“You’re a strong woman,” he told me.
I was surprised that he’d say that. “Why do you say that?” I asked.
“It’s obvious. I can see it. Other people said the same thing.”
“People are talking about me?”
“People are always talking. We missed you last year. Now you’re back. It was a tough year for you. I know that. Everyone knows that. I can see how you’re doing now. And I know how your studio is doing. I know about April. Congrats.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m impressed.”
I felt myself blush. “Thank you again.”
“It’s all justified. Anyway,” he said, “I want to see you up there accepting an award.”
“Maybe you will. I want to be the number one studio.”
“I’ll bet you do it, too.”
Before I left for Boston, a man from the corporate public relations department asked if he could interview me. He said he’d heard about my story and thought I would have something to say that might be helpful to other people going through difficult times. It would also be inspiring to other franchisees, giving them that extra push to get their studios to be more successful. If I could do it going through the loss of my husband and business partner, imagine what they could do.
As I left Florida, I thought about how proud Brandon must be. I knew he had been watching and listening to all of it. I had vowed that I would treasure the business that he had started and given to me, and as difficult as it had been, I had not only kept it going, but I had made it even more successful. I did it for him and because of him.
Sitting on the plane, this time not crying, I closed my eyes and whispered, “This is for you, my love.”
CHAPTER 26
“I’m afraid,” I told Cindy.
“Of what?” the therapist asked me.
“Of being with them. They made me very unhappy.”
“That was before. Your happiness isn’t up to them anymore. Your happiness is up to you, Luisa.”
“Maybe it’s not the right time.”
“There’s not going to be a better time.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Think of it as part of your therapy,” Cindy said. “I’ll be good for you. Your family has been a missing piece in your life ever since you left Italy twenty years ago.”
“I had Brandon. There was nothing missing.”
“Brandon loved you, there’s no question about it. And you loved him. But he couldn’t be everything for you.”
“Yes, he was.”
“He couldn’t fill the hole left by your family, even if he and you wanted him to. Many different people make up our social circle. Different people are there at different times, but no one person can be all of them. Just as your father could not take the place of your mother, Brandon never could take the place of your brothers and sisters. Or of your father.”
“I’m still not good with my father,” I said. He hadn’t come after Brandon died. He hadn’t been supportive at any time in my life.
“And maybe that relationship will never be a good one,” Cindy said. “But don’t miss out on the rest of your family to avoid him. I want you to go. Think of it as part of your therapy.”
“That’s what you said about going to Florida.”
“Was I wrong? Was it a bad thing to do?”
“No.”
“All right then.”
I sighed. “So I have to go?”
“Yes.” Cindy leaned forward. “Something’s going to happen there,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what, but something.”
“Something good or something bad?”
Cindy smiled. “Would I send you to do something bad? Go, Luisa. Go and heal.”
. . . . .
My oldest brother Paolo was a pilot. He helped me get the tickets to fly to Rome, connecting to Bari in the “heel” of Italy, where he had a place on the beach. I thought it would be a good distraction to spend some time there, away from the stresses at work, away from the memories at the house, away from the life I had in Boston. He had a wife, who I got along with well, and children I looked forward to spending time with. They were thrilled to have me visit.
I stopped at Barnes & Noble on the way home from work one evening and bought a couple paperback books. My plan was to lie out on the beach under the sun and just relax. Southern Italy in August is hot and humid. Most Italians headed to the beach. I had been one of them for the first two decades of my life. I missed that world and for the first time in many years I was looking forward to going back to my Italian roots.
As the day approached to get on the plane and go there, I began have panic attacks. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it, all the kids, the confusion. My father. I thought about canceling.
When I called Angela and told her I might not be coming, she said, “Paolo’s going to be upset. Francesca and the kids, too. They really want you to visit. Try,” Angela said. “If after you’re here you change your mind, you can turn around and fly back. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know. Maybe it’s the best thing for you.”
She was right. At least I had to try.
. . . . .
During the ride to the airport, tears flowed out of my eyes. I tried to hold it in, tried not to let the driver see, but I couldn’t stop and I was sure he noticed. This trip was one of the most difficult things I had done since Brandon’s death. Sure it was another step. But it did not feel like a small step, as everything else had until now.
I arrived at the terminal, my body shaking. Flights to Europe leave Boston in the evening so the airport wasn’t crowded, just the passengers for my flight. Still, I struggled to breathe and to hold in my tears because of the anxiety I felt. I still wasn’t convinced I should be going, but as I got in line to check in for the flight, I realized that every time I was nervous about going somewhere, it always turned out to be the best thing for me, often changing my life for the better. With that in mind, I decided that this trip would be the same. Something good would happen.
