The Sweet Life

by Sharon Struth

  “Maybe for you.”

  Mamie summoned up everything she’d figured out about herself in these two weeks. “For the past five years, I’ve lived with the daily and unbearable pain of losing my loved ones. Like you, I had to witness something nobody should have to see.” She inhaled, hoping to squelch the ache squeezing her chest. If ever she needed to be strong, it was now. “I’ve wasted the life I’d been spared.” She reached to the front seat and took his hand. “But this week, and being with you, has helped me come alive again.” Julian’s darkened face blurred through her tears. “But you... I can tell you haven’t let go of the ghosts yet. Your reaction to Carlos’s death, it’s not only about him—”

  “I know. I can see all this.”

  “Then let me help you. Like you’ve helped me see the wonders of Tuscany. You’ve shown me the most extraordinary pleasures from the most ordinary days. Now let’s try the unexpected together.”

  He turned away from her and stared outside in the direction of the hot air balloon.

  She whispered. “I’m willing to take a chance with you at my side.”

  A loud rush sounded and the fire burst higher inside the balloon, casting another bright glare inside the car. The flames danced high, making the balloon fill. Slowly it rounded out and reached to the sky, where the sun crested along the horizon creating a reddish-orange band.

  Beppe knocked on the window. “My cousin, he’s ready for you.”

  Julian’s gaze met hers. She held her breath waiting for an answer.

  Chapter 20

  Risk. Julian had played the game for too many years. But never in a hot air balloon. Many years ago, Gary had suggested a show in one. Julian told him about his parents and asked him to never bring up the subject again. Gary obliged.

  Now Mamie, a woman he’d shared the biggest part of himself with, had set him up. She stared at him from the backseat, brows furrowed, concern etched on her face. A woman he’d trusted. By making this decision, she might as well be shoving him off the edge of a cliff.

  “Say something,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t want to do it. How’s that?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand how a man who faced such extreme danger for so long—far worse than this—can’t face the one thing that’s been owning him for most of his life.”

  “Maybe because you don’t walk in my shoes.”

  “No. I don’t. But I do understand why it’s important to sometimes step onto the ledge, even if the view down is terrifying.”

  “Mamie, you picked the one thing I can’t do.”

  Light from the balloon flames highlighted a glossy sheen in her eyes. “All the more reason to do it.” She touched his cheek, leaned forward and kissed him gently. As she reached for her door handle, she said, “It’s fine if you don’t want to go, but I’m taking a chance. I may not get another.”

  She stepped out and walked toward Beppe, his cousin, and another woman Julian didn’t know.

  He quickly got out and yelled over the loud noise from the shooting flame. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t.”

  She turned around and stared at him for a few seconds. When he didn’t budge, she frowned and continued to the balloon.

  I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  His thoughts pummeled him as the logic he’d survived on for years refused to lift. Reasoning that made him spend a lifetime proving to people he could do the impossible. That nothing scared him, even though a part of him was terrified. Now, a woman who’d made him seek out the treasures found in the mundane things in life wanted to show him more? It made no sense.

  What would happen if she got on that balloon alone? He’d regret it forever, that’s what. Like he regretted what happened to Carlos.

  He slowly moved toward the balloon. Mamie smiled as she talked to Dario, already inside the basket. Beppe had introduced his cousin to Julian once before. He had no idea the man flew balloons, though.

  The balloon hovered above the basket, still staked to the ground by thick ropes. Every terrifying memory stealing his soul on the day his parents died gripped him tight.

  This time, he fought back, guided by Mamie’s brave gaze as she stared upward at the balloon then stepped into the basket. His heart filled with pride, knowing she had the courage to come to Italy. Even more proud to know she’d take this step with or without him.

  She turned and looked at Julian, sadness in her eyes silently begging him to come. The sun inched higher up the horizon, casting more light on her.

  All he wanted was to hold this beautiful, brave soul in his arms. A woman willing to take this risk because she knew it would help him.

  His feet moved, almost on their own. When he reached the balloon, she extended her hand. He took it and got inside, drawing her close but unable to speak, the flames roaring like an angry dragon.

  Dario yelled, “It is good to see you again. Are you ready?”

  Julian glanced at Mamie, who nodded.

  “Okay, we’re ready.”

  “My wife.” He motioned to a woman standing on the ground near Beppe. “She will follow us in the car and meet us when we land, sì?”

  “Sounds good.” Julian tried to sound confident, even though the raw edges of his nerves stung and his head tried to process the surreal act of facing his true goliath.

  Beppe waved. “Arrivederci,” he yelled over another loud blast, this one lifting the balloon off the ground. “I will be waiting, too.”

  Julian took Mamie’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back as they drifted upward, the rising sun illuminating the sky from darkness into light. Dario watched out the other side, occasionally looking at a meter near the equipment containing fuel.

  Higher and higher they lifted, the flame’s intermittent thunder ringing in Julian’s ears, terrifying as the roar of a tiger. Suddenly it got quiet. They floated in the sky, a sense of calm surrounding him. It silenced the noise in Julian’s head, fighting inside of him not only today, but for decades.

