With the bedroom door locked, Michelle leaned back against it, took a few deep breaths, and then burst out crying. She heard her parents run up the stairs and she tried to quiet down her sobs, but it was no use. She heard her mom knocking quietly on the door, asking if she was okay. Her father's voice sounded equally distressed when he told her that if she needed to talk they could talk about anything. “I'm okay,” is what Michelle tried to say, but instead it sounded like “I'm oh oh k k eyy”. She was practically heaving, that's how loud she was crying. “I, I just need some, time alone.” Her parents gave her the privacy she needed, although her father didn't seem convinced that that was the best thing to do. He had never heard his daughter cry like that; it scared him. But Michelle's mom knew better. She recognized those cries. Those were the pangs of the heart, the kind that only a girl could experience. She also knew that somewhere in-between the weeping and the gasping, a boy’s name hung onto every tear.
When Michelle woke up it was to the sound of her alarm clock beeping. She didn't want to open her eyes. If she did, she would have to face another day, and she didn't want to. All she wanted was to hide beneath her blankets. She wanted to hide from herself. The alarm clock kept on beeping and even Crumb was sitting up alert, his face mere inches away from hers, with his long whiskers tickling her nose. Michelle eventually opened her eyes to tiny little slits and immediately saw large kitty eyes staring right back at her. She had no choice but to smile. There he was, her little friend who she didn't need to speak to or explain anything to. He was with her no matter what she felt like. She gathered Crumb up against her chest and turned the alarm off. Michelle felt awful, not just emotionally but also physically. Her rib cage was tight and her throat felt raw. She skipped breakfast just like she had dinner the night before, and managed to leave the house without anyone noticing her. She was too embarrassed to face her parents after crying like that. But she also didn't know what to tell them, as she herself still wasn't sure what exactly had happened.
School life didn't feel real for Michelle anymore. There she was in US History class talking about the Boston Tea Party and worrying about remembering all the important names and dates when in fact none of that mattered anymore. That was history, practically fantasy, and she was pretending to care. Yet somewhere out in the real world there was a person who could appear out of thin air, walk up walls, and had eyes that glowed like the ocean currents.
During recess, Michelle actually asked to be left alone. It took Samantha less than a second to recognize that Michelle had been crying. Michelle's eyes were bloodshot. It made Samantha feel sad, that her friend shut her out rather than confide in her.
By Friday afternoon, Michelle had no choice but to tell her parents that she was taking a ‘break’ from work. She eluded her mother’s gaze when asked if this so-called ‘break’ was a personal choice. Michelle was no fool; she knew that her mother knew that she had been fired. She also knew that her mother knew that she knew, but had chosen to let it slide. Michelle was grateful for that.
“Mom, it wasn't anything real bad,” Michelle said quietly. “I can go back this summer if I want.” That was a good enough answer for her mother. She trusted her; she knew that she had raised Michelle well enough. Michelle was 17 now, and she was going to let her work out her own problems.
“Michelle, if you ever need to talk about this or anything else, you know you can come to me, always,” her mom said.
Michelle gave her a tired smile, “Yes, I know mom. I just need to figure out things for me.”
Although Michelle spent most of the weekend studying and listening to music upstairs in her room, it seemed that everything reminded her of what had happened on Tuesday. She was doing her Italian homework and remembered the books written in Italian that she had leafed through at the Hekademos. She was studying the US states from a map and thought about the old-looking map that hung in a glass frame on the hallway wall next to the office. Some stupid 80’s song on the radio talked about “secrets that you keep”, and she thought about Elliot. It was driving her crazy. When she couldn't take it anymore, she went downstairs to ask her mother if she needed help with anything. Michelle needed to keep her mind occupied or else it wandered to places where she didn't want it to go, and every time it did it kept hurting her again and again.
Michelle helped her mom with the regular housekeeping and then went outside and helped her dad clear some of the mulch and dead leaves that had collected in and around the gutters. Later on, she helped her mom fold laundry in her parents’ bedroom. Michelle stayed pretty quiet while her mom talked about maybe taking a trip to Hungary that summer, if they could afford it of course. Michelle had never been there, and although she was of Hungarian descent through her mother's side, she had never thought much about it. Several times a year they would get a Christmas card or a letter from her great aunt, and even the odd phone call once in a while, but that was pretty much the extent of her connection with the ‘old country’.
While they were discussing the subject, her mother happened to be folding a pair of Michelle's jeans. When she shook them out, something fell out of the pocket and rolled across the floor. Both Michelle and her mom followed the item with their eyes and watched it spin and eventually settle by the wall. Shoot, Michelle thought; she immediately knew what it was and went after it. “Mom, I completely forgot about this. One of the Christmas ornaments broke while I was hanging it and I threw the other pieces away. I kept this little piece because I thought it was really pretty. I hope you don't mind.”