On the plane, after the captain had turned out the lights, I began to miss Brandon terribly. I’d been without him for eighteen months and still the pain in my heart was as sharp as it had been the day he died. I closed my eyes and began to weep. I eventually drifted off. When we arrived in Rome the next morning, my eyes felt puffy. My body felt jetlagged. I had to rush to catch a connecting flight to Bari.
Being in Italy felt both comfortable and uncomfortable. I’d lived in the United States for more than two decades, and some of the customs there suited me better, but at heart I would always be Italian, and being in Rome, hearing my first language being spoken and yelled and laughed, seeing the open emotions in people, made me feel like I belonged.
But also I was getting close to my family, and to my past, and all the fears I had were now magnified. I tried not to think about that, tried to concentrate on getting through customs and immigration, finding the gate that I had to go to for my connecting flight, listening to the announcements to hear the boarding call.
When I got on the plane, my heart raced. I’m really doing this, I thought. I’m really going there. I found my seat and sat down. It took a couple minutes to put away my carry-on bag, buckle my seatbelt and get out something to read to distract me.
“Luisa,” a voice said.
I looked up. Paolo’s smiling face hung above me.
“Paolo?” I tried to jump up to hug my brother, but the seatbelt held me down. We both laughed as I unbuckled the seatbelt and finally hugged him. It was so good to see him, so comforting to feel my oldest brother hold
ing onto me. “Are you flying the plane?” I asked.
“No. I’m a passenger like you. I’m on my way back from a flight to Paris. I’m up there,” he said, gesturing to the front. “But we’re flying together. Don’t worry. I’m with you the rest of the way.”
When he left to go back to his seat, I cried again, but this time they were tears of joy.
. . . . .
Paolo’s house was located a mile from the beach. From his patio I could hear the Ionian Sea and I longed to walk on the sand and feel the warm surf washing over me. That would come later. First I wanted to spend some time with my brother and his wife, Francesca. She left us alone for a few minutes while she went inside to get cold drinks. Paolo and I sat, taking in the sun and the cooling breeze.
“I’m really glad you came, Luisa,” Paolo said.
“I am too.”
“Anything we can do to make your stay better, you let me know, okay?”
I smiled. “Thank you.” But I didn’t need much. Just their company and the place would do wonders, I was sure.
Paolo glanced back at the door of the house to see if Francesca was coming back yet. When he didn’t see her, he turned back to me and spoke in a whisper.
“Listen, while you’re here I’m going to introduce you to a lot of good people.”
“I’m really fine with just the family.”
“It’s good to meet people,” he said. “Especially one person I know.”
I looked at him more closely. He had that look I remembered from our childhood, that he was up to something.
“What person?” I asked.
“He’s single.”
“Paolo!” That wasn’t where my thoughts were right now.
He gestured with his hand for me to speak more softly and said, “Maybe you want to go out on a date one night.” He shrugged and looked at me for a reaction.
I didn’t answer. I just looked back at the sea.
“Or even have a one night stand,” he said.
I whipped my head back toward him. “I can’t believe you’re saying this to me. I didn’t come here for that.”
“All right, but you’re old enough to do whatever you want.”
I covered my ears. I didn’t want to hear any more.
But he wasn’t finished. “It’s your life,” he said. “You do whatever will make you happy.”
“I will.”
“You will have the one night stand?”
The look on his face made me laugh. “No!” I said. “I will do what I want.”
Francesca came out of the house now with the drinks.
“Who’s thirsty?” she asked.
I pointed to Paolo.
“He definitely needs to put something in his mouth so he won’t talk so much.”
. . . . .
Over the next few days Paolo and Francesca introduced me to many of their friends. Much to my surprise I enjoyed meeting them. It kept me from thinking. Every night we went to a party. Italian parties involve eating, some drinking, and a lot of dancing. It had been too long since I’d danced like this. It made me feel free. I was so thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people. I couldn’t believe how foolish I’d been to feel anxious about coming here. Now I never wanted to leave.
Paolo came over to me one night just as I finished a dance. He had that look on his face again, the childhood, up to something wrong look.
“Come here,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me toward a table.
“Where are we going?”
“I want you to meet someone.”
