Roman Holiday

by Phyllis A. Humphrey

  More churches later, including the Basilica of San Lorenzo and the Medici Chapel, Enza released us for the rest of the afternoon. Feeling as I once did at the age of ten when school was out for the summer, I almost skipped back to the hotel. Now accustomed to seeing Todd with Karen or Kim or both during the day, I was surprised to hear his voice behind me and feel his hand on my shoulder.

  Don’t scream, he whispered. I’m kidnapping you.

  I grinned at him then almost ran to keep up with his long strides. He hailed a taxi and, when one stopped in front of us, gently but quickly pushed me inside and jumped in after me.

  To the railroad station, he told the driver, and don’t spare the horses! But he added something in Italian.

  Where did you get that expression? I asked. And why are we going to the railroad station?

  Answer number one: in an old Western. Answer number two: we’re going to Pisa. It’s just an hour away by train. He looked concerned for a moment. Is that all right?

  Yes, I’d love to go there, but it wasn’t listed on the itinerary.

  Well, this is the way to do it.

  Can we have lunch first? I’m starved.

  We’ll see. First, tickets. When we exited the taxi at the train station, Todd stopped at a counter and bought tickets for us, then he hustled me out to the platform and helped me board a train about to leave.

  Sorry, but there’s no time to eat.

  He was right. We had barely stepped inside when it began to move. To make matters worse, so far as my stomach was concerned, there was no dining car on the train. I rummaged in my purse and managed to come up with a roll of breath mints, so we shared those and talked while the miles slipped by.

  I’ve missed you, he said.

  What about last night?

  That was hours ago. I want to spend all my time with you.

  I smiled. I’m glad, but you aren’t exactly lonely during the day.

  I feel as if I ought to be paid as a secondary tour guide. All I do is explain what Enza and the other woman tell us, like some kind of ventriloquist. I kept wanting to tell Karen, ‘Listen to them. I’ve never been here before. I don’t know any more than you do.’ In fact, I did say that a couple of times.

  You were being helpful and kind, as usual.

  But now I’m going to be selfish and do what I want to do, which is talk to you.

  I’m flattered. Did you enjoy the tour today?

  Mostly.

  If it weren’t for the Medicis, I think ninety percent of what we saw today would have been lost hundreds of years ago.

  I’m beginning to think my old way of going places on my own wasn’t all that bad after all. I’d have been happy with much less. I mean, did we really need to see all forty-three monks’ cells? One or two would have been enough.

  His mirroring my own thoughts pleased me.

  And all that religious art. I feel as if I’ve seen every one of the millions of paintings from the past twenty centuries.

  I hate to agree with you on that subject, but I’m afraid I do. I paused. However, I’m trying to appreciate the fact that people in those days cared so much about Jesus and Mary and the disciples that they made it the focus of their lives. They erected huge churches and spent their creative talents depicting the saints in oil paints or marble.

  He shrugged. You’re right, I suppose. But I’m new to this religious stuff, and I’ve read enough history to know that the leaders then forced people to give most of their money to the church.

  They certainly built beautiful cathedrals with it.

  Do you think God wanted to be worshipped that way? When I didn’t answer, he went on. The church I’ve been attending is very small, very plain, and doesn’t have a single statue in it. But I think the people are just as devout.

  Mine is like that too. But some people find inspiration in being surrounded by beautiful things and looking up into elaborate domes.

  Todd frowned. Worshipping God should be done with the mind and heart, not with gold and silver.

  I didn’t answer. In a way, I agreed with him, but different people had different ideas about what a church should look like. I had Catholic friends and would never suggest their way was not as religious as mine.

  Todd continued. My parents were good people, but they never went to church. My father didn’t believe in organized religion. He said people could be good without going to a special building once a week.

  But Sunday school is marvelous for children. They learn the Ten Commandments and how to be kind to others.

  I guess that part’s okay, he admitted.

  Being no expert, I felt out of my depth, just as I had when discussing out-of-wedlock motherhood with Kimberly. I turned my head, watched the scenery slide by outside the train windows, and commented on the beautiful countryside and small villages we passed through.

