by PJ Sharon
“I don’t think I can.” Unwilling to see my sister’s death as part of a grand plan, or accept the idea that it would someday make some kind of sense, I snapped. “Nothing about Amanda’s death seems miraculous or beautiful. Death is ugly and life is...painful.” Not for the first time, a spike of anger toward God ran through me.
Maddie touched my hand. “I’m not talking about your sister. I’m talking about you...and yes, life in general. Lexi, running away from painful feelings isn’t the answer. You can’t fight change...or death. Both are inevitable. What I’m saying is we can make choices that will bring about positive outcomes so we can make the best of the journey while we’re here. And all we can do is try our best to be happy.” She gave my hand a final squeeze. “You won’t know unless you try.”
I stared out at the water, my eyes brimming with tears. I’d made a mess of my own life, hidden my sister’s secret—which ultimately led to her death—and I’d sent my mother over the edge. Now, there was no going back, no fixing anything, and no getting past the fallout of my choices. Happiness amid the chaos and fallout seemed fleeting at best. “I just wish it wasn’t so hard to let go,” I whispered.
Maddie sat back, sliding her sunglasses over her eyes and resting her hat back on her head as if her duty was done in trying to shed some light on the mysteries of the universe for me. She took one more sip of her water and capped the bottle. “Someday you’ll see that as painful as it is to let go, holding on is infinitely worse.”
Chapter 17
Later, as I sat on the promenade deck, lounging in a comfortable chair and sipping on a fruity umbrella drink, the faces of the kids I’d seen in the marketplace in Sidi Bou Said weighed heavily on my heart.
Maddie had haggled over a silver bracelet and new pair of Hand of Fatima earrings for me with a surly Tunisian in the bustling little village that was crowded with tourists and vendors. The Hand of Fatima was a traditional symbol of good luck and protection from the “evil eye.” Having them dangling from my ears gave me a weird sense of connection to the local culture and an uneasy confidence that maybe my life was about to take a turn for the better.
From the simple life they lived, it appeared the people of Kusadasi could have used some of that luck. When children approached to offer maps at a premium, I’d had a hard time passing them by. Their bare feet and sunken eyes behind plastered on smiles screamed poverty and need. Though they seemed to take it all in stride, my heart hurt for them nonetheless.
I wrote a few poems which I thought I might later turn into songs. As impossible as it was to capture the souls behind the weary expressions, and how they made me feel, I had to try.
Nameless Faces
Hearts race behind nameless faces,
No traces of prosperity.
Eyes filled with hopeless rage,
They turn the page of destiny.
Masks of happiness they put in place,
A merry chase, they sell their plea.
I in turn, turn my back
Ignore the attack of morality.
If I could change just one life
Ease their strife, would it set me free?
Or would I finally see...it’s not about me?
It’s about humility.
Inadequate as they were, the words brought me some level of comfort. Giving the children a voice somehow seemed to ease the sting of Amanda’s silence. Maddie’s view on life being a transformation and a journey for us all gave me hope that their souls would find some kind of peace. An image of Amanda, smiling and happy flashed in my mind and an explosion of gratitude filled me.
My life back home, as tragic and painful as it was most days, was filled with things to be grateful for. Maddie’s words came back to me. You can’t fight change...or death. Both are inevitable. The words sliced deep with their truth. But maybe if I stopped clinging to the torment of the past and spending so much time fearing the future, I could enjoy the present and fully appreciate that I was on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean with a cute boy and an opportunity to get some questions answered about my dad. A new determination crept into my bones.
I put the final touches on another poem, this one with the object of my inspiration in mind, and stuck my pen inside my notebook. I rushed to change clothes and headed for the dining hall, hoping to run into Ethan, and have the opportunity to apologize for the night before.
