“Sounds great.” I was all for doing a little sight-seeing, even if it was just a street or two. My original plans for Lucca had included several days of simply wandering the streets, window shopping, and perusing the offerings from the street vendors in the piazzas.
“If you feel well enough, you should come to town for the outdoor market this weekend. It is only Saturday and Sunday of the third week each month, but it is wonderful. Artisans of everything you can imagine and such good food of every kind. I could talk to Paulo to come pick you up and take you on Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s all right. He’s already done so much for me.” I patted the arm of the wheelchair in demonstration. Besides, I wasn’t going anywhere with Paulo and I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else try to foist me on him, either.
She didn’t argue, which surprised me at first. But then I remembered that she and Paulo had ridden back into town together last night and they’d probably had some interesting conversation about me and my behavior. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and said “Madalina, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night. I had too much to drink and I—.”
“Wheest!” From behind me, she put both hands on my cheeks and planted a kiss on top of my head. I caught a whiff of the cigarette she’d just finished smoking still lingering on her fingertips but I didn’t mind. “You were among friends. It happens to the best of us. You do not need to apologize.”
“Thank you.” I let the breath out in a long, full-cheeked puff. “What about you?” I asked tentatively, wanting to move past last night, past Paulo, past my bad behavior. “Do you have to work on Sunday? Maybe Isa could bring me and we could do a girls’ day at the market together?”
“Perhaps we can. We will speak to Isa when she returns for you, yes?”
For the next half an hour, we did a mini sight-seeing tour of Madalina’s little section of Lucca, including the wonderful Piazza dell’ Antifeatro, its modern oval structure echoing the ruins of the Roman amphitheater buried beneath it. There we perused flower carts and candy stands. I bought a delicious creamy pomegranate gelato, and realized I’d have to triple or quadruple my efforts if I was going to try every gelato flavor before heading home. I picked up several more postcards, too, and Madalina gifted me with a paper cone of candied nuts from a man she flirted outrageously with. I think she ended up getting the delicious snack for a remarkably good price.
By the time we made it back to the pastry shop, my cheeks were pink from the sun and my fingers sticky from the sweet snacks. Madalina let me use their tiny restroom around back of the shop and I poked my head in to say hello to Pops and Crina, who greeted me like a long-lost relative. Madalina must have kept them apprised of my adventure. I couldn’t understand a word they said, but the pats and kisses and paper bags of cookies and cream-filled pastries made it evident that they felt something for me, even if it was just sympathy or pity.
I set up post at one of the tables out under the awning, but even after the wickedly strong espresso Madalina had whipped up for me, I was ready for a nap. My lingering headache from the night before hadn’t completely disappeared, but I’d enjoyed my time with Madalina so much I hadn’t really thought about it. Now, though, as I prepared to write postcards and answer emails, I felt the pulsing behind my eyes enough to make me wish I’d brought my pain medication with me.
I tipped my head back, leaning it against one of the wheelchair handles, and let my eyelids drop, my hands resting firmly on my closed laptop, lest someone try to whip it out from under my nose while my eyes were closed.
The sound close by of a chair scraping across the stones had me straightening in surprise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Hello, Ani.” Paulo. In a tight pink shirt and rust-colored jeans. And the clashing color combination looked really good on him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but you should not leave your computer out like this if you are going to fall asleep.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” Why? Why did he have to show up and ruin my nice, relaxing afternoon?
“Of course not. But you looked like you might be. And that would make someone believe you were an easy target.” He was laughing at me. And this time I didn’t care for it even one iota.
I sat forward, gathered my laptop and the notebook I’d been using into my computer bag, and tucked it all firmly into the space between my thigh and the armrest of my chair. Then I pulled out my novel, wishing with all my heart that Isa would come motoring around the corner, honking her way down the street to rescue me.
“I’m sorry. Did you need something from me, Paulo? Or did you just stop by to point out the fact that I’m an American idiot?”
