by PJ Sharon
“Actually, I’m here as punishment for criminal behavior,” I said. “You might want to keep your distance. My delinquency could be contagious,” I added, sending a smirk in Maddie’s direction.
He choked on his water and Maddie rushed to pat his back, glaring daggers my way. As the coughing fit passed, Maddie said, “Since you’re traveling alone, why don’t you join us tomorrow on our tour of Santa Margherita?”
“I’d love to, thanks.” Ethan didn’t take his eyes off me. “Here I was, thinking this trip was going to be boring and lonesome.” My face flushed as his grin widened. “It seems I was wrong about a lot of things.”
Chapter 8
Much to my relief the next day proved Ethan both right and wrong. I’d taken the twenty-four hour motion sickness medication he’d offered and slept like the dead, no remnants of the nausea from the day before remaining. A current of anticipation ran through the crowd, the enthusiastic murmurs promising the days’ excursion would be anything but boring. Ethan met Maddie and me just in time to get his purple sticker that designated him as part of our tour group.
The morning was already hot at nine o’clock as we set out toward the mountain laden coastline of Portofino. White villas—interspersed with soft green, yellow, orange, and red buildings—painted the hillsides, creating a picturesque setting that made me smile in spite of myself. As the ship-to-shore tender approached the docks, we passed sailboats and yachts ranging from comfortable day cruisers to opulent floating hotels and high-tech speedboats. Locals lounged along the gray sandy beach and swam in the blue green water, attempting to stay cool.
I pulled my hat over my eyes, glad I’d heeded Maddie’s insistence on sun-block. She had also nixed my flip-flops in exchange for my sneakers and suggested shorts and a tank top when I’d held up jeans and a tee shirt.
Ethan helped Maddie step down onto the dock once the boat was tied off. When he reached for my hand, I reluctantly allowed him to help, though we both knew I didn’t need it. An unexpected shiver sent my heart racing as he held my hand a little longer than necessary, and my cheeks ignited when he flashed me a grin. The deep green polo shirt and khaki shorts he wore suited him, and the warm colors brought out the gold flecks in his eyes. I avoided his lingering gaze by taking in the amazing scenery. We boarded a second boat, which took us around a small peninsula and into Santa Margherita. My jaw dropped as the ferry docked. One of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen lay stretched before me.
“Back when these houses were built, home owners were only allowed to paint them if the taxes were paid,” said the tour guide, a white-shirted man with olive skin and a round face, named Pietro. His bulbous nose and Italian accent gave him away as one of the locals. “Those who could afford to pay their taxes had the most colorful homes,” he explained. “So, it eventually became a way of distinguishing the classes.” We followed along in a crowd of a dozen other passengers.
Clearly smitten with our new companion, Maddie sent a devilish grin my way, stepping around me to put Ethan between us. “Isn’t this heavenly? Henry and I came here for our third anniversary...or was it our fifth?” Maddie continued to ramble on about Portofino and how it had been a hot spot for old Hollywood stars back in the fifties and sixties, the likes of Frank Sinatra and Rex Harrison frequenting the village in the heydays after World War II. Most of Portofino had been spared during the bombings due to the pleading of wealthy German women who loved to travel to the idyllic locale for holidays.
Scooters, bicycles, and foot traffic passed us by in spurts as we made our way through the village and up the hillside trail toward the turreted remains of a coastal fortress located at the top. Maddie was quick to notice the painted on shutters adorning the houses we passed—a way the villagers who couldn’t afford windows, used to create the illusion they had them.
“Saint George’s church was rebuilt after the war,” said Pietro, as he walked backwards up the trail between the buildings, his orange flag overhead. He pointed out the simple but lovely stone church that overlooked the Mediterranean in all directions. “From here you can see the Gulf of Tugullio, the Gulf of Paradiso, and the Castilla del Brown. Feel free to rest inside the church where it’s cool, or explore the surrounding vistas. But be back here in fifteen minutes.”
My gaze swept the breathtaking panoramic view in awe. The village of Portofino lay below, as perfect as a post card, stealing my breath and making me wish I had my phone with its camera, though it would do me little good since I’d forgotten to charge it...again.