When I joined Maddie for dinner, the table was already steeped in conversation. We sat with Benjamin and David, the guys from New Hampshire who were in their fifties and on their honeymoon, and a spry but elderly Dutch woman who was there with her two daughters, both about middle-aged. They’d apparently gotten smart and learned to tag-team their mother and share the responsibilities of entertaining her. As Maddie liked to say, she took up a lot of space in the room. The woman monopolized the dinner conversation, and I tuned out half-way through a thickly accented diatribe about the soup.
I searched the dining room for Ethan, who I was sure was avoiding me. I couldn’t blame him after I’d been a total snot. But after I apologized, then what? Go back to hanging out, only being friends, and ignoring the gigantic magnet of attraction that we were being asked to ignore? I sighed. Not the ideal situation, but better than living with the gnawing ache of knowing I’d hurt his feelings and left things broken between us.
“May I be excused?” I dropped my napkin on the table, my stomach flopping when they brought the main course of petit fillet and lamb chops. The soup and salad had been enough for me, and the sight of red meat juice on a plate made me shudder.
Maddie eyed me desperately, as much in need of rescue as I was, but trying to be compassionate and patient with the woman, who had moved on to discussing the remoulade dressing for the lamb.
“Of course, dear. Will I see you at the show? I hear the magician is quite good.”
I cringed. “I think I’ll take a walk around the deck and then head up to the room early.”
“Oh, do you want me to come with you?”
“No. You go ahead to the show without me. I could use some time alone.” The last thing I needed was her chaperoning me and Ethan when I finally found him.
David, an attorney with dark, close cut gray hair grinned. “You’re welcome to join Ben and me, Maddie. We’re going to the show.” Ben, a little round-faced with obviously dyed brown hair and rich, soft brown eyes, grinned and nodded agreement.
Maddie nodded and winked at me. “All right. I’ll see you later then. Be careful,” she said. I almost hated to leave her in the clutches of the animated woman who was now discussing the plight of the Euro as she dug into the dripping meat, but David and Ben shooed me along, full of assurances that Maddie would be well taken care of.
I quickly made my way to the upper deck, certain I would find Ethan playing video games in the Loft or watching a game of some sort in the Sports Bar. I checked the Crow’s Nest and lapped the Promenade, a sense of dread taking over. I wondered if he was intentionally making himself scarce or hiding in his room. Finally I poked my head into the fitness center—and there he was, alone and looking hotter than ever.
Feet pounding on the treadmill and a hard, focused expression on his face, Ethan ran at a brisk pace. Sweat dripped down his temples and his shirt was soaked. I swallowed through a dry throat as I entered and tucked my key card into my back pocket. He saw me coming and slowed, punching buttons on the controls and stumbling slightly as I approached. The sweaty smell of him should have bothered me, but instead, I found myself taking in a deep breath and memorizing the scent.
“What’s up?” I asked lamely.
“Really? You’re starting there?” he huffed out, keeping his eyes focused forward.
My stomach twisted. “I came to say I’m sorry. I was a jerk yesterday, and I shouldn’t have taken my bad mood out on you.” I batted my lashes for good measure. “Forgive me?”
He glanced my way, but kept running, his breath uneven. “What do you want me to say, Lexi? You made it clear you didn’t want to be friends.
”
“I know what I said...but that’s only because I didn’t think I could be ‘just friends.’” I stared at the floor, my hands busy with the lacy edge of my top. “This is new territory for me. I’m not very good at this relationship stuff. I’ve never had boyfriends—or many boys that were friends for that matter.” I raised my gaze to meet his, glad to see pools of deep green that showed a spark of empathy.
He hit the button and the treadmill wound down to a brisk walk. Grabbing the towel on the console, he wrapped it around his neck, and wiped the sweat from his face. Drenched, the light blue Lacrosse tee shirt clung to his body, outlining a nice solid chest and lean, six-pack abs.
“So you still want to hang out, or what?” he asked. Despite his chilly tone, a hopeful cadence rang through. I took it as a good sign he was ready to forgive me, but I got why he was keeping himself in check. Probably the smartest approach given that I had ruthlessly stomped on his feelings. Another pinch of guilt tightened my chest.
