“Actually, we are almost to La Lima where we must leave the river behind. There is a place right before the town where we can get to the water. Would you like that? And maybe we will have something to eat while we are there.” He patted the rattan basket beside him. “And I have a surprise for you when we get there.”
Several minutes later, he veered the little truck off the highway onto a narrow road that zigzagged back and forth to rival Lombard Street in San Francisco. I just held on. We passed a few buildings, perhaps a few homes, and soon reached the end of the road that dumped us onto a grassy patch sloping down to the rocky riverbank. Paulo parked, came around to my side with my wheelchair, and held it steady for me while I managed to clamber into it with some finesse, Margarite’s basket on my lap. He pushed me as far as he could before the ground under us became too soft and I made him stop and pull me back away from the pebbly sand to where the grass started. There was a sturdy looking table, but no bench, beneath a tree close by and he offered to park me in the shade, but I wanted to sit in the sun for a few minutes first.
“Sit and enjoy.” Paulo took the food basket from me and set it on the ground beside my chair. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to a gentle breeze.
We were the only people down there and the rushing sound of the river seemed to ebb and flow hypnotically around me. Nature’s soundtrack. The leaves in the nearby trees swishing against each other, the burbling of the water where it ran shallow over rocks close to shore, a myriad of different bird songs punctuating the ceaseless motion of the current.
“This is a good time to sit with your eyes closed, I think.” Paulo murmured beside me. I didn’t open them, but grinned appreciatively. After a few moments, I turned to find him seated on the ground beside my chair in much the same basking posture as mine, his eyes closed, too, arms resting on his knees.
Paulo Durante was decidedly much more appealing to me today than he’d been on the train. He was much more appealing to me than he’d been the day he rescued me on the wall around Lucca. And he was even more appealing to me than he’d been in my drunken languor at Lazzaro’s poolside. And at l’Aurora when he stole my pastries. And in the olive grove when he explained invaiatura. More than on the terrace just a few hours ago. Every time I saw him, in fact, he became more appealing to me than he’d been the last time.
Oh, Ani. What are you thinking, girl?
Paulo opened his eyes and caught me staring at him. I blushed—I could feel it—but I didn’t look away.
“What are you thinking about, Ani?” he asked, echoing my words almost verbatim.
Well, I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Paulo, thank you for this chair, for thinking of me, even when I wasn’t kind to you. You went out of your way for me, and I still don’t fully understand why, except that you’re an all or nothing kind of guy. But I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for this, for last week, for everything. So, well, I mean, thank you.” I pressed a palm to my chest. I could feel my heart thudding a bit madly beneath my palm. “You constantly surprise me, you know?”
He cocked his head at that, brows furrowed in question. “Why do you say that? I am an open book. Predictable as sunshine in Tuscany.” He waved a hand heavenward.
I shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe you are. But maybe that’s why you catch me by surprise so often. You seem to be exactly who you say you are, and I keep waiting for—no, expecting—you to do something that proves you’re not. But you surprise me again and again by not living up to my expectations.” I snorted at how silly that sounded, but it was the truth.
He turned to gaze out over the water, a small smile tugging on one corner of his mouth. After a few moments, he said, “I think perhaps that is the best compliment anyone has paid me in a very long time, Ani.” We both spoke a little louder than usual to be heard above the rush of the water, but his voice was husky, catching on my name, and I looked away. “I hope I never live up to your expectations.” He reached over and ran a finger down the side of my calf, stopping at the top of my boot. “I will try to keep surprising you.”
Then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and laid it on my lap. “Surprise.”
“My credit card!” I exclaimed, ripping the flap open and pulling the tri-folded insert out. Glued to the page was a shiny new plastic card with the boxy VISA logo emblazoned across it. Holding it up, I chortled gleefully. “Look, Paulo! I have money! Now I can buy us lunch today!”
He smiled and nodded, but said, “You are not buying lunch today, Ani.”