“Ah! I like that song. You listen to Green Day? For some reason I am not surprised.” He reached for one of the paper bags on the table between us. “Did Crina give you one of her priceless bags of reject pastries?” He opened it and poked around inside before I reached over and grabbed it from him.
“Did you touch them all with your unwashed hands?” Good grief. I sounded like a jerk.
“Not all of them. But you will have to guess which ones.” He leaned back in his chair and licked his fingers.
“Take them. They’re yours, now.” I folded the top over and plopped the bag back in the middle of the table.
“Ani.”
“Don’t ‘Ani’ me. It’s obvious I’m just a rock in your shoe, so why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me what you want from me. And I like Green Day but I don’t listen to them. I would if they didn’t drop the F-bomb so much, but I loathe that word.” I could feel my head beginning to bob. No, no, no! Stop talking, Ani! “There are better words to use to get a point across, you know, even if you are a punk. The English language is simply overflowing with adjectives and adverbs, yet we choose to limit our vocabulary to vulgar four-letter expostulations. It’s just indicative of lazy, apathetic thinkers, in my opinion.”
“In your opinion,” he repeated sternly, his eyes wide at my rant.
“Yep.” I looked away, mollified that I’d at least temporarily stymied him.
“Okay. I will not ask to borrow any of your Green Day albums. Nor will I use that word around you. I, too, loathe it, and I do not use it. Ever.” He reached for the bag between us, pulled out a cookie and took a bite. “Not ever,” he reiterated, after he had swallowed.
“Well, good. Apparently, we have something in common after all. Well, other than the fact that we’re. Both. Americans.”
He had just taken another bite of cookie and burst out laughing, but his laughter turned to coughing as he choked on the cookie. I sat there for a moment, wondering if he was just pulling my leg, but then realized when his eyes started watering that he was really having a hard time catching his breath.
“Here. Wash it down with this.” I pushed my half-empty water glass toward him. “It’s carbonated so be careful.”
He nodded his thanks, unable to speak, and took a huge gulp. A few more sputters and coughs, a couple more smaller sips, and the water was gone, the chunk dislodged, and a red-faced, teary-eyed Paulo sat across from me, still trying not to laugh.
“That’ll teach you to steal my cookies.”
“I did not steal them! You gave them to me,” he croaked.
“Yeah, after you got your boy cooties all over them. What choice did I have?”
He chuckled again, picked up my glass, and stood up. “Listen, Ani. I only stopped by to pick up a few pastries to take to a meeting this afternoon. I did not know you were here. I did not come just to disturb you, I promise.” His expression softened. “I will ask Madalina for more water for you, and I will replace your cookies, okay?”
“So how do you and Madalina know each other?” The question popped out of me like a jack-in-the-box, and I looked away, wishing I didn’t care what the answer was. Isa had seemed pretty certain Paulo and Madalina weren’t dating, but they definitely had something going between them.
He hesitated before answerin
g, and I braced myself for an explanation I didn’t want to hear. “We attend the same church. She is good friends with the mother of one of the boys I work with.”
That was it? There had to be more he wasn’t telling me; they seemed awfully chummy for church people. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.” I narrowed my eyes at him, wishing I wasn’t always so off my game around him. I didn’t feel the need to impress him. It was just that he always seemed to get me at my worst. Lost and scared on the train, battered and bloodied in the park, drunk and disorderly at dinner, and now soapboxing about language that neither one of us used. What a piece of work he must think I am. None of it was his fault, but I wanted it to be.
He said nothing, infuriating me further.
“More water would be nice.” My words were polite but my tone was clipped, dismissing him. Then I opened my novel to where it was marked with a photo booth strip of Tish and me taken several weeks ago at Disneyland. For my birthday, since Jerkob had bombed Brigatines for us, we had pooled our resources and taken each other to the happiest place on earth to try to cheer me up. The pictures of us in our Mickey Mouse ears and Toy Story ray guns gave all appearances that it worked. Paulo disappeared inside the shop.
