her head. Mamie didn’t need to speak the language to understand that kids and parents were the same everywhere.

  She focused on the girl, who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. About the age Zoe would’ve been now. Mamie rode the wave of grief, trying to concentrate on a display of necklaces made from round, flat pieces of gold while the feeling passed. Each medallion contained wording written in Italian and ended with a dash and the name Dante. Julian had shared something about Dante on the bus yesterday, but she couldn’t remember what. Joel might remember.

  After reaching into her purse for her phrase book, she dissected the quote by each word, starting with bellezza. According to the book, it meant beauty.

  The woman appeared at her side. “You need me to translate?”

  “Sì. Grazie. Can you tell me what this says?” Mamie handed her the medallion.

  The doorbell tripped again, but the woman continued to study the medallion. “‘La bellezza risveglia l’anima ad agire.’ It means ‘Beauty awakens the soul to act.’”

  “Dante.”

  Mamie turned to the deep, heavily accented male voice. A man with perfectly combed black hair, a chiseled face, and rich, dark eyes studied her. He wore a dark suit jacket with a white dress shirt underneath and black slacks. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Ah, my brother wants to sell jewelry today instead of run his restaurant?” The storeowner raised her thick dark eyebrows at him.

  He laughed and replied to his sister, but Mamie didn’t understand. As she handed Mamie back the medallion, he turned to Mamie and smiled. Something deep and magical sparkled in his dark eyes. “Scusi. I am a fan of the poet and philosopher. I could not help myself.”

  Loud giggling voices of the children carried from the back room, followed by a thud. The mother shook her head, excused herself, and headed towards the noise.

  He watched his sister leave, then focused on Mamie. “Do you like Dante, too?”

  “I’m just learning about him. So this says, ‘Beauty awakens the soul to act’?”

  “Sì. I suspect Dante meant this about the beauty of Tuscany.” He shrugged. “It is unsurpassed.”

  “Indeed. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. You just made a sale.”

  His sister returned holding several large ceramic platters that she handed to her brother. “Your order came in.”

  “Ah, I had hoped.” His gaze brushed over Mamie. “I own a restaurant around the corner. My sister, she gets me a good deal.” He winked at his sister.

  “Not that he deserves it,” she teased.

  “What? And to think, I may have made you a sale just now.”

  Mamie laughed. “He did. I’m taking this.”

  “See.” He raised a brow at his sister, but then turned to Mamie with his hand out. “I am Paolo. Nice to meet you.”

  She took his hand. “Mamie. Tourist at large...as if you couldn’t tell.”

  He laughed and followed her over to the register. While her purchases were rung up, they talked. At one point, the children came out, speaking in their native tongue. Mamie paid for her purchases, amused by their interactions.

  As she tucked her purse away, he moved a little closer. “Have you eaten yet? My restaurant is close.” He motioned to the two kids. “And these two monsters want to join us.”

  She thought about spending time with this handsome man and these two cute kids. “Well, I do need to eat before returning to my tour.”

  “Perfetto. Join us. My chef just made a Pappa al Pomodoro.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stale Tuscan bread, tomatoes, garlic, and basil leaves. Simple and delicious. An area specialty.”

  She checked her watch. Just under an hour. This would also give her a chance to sample local cuisine, something she needed to do for her piece for the publisher.

  But she didn’t know this man and the detour might make her late getting back to the others... Was she looking for excuses? The invisible hand of Ted nearly shoved her from behind toward Paolo.

  “Sounds like fun,” she said and they left together, with the kids leading the way.

  Chapter 4

  Julian walked ahead of the others, trying to calm down. Most days, an organized group behind him gave him the satisfaction of a mother duck guiding her ducklings to safety.

  But one of his chicks was missing.

  Mamie had neither shown up after lunch nor told him she wouldn’t be on the afternoon leg of their tour. Despite his specific request passengers let him know if they planned to skip the afternoon sights. Normally, he might chalk it up to forgetfulness. The glimpse of her he got during the lunch break, though, gave him good reason to have concerns about her absence.

  Break time had started out with worries. Claudia left a message during the morning tour. He quickly called back, worried it was because she’d learned about the unauthorized passenger on the bus. It turned out to be a routine confirmation call about the tour’s second week, when they would be staying at a villa near the Umbrian border.

  After he’d hung up, he strolled back to the Via S. Matteo relieved and with a growling stomach. His appetite had vanished when Mamie exited a gift shop with a strange man.

  Staying a distance behind, he’d followed them a few blocks. Given the stranger’s dark good looks and smart style, Julian pegged him as a native to the area. They’d disappeared down an alley, behind two children. Julian jogged to catch up and peeked around the corner just in time to catch her vanishing into the alley entrance of a restaurant. The man guided her through with his hand on her back—a subtle and intimate gesture. Julian had used the same move enough times to know.

  Over the years, Julian witnessed more than one vulnerable American woman fall under the snake-charmer seductiveness of an Italian man. Hell, Julian occasionally approached American women in Rome bars by speaking the beautiful, romantic language first, though always admitted to his dual citizenship. But during the initial meeting, their bright eyes and eager attention would be evident.

  Same as Mamie while talking wit
h the stranger.

  Damn her! If she didn’t know how to tell time or judge men, he sure as hell didn’t plan to handhold her every step of the way.

  Who was he kidding? It was his job to keep an eye on her. Simple as that.

  He tried to shake off this odd mix of worry and irritation over Mamie. So unlike him. People usually described him as a cavalier, brave, an adventurous soul. A man who’d visited a primitive tribe in the Amazon and didn’t show one ounce of worry. Although the pain a tribe might have inflicted on him would be nothing compared to getting fired right now. This job demanded he get out of bed each day, not stay beneath the covers and drown in his shame.

  They neared the church’s wide steps, so he stopped to wave the group closer. “We’re now at the Collegiata di San Gimignano, also known as the Duomo of San Gimignano. An example of twelfth-century Romanesque architecture.” He started backing slowly up the steps leading to the main doors. “While the facade is plain, the treasures inside include a fully-frescoed church. The colors displayed are the original ones painted in the thirteen hundreds. Once inside, note their vividness and brightness. Not all frescoes look this good.” He pulled the tickets from the front pocket of his satchel. “As you come through the door, you’ll get your entrance ticket.”

  He scanned the square outside the church one last time, hoping Mamie might appear. Disappointed, he passed into the entrance foyer. The line went through. After he pressed one in Bernie’s palm, he pocketed the only ticket left. A hand flashed out in front of him.

  “One please.” Mamie smiled back, her creamy cheeks flushing bright red and her breath short.

  His relief at the sight of her annoyed him as much as her absence. “What happened to being on time?”

  “You didn’t see me in the back of the crowd?”

  “You weren’t...” He narrowed his eyes and handed her the ticket. “Just go in.”