I wrinkled my nose at him and clutched the card to my chest, considering what this meant. I had my passport, I had my license, and now I had access to cash. All I was waiting for was clearance from my doctor—what was his name again?—and I could… go… home. Like a balloon with a tiny pinprick, I felt myself deflating, suddenly wishing for more time here, more time to get to know this man beside me. Something in his expression made me ache to reach over and touch him, and when he looked away toward the water, I could see his throat working like he was swallowing hard.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Did you get this from Isa or did you go ask Cosimo for it?” I cringed at the thought of the latter.
Paulo guffawed, but it wasn’t really a friendly sound. “No. I did not ask Cosimo for it. Not even if you paid me.” He picked up a smooth pebble from the ground beside him and rolled it between his two palms. “When I told Isa about our plans, she thought you might want it today for our drive, in case you saw something you could not do without. So last night I went to her place to pick it up for you.”
“And there you go, surprising me yet again.” I tucked everything back into the envelope it’d come in and slipped the whole thing inside the small clutch I was using, an extra purse I’d packed for when I needed something small. It wasn’t ideal for a day like this, but it was better than using Madalina’s method.
Neither of us said anything for several long minutes, but finally, he rose and stretched his arms over his head, filling his lungs with air. It took every ounce of willpower, but I kept my eyes glued on the far bank, glad for what little peripheral vision we humans had. Then he scooped up the basket from the ground between us, made for the table under the tree, but didn’t quite clear the back of my chair, jostling me a little when he bumped into me. He released an embarrassed grunt, and I bit my lip to keep from giggling at his clumsiness. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only flustered one here today. I did turn to watch him walk away and sat up straight, frowning.
“Paulo, are you limping?”
He grinned at me over his shoulder, his expression almost guilty. “Only a little, cucciola.”
“Your toe?” I recalled how awful it had looked yesterday. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten all about it. And the poor guy had been driving with a clutch for the last hour or more. “How bad is it?”
Paulo grimaced as he said, “Well, it was tolerable until I kicked the wheelchair with you in it just now.”
“Oh, no!” I released the brakes and maneuvered across the bumpy grass toward him. When he sat gingerly on the edge of the table instead of rushing to help me, I knew he was hurting badly.
“Why didn’t you say anything this morning?” I asked and drew up in front of him. “We could have taken this drive another day. I’m going to be here for at least another week, you know.”
He leaned forward to look me in the eye, bracing both hands on the edge of the table on either side of him. “I am fine, Ani. Just give me a few minutes and some of Margarite’s food. I’m fine,” he repeated.
“No, you’re not, Mr. Tough Guy. Right now, you’re pitiful. Look at you, all sweating and shaky.”
“I am not shaking. And I am only sweating because I had to push you in the soft sand, and regardless of what your Cosimo says, you are not a little sparrow.” He puffed out his cheeks and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Ah. Still not funny.” I rolled my eyes.
“Hm. I will have to try ha
rder then.”
I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “And he’s not my Cosimo.”
His eyebrows went up a little, but he let that go. “I think perhaps you are more of a swallow than a sparrow, Ani, fearlessly flying so far from home.” He reached over and tugged on one of my curls.
“Nice save, Paulo. Nice save. So seriously, do you think you’ll be able to drive?” If he couldn’t, we might be stranded after all. Perhaps not on a desert island, but stranded all the same. Although, glancing around me, I could think of worse places to be stranded. And worse companions to be stranded with.
“I can drive. You do not have to look so afraid.” He chuckled.
“Well. Good. Fine.” Suddenly flustered, I dug around inside my purse, retrieved my travel-sized tube of ibuprofen and poured out a few of the little red tablets into my hand. The basket of goodies sat close at hand on the table beside Paulo and I flipped open the lid and reached for the bottle of water. After unscrewing the cap, I took a dainty sip to wet my suddenly dry mouth, and handed it to Paulo, along with the pills.