To Michelle's relief, her mom didn't seem upset or disturbed. She took the little disk between her fingers and smiled. “This old thing?” she said, while looking at it up against the sunlight that was coming through the window. “I found it years ago when we first bought this house. I found it in the backyard, no not the backyard, in the woods behind it. At first I thought it was a gemstone and I took it to a couple of jewelry stores, but to my disappointment they told me that it was just glass. I thought it was pretty and I had this great idea about making homemade ornaments, and I used it on that one, the only one I ever made. I wasn’t too gifted with three-dimensional forms. Here,” her mother said, handing the disc back to Michelle, “it's yours if you want it.” Michelle was about to put the glass disk back in her pocket because the last thing she wanted to do was look at it. It reminded her of everything she was trying to forget. But her mother stopped her.
“Maybe you shouldn't carry it in your pocket. I think I recall that at one point somebody told me they thought it looked like ancient glass, Roman glass to be exact, but I doubt that very much. Anyway, it's up to you.”
Back upstairs in her room, after Michelle put her clean laundry away she sat on her bed and examined the little glass disk more closely. She wasn't sure if she was glad or sad that it was back in her possession. It did however look strikingly similar to the material that the vase was made out of. Her memory had served her right. Michelle wished that she had succeeded in taking a photo of the vase that day, but the screen on her phone was now completely dead. If there was a photo in the cell’s memory, she had no way to view it. Great, she thought, there she was thinking about the whole thing all over again. The more time she spent looking at the disc, the angrier she got. She was angry at Elliot. Angry that he had accused her of doing something bad, something malicious. And it was entirely his fault that she had lost her job. His actions were completely rude and uncalled for, especially in light of the fact that she had kept her word when he had asked her not to tell anyone about their previous meeting. He had made her look like a complete fool, like a liar or a thief, without any means to defend herself.
After a while, Michelle was fuming. She just didn't care anymore. Who cares what he thought about her; he was a complete jerk, good-looking or not. Michelle got up from her bed and went to her desk. She was looking for something, opening every drawer and shuffling items from one place to another. With great satisfaction she found what she was looking for. An envelo
pe. She sat down at her desk, wrapped the little blue disk in a sheet of binder paper and inserted it into the envelope. She had no problem remembering the address. After all, he lived on the same street as she did: #84 Argos Vela Way, Willow’s Creek, California. That's all she wrote on the envelope, using a thick black marker.
Although it was mid-March, it rained that entire week. Every day after school Michelle sat at her desk in her room with the intention of doing her homework, but she spent most of the time just staring at the different patterns the raindrops created on her window, and wondering if Elliot ever received the glass disk she sent. She battled herself inside her mind, ordering herself to stop thinking about him because she didn't care. She tried to convince herself again and again that it was just curiosity, nothing more.
Her cell phone rang and although the screen was still broken she knew it was Samantha because she had assigned that ringtone to her only. Samantha was on her way, as the girls were going to study together for an upcoming algebra test. Michelle welcomed the company; maybe she'd finally get something done. They ended up having a great study session and they both felt ready and satisfied with themselves. But no matter how many times Michelle smiled and tried to act normal, Samantha knew her way too well. Michelle had yet to tell her what had happened at the new school, she had only hinted that things didn't go too well. Samantha was worried. “Do you think you'll ever be able to tell me what happened?” she asked.
Michelle closed her eyes, took a deep breath and whispered, “Not yet.”
There was a knock on the slightly opened bedroom door, and Michelle's mom popped her head in and asked if Samantha would like to stay for dinner. Samantha accepted since her mom was doing a night shift anyway.
After dinner, Michelle's father told her that he had received a phone call at the office from Mrs. Bianchetti. She had been surprised and quite sad that Michelle was no longer working at the market. She asked if Michelle could stop by her house on one of the coming afternoons, and said that she shouldn't worry about calling ahead because she was always home.
“I wonder what she wants?” Michelle asked.
Her father said that she did mention something about the garden. “Did you tell her that you would help her in the yard?” he asked.
Michelle shook her head. She had no idea what this was all about. From what her father understood, Mrs. Bianchetti was the great granddaughter of one of the original families that had settled in Willow’s Creek. “What do you think, Mom?” Michelle asked.
Her mother suggested that the woman could just be lonely and in want of some company. She said that many older people have families that live far away, or perhaps Mrs. Bianchetti didn't have any family at all.” She did seem to like you an awful lot. She told me so herself at the Christmas party. I'm sure there’s nothing to worry about, and you'd probably be doing her a great favor if you stopped by.” Samantha offered to drop Michelle off on the way home from school.
Michelle waved goodbye to Samantha and watched the little bug pull away from the curb and disappear up the road. She turned around and headed towards Mrs. Bianchetti’s front entry. It was such a cute place, she thought to herself as she opened the old iron gate and entered the yard. As she shut the gate, she heard the delicate sound of a small wind chime hanging above her on the pergola. She headed down the walkway, amazed at the beautiful garden that seemed to be in full bloom. Spring was still weeks away but unlike her own house that was shaded by numerous tall trees, this garden had no such hindrances. It got full sunlight from every direction. Michelle walked down the gray and white pebbled pathway that parted a sea of flowering bushes. The cottage itself was quaint and homey. It had thick white stucco walls and a small front porch where an old fashioned metal chair sat next to a matching table.
