by Jen Carter
Holly shrugged at me helplessly, which clearly meant she hadn’t brought her passport. I couldn’t blame her—I hadn’t brought mine either. But of course Stella had. She laid it on the counter for Pietro to see. He leaned over it, looking back and forth between the passport and the phone with the obituaries. Once he looked up, he locked eyes with Nico and shrugged again. He shook his head and spoke one simple sentence.
I didn’t know what he said, but Holly let out a groan. Between Pietro’s tone and Holly’s reaction, I could connect the dots. Things weren’t going in our favor.
A long silence hung in the air. Then Nico replied with a single sentence of his own.
Holly gasped.
Pietro nodded. Then he disappeared through the back door again.
Nico exhaled audibly and smiled. “He’s going to give you whatever is in the box.”
Stella and I mimicked Nico, also exhaling loudly. Holly threw her arms around his neck. He chuckled and patted her back before she released him.
“Tell him when he comes back that we’ll reimburse him for the last four years that the box has been delinquent,” Stella said.
Pietro returned with a single envelope. He placed it on the counter and slid it toward us.
Nico asked him a question in Italian, and Pietro responded with a head shake.
“You don’t have to pay for the box,” Nico said. “No one’s needed it.”
Holly leaned over the counter, grabbed Pietro’s face with both hands, and kissed his cheek. “Grazie, grazie!” Then she grabbed the envelope and walked toward the door. “Grazie!” she called over her shoulder.
Stella and I echoed Holly’s thanks, though we skipped the kiss. We followed Holly out the front door.
The three of us sisters sat on a bench outside, Holly in the middle. Stella and I watched as our younger sister ripped open the envelope.
EIGHT
The blue paper was filled with our mother’s slanted longhand.
Here we are in the beautiful Cinque Terre. No one in either my family or Marco’s family has been here before, so it is truly a fresh start. A new beginning for just the two of us. And in six months, the baby will signal another new beginning: our family.
This is the last time I will look back on our former lives. This is the last time I will think of Mother and Father, their dislike of Marco, and their disapproval of me. This is the last time I will think about the fights, the anger, the loss. It’s all over, and our new life is beginning.
I promise I will do things right.
I promise I will take the lessons learned from my hurt and will do better.
I promise my children will know that we love them. Everyday. I promise they will always come first.
In twenty-five years, for our anniversary, we’ll come back here—the place of our fresh start. We’ll bring our children, and we’ll celebrate.
I’ll take these promises, knowing they’ve been fulfilled, and I’ll tear them up and throw them into the sea. And then I’ll write new promises for what’s to come next. Hopefully, we’ll be back in another twenty-five years to write even more promises.
Because love should always win. And I think it will.
My breath caught in my chest, and my eyes filled with tears. It took all of my control to keep from sobbing—I couldn’t let that happen. Once the floodgates opened, I’d be unable to close them.
The post office door slammed, and I looked up. Nico stood in front of the door, poised to wave goodbye. Seeing the tears streaming down my face, he stopped mid-wave, suddenly looking both concerned and awkward.
“I need to call Jason,” Stella sniffed. She stood, pulled out her phone, and shuffled toward the train station as she placed the call.
“I’m calling Aldo then,” Holly said. “He needs to explain some of this.” She wiped tears off her cheeks.
“No, I’m calling Aldo,” I said. “You call your dumb boyfriend. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.” I stood and grabbed my phone from my pocket. Holly did the same.
“No, I live with him. I know how to get answers. Plus, you’re too late—my phone’s already ringing.”
Dang, she was faster with her phone than I was. She handed me the blue paper from the post office box and walked in the opposite direction of Stella. I watched her go, sinking back to the bench. Not only did I feel shaken by Mom’s note, but now I felt dumbfounded by my sisters’ reactions. Shouldn’t the three of us have been sitting on the bench talking about this? Stella took off to call Jason. I knew he was her husband, but come on. We were her sisters. We lost our parents, too. And then Holly might have been right about getting answers from Aldo, but still. With her going off to call him, I was left sitting here by myself. Alone. Again.
Well, sort of alone.
“Are you okay?” Nico said, stepping toward me. “I don’t want to pry. But are you okay?”
Feeling helpless and empty, I shrugged. “My sisters.” I shook my head. I couldn’t pull together a complete sentence. “This.” I held up Mom’s note. “Just, I don’t know, what now?” I wiped my eyes and breathed deeply to force back a sob.
Nico sat down next to me. I don’t know why, but I shoved the note at him. Maybe because I needed both hands to cover my face. I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, and palmed my eyes.
I felt a hand patting my back, similar to how someone might pat a dog absentmindedly.
A minute passed while I tried to control my breathing.
“This is your mom’s?” Nico said. He dropped his hand from my back.
I sat up straight and looked at the paper in Nico’s hand. “Yes. And that note is exactly how she was in every memory I have. Passionate, fiercely protective of us, a little hard headed, completely focused on her goals. But at the same time, she was such a dreamer. Always optimistic and idealistic.” I sniffed. I didn’t understand parts of the note—I had no idea what she meant by hurt and loss—but I’d have to process that later. There was already enough to keep my mind reeling. “I miss her so much.”