I followed Maddie and Ethan inside the old church, determined not to spend much time there. Though the cool air offered relief from the scorching sun, churches and I didn’t get along. Other than my early memories of Mom and Dad dragging us to Mass once in a while on Sundays, my only experiences in them were the funerals I’d attended. The wooden cross that hung at the front of the church reminded me of the polished wood of Amanda’s casket, making my throat ache and my eyes fill. I excused myself and left Maddie resting in the shaded sanctuary, her eyes closed in prayer and a peaceful smile on her face.
Ethan followed me outside. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m not one for churches and religion.” I headed up a narrow trail toward the cliffs to catch the bay side view.
“At school, we had to attend services every Sunday unless we were going home to be with family.” Ethan gazed out over the water, his eyes far away and his face having lost its usual good humor.
“I take it you spent a lot of Sunday mornings in church then.”
His brow furrowed. “I mostly only went home on holidays. With my dad working so much, there was really no point.”
“Where’s your mom...if you don’t mind me asking?” I sat on a stone bench and he settled beside me. The warmth of his shoulder touching mine scattered my thoughts.
He answered slowly, as if unconvinced of the truth in his own words or uncertain if he wanted to share the information. “She died,” he said finally. “When I was eleven. She had cancer.” He studied his sneakers and I noticed the uniformity of the laces, still clean and white.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say to ease the tension of the moment. I wasn’t at all prepared to tell him about Amanda, but I could definitely relate to losing a parent. The words spilled out before I could stop them. “My dad died when I was six...drunk driving accident.” Just saying it out loud ripped open the old wound. He didn’t need to know that my dad was the drunk driver, or that he’d taken a twenty-year-old kid with him in the head-on collision. The name Jake Connelly jumped to mind, indelibly imprinted in my psyche. I kept my gaze focused on the horizon where the sea met the clear blue sky.
Ethan’s eyes widened. “Man, that sucks...sorry.”
We sat quietly for several minutes, each lost in our thoughts and nothing to say that could make life less tragic for either of us. The call from the tour guide below finally broke our silence.
“We’d better get back,” I said, rising from the stone bench.
Ethan grabbed my hand. I turned and met his gaze, those green depths shimmering like bottomless pools in the sunlight. “Thanks for telling me about your dad. It’s nice to know that someone gets it, you know?”
Not sure how to react to the closeness or the igniting presence of his fingers wrapped around mine, I slid my hand free and turned away, capturing one last memory of the incredible view. “You have no idea,” I whispered.
∞∞∞
Back in Santa Margherita we had Sicilian Romano pizza at the Ristorante Palma, waited on by a gorgeous Italian guy who was tall and lean and had the face of a sculpted bronze statue like I’d seen in the village square. Later, I ate my fill of gelato, which I had to admit was the best ice cream I’d ever eaten. As we stopped to enjoy fresh squeezed orange juice on the café walkway, I noticed Maddie looked tired, her face flushed.
“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned to see my grandmother’s characteristic energy drained.
She f
anned herself with her hat, a lemon yellow, wide-brimmed straw monstrosity she clutched in her hand. “I’m fine, dear. Maybe I’ve had a little too much sun. I can’t wait to get back to the ship and lie by the pool in the shade. A good book and a little nap will perk me right up.”
I looked her over doubtfully. Ethan touched her red cheeks, one after the other with the back of his hand. He frowned.
“Your face is hot and dry. That’s a sign of heat stroke. I think we’d better get you back to the ship.” Before she could protest, he was already signaling our tour guide.
“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.”
Despite her resistance, Pietro insisted Maddie accompany him back aboard the ship. She continued to argue, adamant Ethan and I stay behind and finish the tour.
“You have to go shopping in the market. I’m sure you’ll find some lovely outfits you’ll be able to wear to dinner.” She handed me a wad of Euros and retreated, Pietro leading her gently by the arm. “Be careful and stay together,” she called. A new guide, a pretty young blonde woman named Pamela, reassured her as she took over the orange flag.