Once on the front steps, Michelle recognized the scents of lavender and rosemary, and indeed there were two long planter boxes with the familiar shrubs flanking the front door. The boards underneath Michelle’s feet creaked when she stepped up to knock. She knocked once and waited, but when nobody showed up she knocked again a bit louder and looked to see if there was a bell to ring, but there wasn’t one. The woman could be hard of hearing, she thought. “Hello. Anybody home?” Michelle called out. She tried the door but it was locked. Oh no, she thought, what if something had happened to Francesca? That thought sprang her into action, and she quickly made her way around to the back of the house. “Hello?” she called again, unsure if she should just walk into the backyard. She didn’t want to startle the poor woman. But just as she rounded the corner she saw a small ladder leaning up against what appeared to be a large lemon tree, with two very white legs in old boots on the step just below the top.
“Mrs. Bianchetti?” Michelle said as she neared the ladder. She looked up to see Francesca smiling down at her.
“It’s Miss Bianchetti, but you call me Francesca.”
Michelle held the ladder while Francesca climbed down. “I was just picking a few more,” Francesca said, pulling the large plump lemons from her apron pocket. “Sfusato Amalfitano. They’re very famous and the only ones used to make Limoncello.” These were the most fragrant lemons that Michelle had ever smelled. They smelled of flowers and honey mixed with lemon rind. Francesca pointed to a basket filled with lemons on the ground, and asked if Michelle could help her bring them into the kitchen, which she promptly did. They entered the house through the back door, off the rear deck, which was a replica of the one in the front, only much bigger.
The door led straight into a vintage kitchen that was amazingly preserved. It still had grooved metal countertops around the large farm-style sink, while beautiful colorful tiles covered the other counters. Francesca pointed to a window where a collection of different shaped bottles filled with lovely deep yellow fluid stood like little soldiers on the tiled windowsill. She told Michelle that she had made the first batch of Limoncello of the season, and thought that Michelle might like to have some. Michelle was touched by the generosity that the old woman showed her. She had no idea what Limoncello was, but she would never be rude and not accept a homemade gift. Why her, she still wondered? Francesca answered as if she had read her mind.
“You wonder why I asked you to come, right?” Francesca asked still smiling.
“Yes,” Michelle answered. She followed Francesca to a small sitting room and took a seat in a large cushiony armchair across from the older woman. Francesca told Michelle that when she saw her at the mayor’s house she looked sad and frightened, like she had seen a ghost or something. Michelle smiled and told her that at that time she was feeling exactly that, and thanked her for being so kind. Francesca said that she too used to feel like that for many years after her husband died. She described how alone and scared she had been, especially at night, and how during the holidays all she wanted to do was sleep and wait for the angel of death to come visit her, because she didn’t think she had the strength to go on without her Renzo. She had been alone for almost 36 years now, and her only sister had died when they were just children. Francesca had never had any children herself, even though she always loved them very much. She explained that her husband was traumatized after serving in the US military in both World Wars, and they both decided that they would spend their time helping the children that were already alive rather than having their own and risking the chance of losing them. She asked Michelle why she was no longer working at the market and Michelle had a really hard time trying to come up with a reason that didn't sound too far-fetched, and yet still had some element of truth in it. She explained that it had to do with school and with a boy, and although she would miss the extra income it was probably for the best.
Francesca looked at Michelle, studying her face. She waved her finger at her and said, “You are not telling the whole truth young lady.” Michelle couldn't lie to her, so she just told her that it was so complicated that she wouldn't even know where to begin. Michelle desperately wanted to change the subject, so she looked around the room. Her eyes lande
d on a photo on the mantle. It was a black-and-white image of a man in uniform.
“Is that your husband?” Michelle asked, standing up to get a closer look. Francesca followed her, lifted the photo from the mantle and began dusting it with the edge of her apron. Once satisfied that the picture was clean enough, she handed it back to Michelle.
“Yes, that was him after he got back from France, I think. It was so many years ago, it's hard to remember.”
Michelle studied the image of the young man, thinking to herself that he did not look much older than she was. He was very handsome, yet had a serious expression. “Is that the same house that we're in right now?” Michelle asked, pointing to a small house in the background of the shot.
“Yes, it is the same one, but back then we didn't live in it. We lived in this one,” Francesca answered, pointing to a large two-story house to the left of the cottage. Michelle was confused because there was no such house out there anymore. Francesca explained that after her husband passed away, she sold it and it was demolished to make way for the four new smaller houses standing there today.
“Wow!” Michelle was stunned at how different things looked back then; she was fascinated by the changes. Francesca laughed and said that she had many more such photos, some in albums and some in various boxes. She told Michelle that she had photos of Willow’s Creek and Napa County from back when the horse-and-carriages were the popular means of transportation.
“Here, follow me,” Francesca said. Michelle followed her into the bedroom and watched Francesca take an old photo album out of an ancient travel suitcase that sat at the foot of her bed. “This album has many pictures, mostly of St. Alodia because that was the church I got married in. At the end of the album there are also some photos from around here.” Francesca sat down on her bed and motioned to Michelle to come sit next to her.
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