“So they didn’t make it to their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary?”
I shook my head. “No. Twenty-four.”
“And then the boating accident?”
I nodded. “Right. My parents loved the water. They loved being on their boat. But one day, they were out sailing, and something happened. We’ll never know what went wrong—just that their lives ended out there.”
Nico didn’t ask for details, and I didn’t offer any. I didn’t have any more to add anyway.
“Maybe you can honor your mom’s wishes,” he said. “Everything came true that she expected. She had the three of you, and you’re obviously really close. It sounds like she created the life she always dreamed of. Maybe you could throw the note into the sea and write new promises, just like she planned.”
I thought about his words. My sisters and I were close, yes. But sometimes it really felt like surface-level close. They didn’t even sit with me after reading the note. Everything about our closeness had changed after Mom and Dad died.
But I had to put that aside for now.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “We came to celebrate them. We should carry out their plans.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stella walking back toward us. She sat on the bench and wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“How was Jason?” I asked.
Stella nodded. “Good.” She kept nodding. “It’s really early in the morning there, so it’s not an ideal time for me to call and start blubbering. But you know how he is. He always knows what to say.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes.”
Holly walked back to us, arms crossed and head shaking.
“You’ll never guess what Aldo told me,” she said as she stopped right in front of the bench.
Before Stella or I could answer, Nico rose. “I’ll let you get back to your afternoon,” he said. “If you need anything else while in town, you know where to find me.”
> We said goodbye and watched him walk onward toward the bank. It had been pretty nice of him to stay when my sisters abandoned me.
“What did Aldo say?” Stella asked Holly.
“Apparently, he was the only one who approved of Mom and Dad getting married.”
She paused, eyeing us as though waiting for a reaction. I had no reaction for her, though. I needed more information before I could react.
“Okay, listen.” She wedged herself between me and Stella. “So we know that Aldo’s wife died a long time ago—before any of us were born—so this has nothing to do with her. And Aldo always loved Mom. He said that she was perfect for Dad, and he was thrilled that his son had found someone so kind and strong. But Mom’s parents disowned her when they found out she was marrying Dad.”
Wait.
What? Disowned?
“Why?” Stella and I said at the same time.
“We already knew that Mom was pregnant with Stella when they got married,” Holly said. “That’s not a surprise to us. And as we could expect, Mom’s parents weren’t too happy that Mom got pregnant before marriage. But even with the pregnancy, they didn’t want Mom to marry Dad.” Holly sat up a little straighter and changed her voice to imitate Aldo’s. “Eh, you know, everyone is different. Your mother’s parents—they liked wine a lot. Maybe a little too much.” She shrugged the way Aldo would shrug when trying to downplay something. “And, you know, they worked very hard, but they didn’t have so much. It was hard for them to see how successful our vineyard was. They were a little grumpy, you know.”
I leaned back against the bench and looked at the sky. “Wait. So you’re telling us,” I said slowly, “Mom’s parents were poor, jealous people with drinking problems who disowned her because she was pregnant and marrying into a successful family?”
Holly continued with Aldo’s mannerisms and accent. She shrugged again and lifted her palms upward. “Eh, maybe you could say that, but they didn’t understand what they were doing. It was the wine.”
“Why didn’t we know about this?” Stella asked.
“Oh, you know, how your parents protected you,” Holly-as-Aldo said. “It’s not something they would have talked about when you were young.”
“I thought Mom’s parents died a long time ago,” I said. “I thought Aldo was the only living grandparent we had.” I looked at Stella. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
Stella studied her feet for a long moment. “Mom always said, They’re not here anymore.”
“Right,” Holly said just as I nodded. We all must have remembered Mom saying that.
“I figured she meant they were dead,” Stella said.
“And that’s why you told us to stop asking Mom about it,” I said.
Stella nodded. “Yes. Because I thought it upset her. She never spoke about them, and when we asked, she’d say, They’re not here anymore, and then change the subject.” She let out a long, defeated breath. “I just assumed she meant they were dead, and we ought to drop it.”
The last time I remembered asking Mom about her parents, I was probably in third grade, which meant that Stella was in fourth grade. Even as a ten-year-old, she was connecting dots and trying to protect people’s feelings—although her ten-year-old logic had yet to be perfected.
“But here’s the thing,” Holly said, back to her regular voice. “Mom wasn’t lying. Aldo heard through the grapevine that her parents moved back to Italy before I was a toddler.”
It took a moment for Holly’s words to register. Mom had been telling the truth, yes. Good. Great. But wait. Her parents moved back to Italy?
I looked at Holly. “They’re here?” I asked. “Now?”
Holly nodded. “They moved back to Rome, where they came from. And as far as Aldo knows, they’re still alive.”
NINE
“Stella, come on. I’m hungry,” Holly said. She stood in the bathroom doorway of our little Vernazza apartment, clutching her stomach like a four-year-old with a stomachache. “Why are you even putting on makeup? It stays light until practically midnight here, and you’re just going to wear those enormous sunglasses throughout dinner since we’ll be eating outside. No one’s going to see your face.”