  Julian wrapped his arm around Mamie’s waist and she glanced at him with a quick smile before returning to the view. Out on the horizon, the sun continued its climb, revealing a gentle morning mist lingering above the patchwork countryside, exposing rows of crops, roads, and rivers usually hidden when on the ground. As they passed over treetops and houses, Julian got lost in the beautiful countryside seen from this bird’s-eye view. Tuscany as he’d never seen it before.

  The fog below lifted, and so did the weight of his worries. He glanced at Mamie, who stared straight ahead. She’d done this. She got him up here. He leaned close and kissed her cheek. She startled and turned to him with a smile, but her eyes glistened with moisture.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I am. Just happy. I mean, my God… Look at this view!”

  He nodded, trying like hell to hold back a power inside him about ready to burst, one filling his heart and soul. The balloon lifted higher and floated beyond the treetops to an open view. Fields stretching into more fields, all framed by the hills.

  Mamie gasped. “Just when you thought the view couldn’t get more beautiful,” she whispered.

  He studied her profile. Yes, she was beautiful. Inside and out. Passion for her brewed inside him. A deep and caring sensation toward another person he’d ignored for years, squashing those desires so much a part of his makeup since his parents died that he had forgotten how to use it.

  She glanced up and tears rolled down her cheeks, making his own eyes water. He leaned over, gently kissed her salty lips.

  “You’re not mad at me, right? We’re okay?” she asked sheepishly.

  He lifted her chin with his finger, stared into her beautiful eyes, finally owning his hearts desires. “Sì, amore mio. We are better than okay.”

  * * * *

  Mamie’s eyes opened. She rol
led over and found Julian’s side of the bed empty. A second later, he stepped from the bathroom wearing cargo shorts and no shirt.

  “Sleeping Beauty wakes.” He grinned, but there was something so genuinely peaceful in his voice that she found herself speechless.

  He removed a shirt from the dresser drawer and came over, sitting on the bed’s edge. “We’ve had a busy morning. That nap did us both some good.”

  She inched closer, took his arm, and pulled him toward her. “Only the nap?” He lay at her side while she kissed her way along his neck.

  He gave an appreciative moan. “Okay. Everything about today has done us both some good.” He pinned her to the mattress and fenced her in with his arms. “Thank you again for the ride this morning.”

  “My pleasure.” She cupped his face while tracing her fingers along his recently trimmed beard. “My husband always pushed me. I’ve never been the bravest soul.”

  He kissed her softly. As he leaned back, sincerity reigned in his eyes. “I think you possess more courage than you give yourself credit for.”

  She let the words sink in and embraced a sense of renewal that came with doing something more courageous than usual. “I worried you’d be angry at me. That I’d crossed a line.”

  He repositioned himself at her side, turned to face her. “It was bold, I’ll give you that. Gary suggested shows with them, but I refused.”

  “So why this time?”

  He gently smiled. “To be with you. To have no regrets. To let you know your bravery inspires me.”

  “And I have no regrets about asking.”

  Especially because since the moment she got up, one thought consumed her: this was her last day in Italy. Her last day with Julian. She’d leave, taking her lie about the real reason she came on the tour with her. This morning she’d taken a huge risk into the sky. What if she told Julian about her work here? Was it worth the risk of getting fired or sued if the legal department at the publisher found out?

  “Tomorrow the tour ends.” Julian frowned.

  “I was just thinking about it.”

  “Now that I’m off the show, my schedule is a little more flexible. Maybe there’s a way we can still see each other long distance.”

  Hope lifted in her heart. “You think so?”

  He smiled. “Yeah.”

  “But Gary’s offer was pretty impressive. You sure you don’t want to return to the show?”

  “Not if it means I can’t see you.”

  The lie still sitting between them swelled. He’d forfeit a return to a successful career while she was afraid to take a chance and tell him the truth about her job. “You shouldn’t only do it for that reason.”

  “It isn’t the only reason.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed him.

  “Listen, I was getting up because I’m taking a group to Orvieto this morning. I figured you’d want to sleep, but since you’re up, want to come?”

  “No. I’ve got some things to do.” She’d use the time to call Allison, ask her advice on the risk of telling Julian her identity. It wasn’t as if she did the job all the time, and she’d decided to say no to Felix’s offer to become the Covert Critic if he left. “Go on. I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk more about us later. Sì?”

  “Sì. Now how about a goodbye kiss?”

  He gave her one and left.

  She showered, tossing on a sundress with sandals for the warm day. On her way out, she grabbed her notebook and the copy of The Covert Critic’s Guide to London she’d used as an outline. After stuffing the books in her backpack, she headed for the communal kitchen under clear blue skies. She entered the quiet stone building.

  “Anybody around?”

  No answers. At least half the gang had gone with Julian. The others must be on the property and had already eaten. She found some leftover breads and meats, wrapped them in a napkin, then stuffed it all into her backpack with a cold drink from the refrigerator.

  As she headed for the dirt path she’d followed while looking for Julian the other day, she passed by the pool. Voices and splashing came from the area, probably those who stayed behind. After finishing work, she’d stop by and see them.