I ran my fingers over our laughing faces. I missed her fiercely just now.
“Here you go.” Paulo returned, water and a fresh bag of goodies as promised in hand. “It is a new cup, too. I told Pops to take your old cup and burn it in the alley to kill the boy germs.”
“Thank you.” I kept my expression serious. “Not just for the water and cookies, but also for doing your part to help disease control.”
He extended a leg and took a bow. I snorted, raised my book to indicate how busy I was, lowered my eyes, and pretended to read. He took a few steps away, then turned back around and rocked on his heels a few times, his own bag of pastries clutched in both hands behind him. Finally, I looked over at him. He stood just past the edge of the awning and the sun on his dark hair gave it a blueish sheen. His shoulders covered in the pale pink shirt glowed in the afternoon light.
“Yes?”
“Are you waiting for someone, Ani?”
“For Isa, yes. She’s running some errands, then she’s coming back to get me so I can go for my X-rays. To see if I can start putting weight on my leg yet. Why?”
“Oh, yes. Today is your follow up with Dr. Lazzaro. I forgot.” He fell silent. I took a sip of the cold bubbly water he’d set in front of me, giving him time to speak, but he still said nothing.
“Okay.” I drew the second syllable out for effect. What was he hemming and hawing about? “Is there anything else you want to know about me? Or were you actually being friendly and making sure I wasn’t stranded here all alone?”
His eyes darkened a little at that, and I wished I could take it back. It wasn’t like me to be so rude. “You know, Ani, you do not make it easy to be your friend. I am sorry I am not suave like your Cosimo, but I do not believe I am the bad guy that you think I am. I will leave you to your book.” He started to walk away.
I wanted to call out an apology, but the words got caught in a jumble in my throat.
“By the way,” he said, turning around to look at me one more time from the middle of the street. His voice carried, echoing off the walls of the buildings surrounding us. “You look exceptionally beautiful again today, Ani.” He dipped his head briefly, and then sauntered off down the road.
I read the same paragraph four times before I finally gave up and put the book away. Opening the bag he’d left for me, I grabbed the first thing I touched. It was the same kind of cookie Paulo had choked on. I returned it to the bag and took a sip from my boy-germ-free glass of water instead.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cosimo’s day had not gone well. He didn’t elaborate; probably because of patient confidentiality and all that, but he did say that his morning had gotten very complicated. His whole demeanor was stiff with me during our short visit, but in the exam room after my X-ray, he made a point to tell me how sorry he was that he could not spend more time with me today, and that he thought about me having my coffee on the terrace this morning. He didn’t try to kiss me, or to touch me in any way except professionally, even though he complimented me openly.
“You look like a Tuscan sunset in that dress, bellisima. Once again you bring the sunlight into my life.” It occurred to me then, my eyes covertly darting around the room, that perhaps there were cameras mounted on the walls. I thought about his clientele and the types of services he provided, and if perhaps he needed the added protection against lawsuits. Then I immediately felt judgmental for thinking such things and chose to believe he simply respected me and wasn’t going to take advantage of me in this setting.
His next words, spoken low and husky, made me reconsider my reconsideration. “I cannot wait to come see you, Ani. I want to kiss your lips and catch on fire again.”
It was nice to know exactly where one stood with a guy.
By the time we made it home, Gerardo in tow, the shadows on the hillsides were long, and the breeze had rustled up a bit of a chill. I hadn’t brought a sweater, thinking we’d be back before I’d need one, and I was glad to get inside and into my room to find my black cable knit cardigan.
The evening meal was as simple as last night’s had been complex, but no less tasty. A large white tureen in the middle of the table held a creamy pureed summer squash and cannellini bean soup. Margarite set before each of us a plate of grilled rolls stuffed with leftover prosciutto slices from last night, roasted red peppers, basil and spinach leaves, and melted mozzarella.