He took them all without arguing, guzzling almost a third of the water before setting it down on the table beside him. He eyed me stubbornly. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I didn’t stop. “We should go home. You need to put your foot up. You need ice. You might need to get that x-rayed. We can do this another day.”
“We will take it easy going home. We have time, yes? And remember, I am determined. And stubborn.”
“Paulo.”
“Ani.”
“Don’t ‘Ani’ me. You are hurt. I’m serious.”
“Don’t ‘Paulo’ me. I am serious, too. It is one toe on one foot. I only use it when I need to shift gears and it is a very easy clutch, I promise.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
We broke into the food in the basket, both of us curiously ravenous. The croissant rolls were stuffed with a variety of ingredients, much to our delight. There was ham and cheese, plum jam, apricot jam, and one with slices of cinnamon apples that tasted like an apple pie. There were two stout-bottomed tumblers in the basket and we each had a conservative glass of the wine. Paulo told me he rarely drank, mainly because he didn’t like how it made him feel, but he believed a glass of wine now and then, taken in moderation and in the right situation, was good for the health and for the spirit. “It means we have to sit here and enjoy the day a little longer, though. You don’t mind, do you?”
I didn’t mind at all. Sitting there beside Paulo’s favorite river, beneath the gnarled branches of a tree likely planted well before either one of us was born, our bellies full, I felt a deep contentment settle over me. I wasn’t much of a drinker either, and I said so. He laughed at me and reminded me that he’d been there last Sunday night.
“I will be keeping my eyes on you, Anica Tomlin.”
I didn’t mind that either, but only said, “Still not funny.”
“Look over there.” He pointed across the water at what looked like a tall hitching post with a roof tucked into the trees on the far bank.
“Is that a shrine?” I’d seen a few like it on our drive today, and I’d read about them before coming, that they were fairly commonplace in people’s driveways or along well-traveled roads, but this seemed like such an odd place for one, across the river where no one could get to it.
“It is. Dedicated to the Madonna. Do you see the relief of the Virgin and Child?” I squinted my eyes against the sunlight flickering off the water, and could just make out the stone carving of the famous duo below an alcove where a vase of flowers was perched under the A-frame of roof tiles.
“But how do people get to it?”
“Just beyond those trees are homes. It is tended by someone who lives there, I am certain. From this side, there is a place where the water is shallow down there at the sand bar. I have only been in this spot one other time before, but the water is not deep and I was able to make it across by stepping from rock to rock and only getting my feet wet. In the wheelchair, though?” He shook his head. “I think we will stay here and just look. But it is nice to see, yes? Like she has been waiting there to give us her blessing on this day.”
I glanced over at him, not really surprised by the sentimental notion, but appreciating the fact he’d shared it with me. He kept his eyes on the shrine, though, so I just made an agreeable sound and fell silent again, finishing the last few bites of my crisp apple.
We saved the foccacia, the olives, and some of the fruit for later, tucking it all back into the basket. Paulo took it to the truck to discourage a few bugs that were making a concerted effort to join our picnic. I thought he’d meant to prove to me that he was all right by walking to the truck, but he was most definitely still gimping along. I sighed, exasperated at his stubbornness, and sympathetic for his suffering. I lay my head back against one of the wheelchair handles behind me and closed my eyes.
“I have something else for you,” he called from inside his open door.
“Another surprise? What is it? Another wheelchair?” I called back to him, my words slow and lazy. I was being lulled into a semi-stupor by a full belly and warm sunshine. “Maybe you should keep it for yourself, Paulo.”
“It is something even better than a wheelchair. You will like this one, I think.” I turned to see him making his way slowly around the front of the truck, a pair of crutches still wrapped in crinkly cellophane in his hand. “For you,” he said. “From the good Dr. Lazzaro.”
I stared agape at the brushed aluminum apparatuses as he hobbled back toward me. “What are you doing with those? Did you get these from Cosimo?”
“Like I said, not even if you paid me.”