“I’d like that,” I said. “Maybe we can go check out a movie later?” A movie seemed harmless enough, and a good starting point for our renewed friendship.
“Okay,” he replied cautiously. “I’ll meet you up at your room in about a half hour.” He shut down the treadmill and stepped off.
“Great.” I backed away and banged my shin on a weight bench as I left him in mid-hamstring stretch. A small smile curved his lips when I stifled an ow and my face flushed with heat. I had a feeling the throbbing in my shin was nothing compared to the beating my heart was about to take. Between the scent of his sweat acting like a drug, and the solid lean muscles that defined his frame, this ‘just friends’ thing wasn’t going to be easy.
∞∞∞
The movie ended up being some sappy romance. Ethan tolerated it well, but I sensed him zoning out occasionally—possibly contemplating jumping ship during the steamy bedroom scenes.
I considered the possibility of joining him, the two of us lost at sea and immortalized as star-crossed lovers, forbidden to be together and forced to choose death in order to spend our eternity as one. It would have made me laugh but I immediately thought of Amanda, her death still too close to see any humor in dying young. The pervasive question that had been plaguing me resurfaced.
“Do you ever wonder if your mom is in heaven?” I asked as Ethan and I made our way out of the dark theater headed for our respective rooms.
“Yeah. I believe so.” I liked how Ethan never blinked an eye at my stupid questions. He would simply think for a second and answer thoughtfully and truthfully.
“But what if there really is no heaven?” I asked. “What if when we die, everything just...stops? We get buried in the ground, decay into dust, and we’re...done?”
Ethan let a grin slide across his face. “Then we’re done and we never know the difference.” He punched the elevator up button and turned to me while we waited. The elevator doors opened as he responded. “But I don’t believe that’s how it works. I don’t think our spirits die when our bodies do.”
A passenger I recognized as Mrs. Lowenstein stepped out of the elevator. Bulging eyes stared through thick glasses. “Quite right, young man. I’m planning on a long afterlife.” She bared crooked and yellowed teeth at us and teetered off.
Ethan and I stepped onto the elevator, breaking into laughter as the doors closed. When we exited a moment later and headed down the hall, I resurrected the conversation. “What makes you so sure?” A long silence followed until we reached my room. “C’mon. It’s not like you’ve seen the other side. Have you?” I added, curious when he took a moment to respond.
“I was with my mom when she died. In the last few minutes...there was a peacefulness that came over her face. Right at the end, I remember her saying she wasn’t in pain anymore. She told me I shouldn’t be afraid and that she wasn’t alone. When she...passed on, I had a strong sense of her spirit leaving her body and moving upward.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but I just know there’s something after.” Lightening the mood, he added, “Besides, I can’t imagine God would let a perfectly good soul go to waste.”
“I like the way you think,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. “But you’re assuming there is a God.”
“You don’t believe in God?” He asked, surprise in his tone.
“I don’t know what to believe. This world is so messed up. If there is a God, why would He...or She,” I said, eyeing Ethan with a grin, “let all this bad stuff happen?”
“Free will makes it kind of impossible for God to control everything. That would mean He...or She,” he returned the grin, “would have to force us to make right choices. You can’t pin everyone’s stupidity on God. It’s people who are messing up the world, not Him...or Her.” Long dark lashes batted at me as if he were imitating a female, causing a giggle to escape my lips.
I considered his logic. “Maybe. But I wish things were different—not so complicated.”
“Me too.” Those deep green eyes studied my face, finally settling on my lips, which sent an instantaneous flutter to my belly. “We should probably say good night. We have an early day in Palermo.”
He was right but I didn’t want the night to end. “When is your dad joining the cruise?” I asked, stalling and outlining the curve of his jaw with my gaze.