I knew right away what he was up to, but before I could stop him we were at the table. A tall, tanned man dressed in white stood up when he saw me. A few other people were sitting there, but my attention went directly to him. He stared at me with the kind of look I’d seen in men before, the look I’d always avoided. But something about this night, the sea air, the wine I’d had, the hours of dancing, lowered my resistance. For the first time, I didn’t mind his appraising eyes on me.
“Luisa, this is Erasmo Fiorentino,” Paolo said.
Erasmo came around the table, hugged me and kissed both of my cheeks. His hands were warm grasping my shoulders. He smelled of a sweet, musky cologne.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Luisa,” he said.
I just nodded.
“You can call me Mimmo. Your brother has told me so much about you.” He gestured toward the table. “Why don’t you sit down and have some wine with us?”
The others at the table said, yes, join them.
My instinct was to say no, but Paolo answered for me and practically pulled me into the seat next to Mimmo. He seemed a decent man, strong, but polite and refined. He kept trying to talk to me, but I really wasn’t in the mood. I stayed only long enough to be polite, and then I excused myself and walked away.
A couple nights later at another party, I ran into Mimmo again. I didn’t accept his offer to have a drink with him, making the excuse that some people on the other side of the house we were at were waiting for me. In truth, I thought he was good looking and he seemed kind, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to get to know him, or anyone else, better right now.
I met him at another party. We laughed about running into each other so often. Paolo and Francesca kept encouraging me to go out on a date with him, to let him pursue me, but I kept saying that I wasn’t interested.
“Is there someone else you like?” Paolo asked. “I can make it…”
“No, please,” I said, laughing. “Don’t do anything. Just let me go at my own pace.”
“He’s a doctor, you know.”
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. I’m not ready, Paolo.”
. . . . .
Days were spent on the beach. The sun felt so good. Even in summer in Massachusetts it was rare for me to find time to take the sun and nearly impossible for me to get out to the beach.
The parties every night were so much fun. Italian life was so much different from American life. Even at a party people felt deeply connected to the people around them. They knew how to have fun. They drank without getting drunk. And food was always at the center, fresh, tasty, healthy food.
As my two weeks were drawing to an end, Paolo and Francesca came to me. My brother said, “Luisa, we really loved you staying with us.”
“It’s been wonderful,” Francesca said. “And the kids are in love with you.”
“For me it has been the best time I could have ever asked for. Thank you so much.”
“We’d love it if you could stay another week,” Paolo said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Francesca said, “It would be great if you could.”
“I have to get back to work. The studio can’t run itself.”
“For one more week?” Paolo said. “It’s been okay so far, right? What’s another week?”
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can. Let me think about it, okay?”
“Of course. Think about it. But don’t think too long. The longer we wait the harder it’ll be to find a ticket. I’ll try, though. Let me know by tomorrow at midnight at the latest, and I’ll do everything I can to change your tickets.”
“I’ll let you know.”
The next night we were at a dinner party and I was seated next to Mimmo the whole time. He made sure I had anything I wanted and he talked to me about my life and my trip to Italy. I didn’t like talking a
bout myself much and turned the topic of the conversation back to him. He was a doctor, I found out, divorced and had two children, an eight year old daughter and an eighteen year old son who lived with Mimmo’s ex-wife. He was also very kind and easy going. His disposition put me at ease. I enjoyed dinner with him. It was sort of the date with him I’d been avoiding for so long. I realized I had had nothing to be afraid of all along.
After dinner, as we sipped the last of our wine, he said, “You know, your brother would really like you to stay.”
“He told you?”
“He mentioned it. He said he doesn’t see you often and loves having you here.”
“I love being here.”
“So then you should just stay.”
“I don’t know.”
“What is there to know?” Mimmo said. “He and Francesca want you to stay. You want to stay. We all want you to stay.”
“We all?” I said.
He smiled. “You’re very popular.”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked down at my wine glass, feeling nervous by the attention. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s probably too late to change anyway. It might cost too much or there might not be any seats left to go back a week later.”
“You won’t know until you try.”
I looked up. The way he looked at me made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt like a woman, like I was fully alive. But I still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.
“I have to get back to my home and my business,” I said.
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes,” I said into my wine. I looked at my watch. It was nearly midnight.
He noticed and said, “You have to decide, Luisa.”
I took a sip of wine and looked across the room at Paolo and Francesca, laughing and talking with other guests. I really did hate to leave them, to leave here where I felt part of the world again, part of a family. I turned back to the intriguing man sitting beside me. He was staring at me, eager for an answer.
Until Forever Page 18