I joined Holly in the doorway and watched Stella lean over the sink toward the mirror and run a mascara wand over her eyelashes.
“At this time of year, it stays light until about nine o’clock,” she said. “Don’t you think we’ll stick around town after dinner? It’ll be too dark for sunglasses.”
“Stick around town after dinner?” I said. “There’s nothing to do here after dark. This place is tiny, and I bet all the shops will be closed. What would we do?”
“I read that there’s a bar,” Stella said. “A local hot spot. We should check it out.”
I walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch. A bar did not sound like fun at all. Was I the only one who was tired from traveling? And emotionally worn out from that afternoon’s cry? Even uptight Stella wanted to go out later, which meant I was clearly the old fuddy-duddy of the group.
“Done.” Stella walked passed Holly into the living room, looking exactly the same as she had before fixing her makeup. “Let’s go to dinner.” She patted me on the knee. As though she had read my mind, she said, “Once you get some food in your stomach, you won’t be so tired.”
We left the apartment and headed down the steps toward Via Roma. The whole way down, Stella prattled on about the restaurant where we were having dinner, the bar we were going to after, and the schedule she had planned for tomorrow. I barely caught a word here and there. I was too busy making sure I didn’t fall down the steep steps and getting used to my new identity as the wet blanket of the group.
The restaurant Stella had chosen was perfect. Right on the Piazza Marconi, we sat under a bright yellow umbrella and had a perfect view of the beach just yards away. It was about seven o’clock, which meant that we had about two hours of daylight left. But with a glass or two of wine, that time would slip away practically unnoticed. The beautiful sunset would be upon us before we knew it.
“Buonasera,” a white-haired waiter said upon approaching our table. He handed a menu to each of us.
“Buonasera,” we replied.
“Ah, American, yes?” the waiter asked. He looked straight at me and Stella. “You sound American. Where are you from in America?”
Was it that obvious we were American? Probably. Well, yes, probably definitely.
“California,” Holly said.
“Oh,” the waiter said, smiling and throwing his hands upward. “I love California. San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego. All so beautiful. How long have you been here in Italy?”
“Today is our first day,” Holly said. “And we love it.”
“Ah, your first day? Excellent!” He rubbed his palms together. “Well then. I am John. I make a wonderful white wine. You want to start with the wine?”
We nodded.
“And John,” Holly said with a mischievous little smile, “for dinner, why don’t you just bring out three dishes for us to share. Bring us the three best dishes you make.” Her eyes flicked to Stella and her little smile widened for a moment before she winked at our waiter. She gathered our menus and handed them back to him.
“Of course,” John said. “I have a perfect idea for you.” With that, he tilted his head in a little bow and then disappeared into the restaurant.
Stella leaned against the table, her eyes shooting daggers at Holly. “I swear, if he brings out raw octopus, you’re eating my portion, and I’m drinking your wine.”
Holly giggled. “Live a little, Stel. We haven’t had enough adventure today.”
It sounded like they were entering another bickering session, so I turned off the sister switch in my brain and focused on the pick-up soccer game starting on the beach. I was pretty sure I saw Nico out there. And Pietro from the post office. As far as I could tell, no Vincenzo. That didn’t surprise me. With his potbelly and p
enchant for drinking before noon, he didn’t strike me as an athletic fella.
Seeing Nico reminded me of his suggestion—tearing up Mom’s note, throwing it into the sea, and writing new promises for the next twenty-five years. I hadn’t mentioned it to my sisters yet. I had spent most of the afternoon thinking about the Roman grandparents we hadn’t known existed. Maybe I’d bring it up after the wine came.
“Jill? Hey, where’d you go?” Holly waved a hand in front of my face. “Have you ever tried raw octopus? What are you looking at?” She turned to see the soccer game behind her.
“Oh, I read about that,” Stella said, leaning into me so that she could see around Holly. “Sometimes in the evenings the locals play soccer on the beach. I thought they normally started later in the evening, but maybe I misread the guidebook.”
John returned with a bottle of wine. “This,” he said while pouring the wine into a glass, “is the best wine in all of Cinque Terre. Maybe in all of Italy. I make it with my own two hands.” He waited for Holly to take a sip, and once she nodded her approval, he continue pouring. “It will go perfectly with your meal.” He set the wine bottle on the table.
“I wonder what that meal will be,” Stella muttered as he walked away.
“It’ll be fantastic,” Holly said. “Just like Jill’s view of the soccer game.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the beach again. “Watcha see out there, Jilly Bean? Something you like?”
I shifted my eyes from the game just in time to see Holly wiggling her eyebrows at me.
I was ninety-five percent sure I knew what Holly was getting at. Time to change the subject before she said anything else.
“Nico suggested we carry out Mom’s plan,” I blurted out. “Tear up her note, throw it in the sea, and write promises for the future.”
Holly’s eyebrows stopped wiggling. They rose and stayed high. She looked at Stella.
“I think,” Stella said slowly, “that’s a great idea. We should each write down something we want to see happen in the future, and then we should make a pact to come back when those things have happened.”