“Right. So you got these from Isa, too?” I sat forward in my chair, and rose to stand, letting my left foot rest on the ground for balance. I’d worn my awesome boots for good measure, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I propped my hip against the edge of the table, but oh, it felt good to unfold and stretch my back a little.
“Cosimo thought Isa would be seeing you today and that she could bring them to you. I picked them up from her apartment along with your card last night.” As he approached, he unwrapped the plastic and tossed the pieces into a pile on the table, placing a stone on top to keep them from scattering in the breeze.
“So is Isa not coming home tonight after all? Will she make it in time for the harvest?” I knew her mother and Margarite were really counting on her to be there.
“She is coming tonight, but she said she will be very late and thought you might want to try these while you were out today.” He held them in front of him, resting the rubber capped ends on the ground.
“How kind of her. Of you! Did she give you any instructions? Cosimo said she was going to show me how to use them.”
“How to use them?” Paulo frowned at the crutches. “Is there a right and wrong way to use crutches?”
“I wondered the same thing!” I giggled, reaching forward and taking one from him. “I suppose if I use them to hit people that might count.”
Paulo took a step back, one hand behind his back, his other hand holding the crutch out like a rapier. “En garde!”
I was game. With all my weight on one foot, but still leaning against the table edge for support, I tried to lift the crutch out in front of me to meet his attack. “Oh my gosh! How do you hold that thing straight out like that with only one hand?”
“Welcome to the Italian gun show!” Paulo flexed his free arm, kissed the bicep clearly defined under the fabric of his sleeve, then slipped his hand behind his back again.
“Oh no! You did not just do that!” But I was laughing, thoroughly enjoying the cheese. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you loosen up a little. Maybe even the tiniest bit funny, too.”
He struck an exaggerated fencing pose but kept most of his weight on his right foot. His toe must be killing him, but he was putting on a good show for me. “En garde!” he said again, with even more flare.
With both hands,
I raised my crutch into the air. I tossed my hair dramatically and cried out, “Bring it, baby!”
He lunged and our weapons collided between us with a little more force than I had anticipated. The aluminum tubing clanged impotently, but the jarring went straight up both arms to my teeth. Undaunted, I cried out “Hi-yah!” and swung again, this time side to side. But I missed his crutch completely, and having overcompensated for the expected impact, I started to lose my balance. Without thinking, I put my foot down. The pain shot up through my leg like an electric shock and I cried out.
He lunged for me again, but this time without the crutch he’d launched out of the way, and hauled me hard up against him. But we went down together, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes, with him beneath me, taking the brunt of the impact. I still let out a terrifically unladylike grunt, and lay there on top of him, stunned into immobility.
“Are you hurt, Ani?”
“I—I don’t think so.” In a panic, I wiggled my toes in my boots. Everything seemed fine, all things considered, except that my leg was resting casually across Paulo’s thighs.
“So, then… you are falling for me.” His voice was hushed, strained. Like I was crushing him. And, as Paulo had so blatantly pointed out, I was no little sparrow, plump or not, no matter what Cosimo said.
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry! Oh, no, oh no!” I pushed up off him, rolling to the side, lifting my leg clear of his. I lay back on the grass and draped an arm over my eyes, mortified beyond measure. “Did I hurt you? Your toe!” The last words came out a whisper. “I’m such a klutz!”
I couldn’t look at him. He was wheezing, like he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Ani.” It sounded like he’d rolled up to his side and was looking down at me.
“Don’t ‘Ani’ me.” I kept my arm across my face. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Ani.”
“What?”
“I think that is the wrong way to use the crutches.”
He was laughing at me. I moved my arm suddenly, intending to roll away from him, but he was much closer to me than I’d expected, and I thwacked him in the nose. It wasn’t very hard, but he fell back, groaning, clutching his face with both hands, and I surged up to lean over him in turn. “Paulo!” I grabbed his wrists and pulled them away, expecting to see gushing blood.
All the Way to Heaven Page 23