Concerned about my grandmother, but knowing she was in good hands, I did as she suggested and hit almost every shop in the village. The cash she’d given me turned out to be a good sum of money and the shopkeepers were quick to show me around and get me outfitted. Ethan haggled and bargained like a pro with the locals, something I had no clue how to do, or any idea it was customarily expected.
After trying on armloads of clothes, I picked out two colorful and flowery skirts, a pair of chunky heeled sandals, and several tops. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Ethan easily took on the Richard Gere role, amused and charming as I admired my new look in the mirror.
“You’ll need this when you go into the churches,” the girl in the next shop said in broken English as she draped a beautiful silk shawl over my shoulders. “It is disrespectful for so much skin to show.” She eyed my skimpy shorts and bare midriff, a gleam of envy in her eyes as she gaped curiously at my belly piercing.
“I’ll take it. Thank you,” I said, grabbing another gauzy top off the rack. I usually hated shopping, but here in this foreign land, so far from the expectations and pressures of home, and no one looking over my shoulder to tell me what to do, it actually seemed kind of fun. I felt funny spending Maddie’s money so frivolously, but she hadn’t hesitated to assure me she could afford whatever I might need and the prices were dirt cheap compared to back home.
Ethan made silly faces when I tried on something outrageous and his goofy commentary only made the experience more memorable. When I emerged wearing a flowing skirt and a halter top baring my shoulders, he grinned broadly and said, “You look awesome.” And then with the next outfit he said, “I like that one,” his eyes lighting with sincerity as I spun around. His comment about me having to “beat off the Italians if I wasn’t careful,” made me laugh out loud it was so ridiculous.
As much fun as I was having, I almost hated to show it, let alone relax and enjoy it. I realized I’d had a scowl on for days—maybe even months—and that this was the first time I’d really enjoyed a day since I couldn’t remember when...since before Amanda.
Maybe I was setting myself up for a huge let down, but for the first time in a long time, I felt special—and precariously happy.
Chapter 9
“I’m much better this morning,” chirped Maddie as she opened the door for room service. She insisted on ordering breakfast at the crack of dawn so we could make it on time for our shore excursion, and of course, that’s what she and Grandpa Henry always did.
I sat on the bed playing with the bath towels, attempting to re-create the octopus configuration I’d found on my pillow when I returned to the cabin the night before. Maddie was thrilled with my purchases and had gushed over how nice I looked at dinner, causing endless embarrassment in front of the others at our table. She’d decided to try sitting with a group so Ethan could join us—since the table for two was overcrowded with a third person. It seemed she had taken to Ethan even more quickly than I had, and overnight, he’d become a perfect addition to our motley duo.
A mix of emotions conjured a list of reasons why this was a bad idea—not the least of which was that getting attached to someone I’d never see again after this trip sent warning signals to my brain telling me to keep a cool distance—a message my heart was clearly ignoring.
“It’s a shame Ethan won’t be joining us in Cannes. The Boulevard de la Croisette is one of the loveliest promenades to stroll. Do you know that Gloria Swanson, Grace Kelly, and even Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis walked along the French Riviera back in my day? There’s no telling who you’ll see now. Maybe even that handsome Johnny Depp fellow. Doesn’t he live in France these days?” Maddie squinted into the mirror and applied a liberal dose of eye liner, patting her crow’s feet and frowning.
“Ethan is supposed to meet up with his dad today,” I said, ignoring her question about Johnny Depp’s residency status. If living in a foreign country was the only way famous people could find some peace, being in the spotlight didn’t seem like a great idea to me. I considered what it would be like to have a famous cardiac surgeon for a father, and then wondered if Ethan ever had a choice as to whether he’d follow in his dad’s footsteps, and if walking in such a huge shadow was as awful as it sounded. I knew what it was like to have other people’s expectations weigh me down, and suddenly I felt bad for him.