  She turned at the path. Walking through walls of thick grass, she enjoyed the chirping birds and subtle sounds from farms in the distance, but she missed the sun, hiding for one of the first times on this trip. Instead, light grey skies stretched to the hills, still pretty but lacking their usual brightness.

  At the clearing where she’d found Julian, she admired the hillside leading down to the valley, with lines of olive trees to one side, bold red poppies to the other. An old wooden bench waited beneath the shade of a large tree so she went and sat down. Gathering her hair behind her into a ponytail, she slipped the band from her wrist though it several times and looked around, wishing she’d found this place sooner. She unwrapped the soft roll, filling it with the meat and slowly taking bites.

  Fields stretched as far as the eye could see, some farmed with produce, others with more olive trees. Twisting walls merged with winding roads and amidst the patchwork were square houses with red terra-cotta roofs. She tried to image this place centuries ago, when the Medici family ruled. Who walked these fields? Women in long, peasant dresses and men in baggy pants and shirts who carried baskets of food from the fields, most likely. Not the fancier upper-crust Florentine families seen on PBS specials about the era, or the aristocracy in the paintings hung in the art galleries they’d visited.

  After finishing her food, she took out her notebook and started to write. At one point, she pulled out the London guide Felix had written to make sure she covered all her bases for the piece. She scanned back and forth between the guidelines for the Covert Critic and her own notes.

  A yawn slipped out. A few minutes later, her lids fluttered. Work suddenly seemed like more of a bother and a rest by the poolside had more merit. In fact, she should’ve gone with Julian. She closed the notebook. Today was all they had left. Reaching Allison to discuss telling Julian the truth about her job for the publisher seemed more important at the time. Unfortunately, Allison hadn’t been there when Mamie made the call and her secretary promised to pass along the message.

  Mamie lowered her work onto the bench and opened a bottle of cold sparkling water, letting it quench her dry throat. As she screwed back on the top, she studied the nearby olive trees and stood to walk over.

  They’d been planted in straight lines, and she set out down one of them. The bark on many trunks had cracked and become twisted, knotting into strange shapes. An almost disorderly appearance compared to the formality of the rows in which they grew. She walked from row to row, noting all the trees looked like this. Around the fourth row, the trees took on a more youthful appearance. A straighter trunk, the bark a silvery color. Definitely younger plantings than the first few rows.

  It reminded her of the people on the tour, whose appearances might have changed since the famous concert bringing them together, but inside, they had a spirit and zest for life that both she and Julian hadn’t been embracing. At least not until this morning.

  She reached up and ran a finger along a branch, its leaves long and strong, like fingers extended on a hand opened wide to the possibility of anything. The olive branch offered a message of peace. Peace she’d finally felt on this journey. A message the Wanderers brought with them to Woodstock so many years ago, their open hearts the reason Julian let her stay on the bus and fulfill her destiny on this tour.

  She took a small sprig off the tree, tucked it in her dress pocket, and patted the spot near her hip for safekeeping.

  She walked back to her belongings, satisfaction brewing inside of her.

  As she came out into the open area where she’d started, Gary sat on the bench dressed in a pair of slightly big swim trunks and an open button-down shirt. He held her noteb
ook in his hand. The Covert Critic’s Guide to London sat on the bench opened flat with a water bottle next to it. “Hello.”

  He looked up. “Hi. I wondered who this belonged to.” He held up her book. “Interesting stuff in here. It seems to mirror the same format as the other guide book.”

  She walked over and held out her hand with confidence, but the wild beat of her heart made her feel like a cornered animal. “Yes. It wasn’t meant to be read.”

  He handed it over and stood. “Are you the Covert Critic?”

  “No.” She made herself to stare him square in the eyes. He had to believe her.

  “But you’ve got a letter from the publisher with instructions on how to write the guides.” He viewed her skeptically. “Why else would you have this?”

  “You asked if I’m the Covert Critic. I’m not.”

  “Does Julian know you’re writing about his tour?”

  “No he doesn’t but—”

  “I expect he’d want to know, don’t you?”

  “I’m not the Covert Critic.”

  He raised critical brows.

  Dread threatened to crush her bravado. Gary would surely tell Julian what he’d seen. If only she’d reached Allison to talk about her new relationship with Julian this morning, like she’d planned. This find by Gary would have less meaning.

  She lifted her chin, because if she ever had to look self-assured, it was now. “I’d appreciate it if you kept what you saw to yourself.”

  “But Julian should know you’re reviewing his tour.”

  “It’s been a great one, with nothing bad to report. Does it matter?”

  Gary shrugged. “It might to him. Are you sure you’re not the Covert Critic?”

  She turned away and stuffed the notebook in her pack. When she looked up, Gary watched her, his brows lifted as he waited for an answer.

  Something. She had to say something or he’d tell Julian whatever he wanted. Julian would feel she’d betrayed him, although, in a way, she had. “It is for a travel publication. Not the one you think. Listen, you’d be doing me a big favor if you just kept this between us. I mean, this is my job on the line.”