“Day after tomorrow when we reach Rome. He said we could do the Vatican and St. Peter’s Basilica tour together, but I’ll believe it when I see it.” Bitterness infused his tone, drawing my attention back to his eyes. The sadness behind them mixed with deeper emotions, and I wondered how many disappointments it took to create that look.
“Well, I hope he’s good to his word this time.” With nothing left to say, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Ethan’s hand on my arm stopped me.
“I’m glad we’re friends, Lexi. This trip would have been miserable without you.”
I reveled for a moment in the feel of his warm, strong hand on my arm, then met his gaze. “For me, too.”
He leaned in and laid a soft kiss on my cheek, lingering for a second and then pulling away. “See you tomorrow.” He backed away, leaving me standing in my doorway, heart pounding like mad. We exchanged another long look before each of us finally slipped into our rooms.
I tumbled onto my bed, grabbed the folded towel monkey on my pillow, and stared at the dopey grin on its face—certain that it matched mine perfectly.
Chapter 18
Palermo, Sicily, surpassed anything I could have imagined. A golden rim of mountains surrounded the medieval village like something out of a magazine or a storybook. Small sailboats speckled the coastline, and the busy port bustled with local tour guides and dockworkers. To my disappointment, we were shuffled onto a tour bus before I had a chance to explore. Maddie assured me we’d come back before the end of the day and “nose” around. As we rumbled our way through town, I noticed the generations of architectural styles featured throughout the business district and watched the port fade as we headed into the hills beyond.
Maddie sat behind Ethan and me, chatting with an elderly man with an apparent dead battery in his hearing aid, who kept asking her to repeat what the tour guide said. Our guide, Maximo, with his Italian features and romantic accent, continued to share about the many plant species that had been imported from locales as far away as Australia and America. I only caught half of what he said, so captivated by the exotic landscape I could barely click my phone camera fast enough through the window. We wound through hills along narrow roads, each turn as we climbed upward revealing new and even more interesting sights.
Staggered throughout the terraced hillside were houses of tan and cream adobe, the terra cotta roofs giving them a uniform appeal. Each house had many small square or rectangular windows and verandas overlooking the turquoise sea below. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live there—to wake to the amazing view of the Mediterranean every day.
The bus climbed to the top of Monta Pellegrino, a little village that
was like an array of picture postcards. We visited Cathedral Square and had lunch at Il Café di Ruggiero, enjoying a lemon iced tea and the best Italian cookies I’d ever tasted. Lush plants hung from balconies, narrow cobbled walkways tunneled between buildings with shops and art galleries, and colorfully dressed people milled about the area, making me feel as if I’d stepped into a spy movie or one of those romance novels where the woman escapes to some foreign country and falls madly in love with a hot guy with a sexy accent.
Maddie stopped in every store, exiting with some souvenir, article of clothing, or trinket, assuring me it was simply her way of supporting the local artisans. She handed off her bags to Ethan—who had inadvertently become her valet—and tipped her hat down to block the late morning sun.
“The economy of these little villages is solely dependent on the tourist trade, and with everyone up in arms over the dangers of international travel, places like this won’t be around much longer.” She draped a silk scarf around her neck and pulled a compact out of the bottomless pit that was her purse. “Besides, it never hurts to make a good impression in a foreign land. We are representing our country, after all.”
Ethan and I exchanged a grin. Maddie, primping as if she was about to meet the Pope, powdered her nose and then stuffed the compact in her bag. We fell in line behind the tour guide as he held up his little orange flag to rally our group. I hung back with Ethan.
“I’ve been watching that young couple over there at the edge of the square. I bet they have some primo weed,” I whispered and pointed out a group of teens hovering around a young couple who were darting nervous glances across the square and covertly exchanging something small for a few Euros. It was the first opportunity I’d seen for any chance at scoring some weed. I couldn’t be sure, but they looked like the type, and my radar was up.
Ethan studied the group and then took me by the hand. “We need to catch up to our tour. Besides, buying drugs in a foreign country is a really bad idea,” he whispered. “Trust me. It’s not worth getting caught.”