Maddie sipped her coffee and nibbled a croissant, then pulled a white, short sleeved shirt on over a sleeveless top and stared into the full-length mirror. “Will you look at these baggy arms?” She lifted her arm and pinched the fold of skin that hung loose underneath, a scowl of disgust clouding her expression. “I really need to get back to the gym and start working out again. Walking the beach isn’t enough anymore. I just hate that everyone at the fitness center is either young and gorgeous, or as old as dirt.”
I grinned inwardly. “You look great for....”
“Don’t you dare say, ‘for a woman my age’. I’ve never heard a more backhanded compliment.” She fluffed her red hair, grabbed yet another floppy hat—this one fuchsia—and turned to me. “Are you ready to go?” Then she noticed I hadn’t touched my food. “Really, Alexis, you are skin and bones. Eat something.”
Did she not see the irony? I grabbed a sticky croissant and stuffed half in my mouth, then chugged my orange juice. She shook her head and raised a light brow, her frown deepening the creases around her lips.
It wasn’t long before we were once again climbing from a transport boat they called a tender, onto shore. Cannes (pronounced Con, according to Maddie), home of the famous Cannes Film Festival, I learned, was named after the slender reeds which once grew along its shores. The air was scented by lavish gardens and natural flora, but high-rise condos and crowded resorts had sprouted up alongside the plants. I stared in awe at the endless beaches dotted with white umbrellas. The Alps Maritime beyond the village rose up and created a majestic amphitheater of hills that dropped sharply down to meet the blue sea. Having finally remembered to charge my phone, I flashed my camera every time I turned around, each sight more beautiful than the last. What had once been a little fishing village was now a booming high-end resort.
Elegant boutiques and outdoor restaurants lined the wide street. Violin music floated from a café not far off, and the lyrical sound of the French language filled the air. I couldn’t understand a word, but hearing it sent my heart soaring nonetheless. Maddie caught my arm as I captured another picture on my phone, this time of a street performer with a white painted face, miming at the passing tourists and holding out his hat.
“Isn’t that Ethan?” Maddie pointed in the opposite direction through the crowd. I turned to see Ethan talking with a man in front of a boutique. A hard expression covered Ethan’s face and he avoided meeting the man’s stare. Whatever they were discussing, it didn’t appear as if Ethan was at all happy about what was being said. Maddie heade
d in their direction before I could stop her.
As we approached, Ethan caught sight of us, and I watched his expression change to one of quiet acceptance and stoic calm. He interrupted the man—presumably his father judging by the similarities—and smiled stiffly. “Hi, Mrs. Hartman. Hi, Lexi.”
I bit my lip and didn’t correct him. Although I still preferred the name Ali, when he called me Lexi, it seemed to fit.
Maddie stepped between us to face Ethan’s dad, interrupting the awkward silence.
“I told you to call me Maddie. Mrs. Hartman was my dear departed husband’s mother, and God knows I don’t want to be associated with that old battle axe.” She smiled and stuck her hand out to Ethan’s father, who was staring from me to Maddie and back, obviously confused. He was tall and broad-shouldered, older than I expected, with graying hair and green eyes that sparkled when his lips curved into a charming grin, not unlike his son’s, I noted.
He took Maddie’s hand and held it as if he were addressing the queen herself, giving her a slight bow of his head as he met her gaze. “I’m Martin Kaswell. Nice to meet you.”
Maddie’s face glowed. “And it’s lovely to meet you as well. Your son has been a darling to keep us company on our voyage. He mentioned you’d be joining him for the rest of the cruise.”
Subtlety not being one of my grandmother’s strong suits, and Ethan’s immediate shift in energy ratcheting the tension up a notch, I interjected, “I’m sure Dr. Kaswell has more important things to do than entertain us, Maddie. Why don’t we take that walk up to the church and museum at the top of the hill? Didn’t you say you wanted me to check out some antique musical instruments?”
Ethan glanced my way, a grateful but tight-lipped smile edging his features. His father, however, still wore the expression of a condemned man. His gaze fell back to his son. “Unfortunately, I’ve run into some problems with the case I was working on in Paris. I have to get back, so I won’t be able to join you for a few more days. I’ll try to catch up when the ship docks in Rome at the end of the week.”