Because of a busy workload, Cosimo would not be back out to the house until Wednesday evening. Part of me was disappointed in a pining sort of way, but another part of me relished the freedom I’d have to just hang out at the beautiful house and get some of my own work done. Maybe without the distraction of Cosimo, I’d find the opportunity to talk with Claudia and Isa about the olive plight, perhaps even Franco as well, if he was willing. I really hoped the harvest would happen, not just for the sake of my paper, or even simply getting to experience something so cool and fundamental to existence in this part of the world, but for the sake of this family who was so generous with their lives to family, friends, and even complete strangers like me.
When dinner was over, I excused myself for the night. I thanked Claudia again for the beautiful dress, Margarite for the lovely meal, the men for their company, and Isa for being such a good friend to me. Then I made my way through the quiet house to my room. Now that the swelling in my foot had reduced and I’d gotten more comfortable with my leg brace, I planned to take a hot bath and slip into my flannel pajama set, something I was looking forward to with great anticipation. Ensconced in my room the rest of the evening, I was going to catch up on some schoolwork and write the letters to family and friends I’d not gotten around to this afternoon.
Opening my inbox, I rolled my eyes. Tish had left four increasingly badgering emails asking how my visit went with Dr. Scrumptious.
Tish,
So guess what I learned on my way to my follow-up visit. Cosimo is a plastic surgeon, of all things. Can you believe it? I don’t know why I didn’t know that, or why I assumed he ran some kind of urgent care clinic. The minute I wheeled into his office today, I saw signs of it everywhere, and not just the wild artwork, either. Framed certificates on the walls, pamphlets about the different types of cosmetic surgeries one can have, name plates on the door. I guess I must have been a little distracted the first time I went in.
So according to the good doctor, I need to keep the weight off my foot for at least another week. He thinks my being sick might have slowed down my healing process. I suppose that makes sense. He promised to bring crutches with him when he comes back out to the house on Wednesday night (they still hadn’t arrived yet) and he’ll teach me how to use them the right way. I didn’t know there was a wrong way to use crutches, but maybe it’s just an excuse to put his hands on me. He did tell
me he wants to kiss me until he catches on fire….
I don’t know how I’d go another minute, no less another week without this wheelchair, Tish, but I’m telling you, I could do without that Paulo guy being attached to it. I really do not like him. And I know what you’re going to say. The fact that I don’t like him so much means that I really want him. Well, just for good measure, I’ve considered that objectively, because there has been a moment or two when you might have been right. But every time, just when I start warming up to him, he goes and does or says something that just leaves me frustrated. He stirs me up, yes, but not in a good way, Tish. So you’re wrong.
Besides, I think—and I say that because I really can’t tell—I think he and Madalina are trying to work out something between them. They either were an item at one time, or they’re headed that way, or they want to be an item but his looming departure is preventing them from acting on that desire.
Yep. Looming departure. And you’ll never guess to where.
The United States of America.
Paulo Durante is an American studying Italian as a second language here in Lucca. From my own homeland! And he didn’t bother to tell me that. Not when I was scared and lost and ALONE on a train in a strange country. Not when I was bloodied and battered and helpless and ALONE in a strange country. Not when every shred of evidence that I existed in this world was stolen from me and I was completely and utterly ALONE in a strange country. He said he didn’t know why it mattered.
See what I mean? I get grumpy just thinking about him.
But he did bring me this life-saver wheelchair, so now I have to be nice to him, at least until I can get around on my crutches.
I didn’t do so well with the whole ‘nice’ thing today. I was upset at him about the American thing and he stopped by l’Aurora while I was there today. Not to see me, particularly. He said he didn’t know I’d be there, that he was just grabbing a box of pastries to take with him to a meeting. But anyway, he started teasing me, and I got fed up and was kind of rude to him. He told me I don’t make it easy to be friends with me. I felt terrible, Tish. Then he topped off my shame by complimenting me on how nice I looked. I felt worse than terrible after that.
All the Way to Heaven Page 17