  When we arrived in Pisa, we found, much to our surprise and delight, the railroad station there sported a McDonald’s restaurant, and Todd and I ordered hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes. I loved Italian food, but it was fun to have a little bit of America for a change. Especially since we could get it at all hours.

  He handed me the bill. You said you’re on an expense account, so you can buy my lunch.

  Now you let me pay, I joked.

  Afterward, a taxi took us to the Leaning Tower. My first sight of the famous leaning bell tower thrilled me almost as much as being in the Colosseum. It stood, or rather leaned, stark white against a sky so blue it seemed painted there by an artist. Its decorative scrollwork gave it a look like stone lace. I again said a silent prayer of gratitude for the opportunity to see this magnificent structure.

  But no people waited to climb the two hundred-plus steps to the top, and we soon learned why: it was closed for minor repairs.

  I’m so sorry, Todd said. I should have phoned ahead and found out. We should have come here yesterday or tomorrow.

  But there is no tomorrow, at least not for us. We’re going to Venice.

  I’m so sorry, he said again.

  I touched his arm. Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, the sun is shining today, and it looks just as gorgeous as in all those pictures I’ve seen. Besides, I didn’t particularly want to climb to the top. I’d probably faint halfway up, and you’d have to carry me down on your shoulders.

  You’re just saying that to make me feel better.

  I laughed and put my arm under his and led him down the path that circled the church and baptistery, beautiful buildings in their own right. Would you like to go inside?

  No, I’ve been in enough big cathedrals. Let’s just walk through the town.

  Todd took several pictures of the Tower, most with me in the foreground, promising to share them with me, but I insisted on getting some with my own camera. Then we strolled past stalls where vendors tried to interest us in buying souvenirs. Eventually, another taxi took us back to the railroad station, and, after waiting in a long line filled mainly with noisy students carrying backpacks, we boarded the train for Florence.

  As soon as we settled ourselves in the coach, Todd said, As you know, I joined this tour because of you.

  That’s very flattering.

  I guess this sounds like a line or maybe a cliché, but I felt instantly attracted to you on the plane. You were so certain I was a nice person. Just because I changed seats with the Frenchman. You said, ‘That was very kind of you.’

  Well, it was.

  So then I wanted to go on talking to you. He cleared his throat. But the sights we’ve seen are all about religion, and it’s making me think even more about what I was beginning to learn.

  Then it was right for you to come on this tour. What’s the word, serendipity?

  Maybe. But I don’t want to be religious in this way. I can’t be. I don’t feel comfortable in these monstrous cathedrals, and I don’t particularly like seeing paintings and statues of religious figures. That, to me, isn’t the real thing.

  What’s the real thing to you?<
br />
  What my minister said Jesus wanted for us: to be good, to be unselfish, to help the poor, to forgive, to live an honest, sincere life.

  I don’t know you all that well, but you seem to be doing that.

  There’s one thing I haven’t mastered.

  What’s that?

  I can’t forgive.

  My pulse raced. What or who did he have to forgive? Would I finally learn about his mysterious past?

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 17

  I stared at Todd. Who do you have to forgive?

  My parents.

  Your parents? That surprised me.

  It’s a long story, but we have an hour, and you’re a captive audience. He paused. Unless you’d rather we talk about movies or something.

  No, I want to hear. Please tell me why you need to forgive your parents.

  I’ll try to cut this down to only the essential details. He took a deep breath. Like I said, I’m an only child. My parents were older than most when they had me, and they always regretted they never had more children.

  They say only children are spoiled, so I can imagine that they must have been doting parents.

  They were. We got along fine until the summer before I graduated from college. He paused, as if wondering how to continue. There was this girl, a senior in high school. She lived next door with her mother and stepfather.

  A girl next door. I had said something once about having only the people next door to meet, and he had reacted with a pained expression. Once again, I had inadvertently hit a nerve.

  She was a nice girl? I was almost afraid to ask. You liked her?

  Yeah. I didn’t know her all that well at first. They only moved there a year before this—this happened, and the family was very reclusive, stuck by themselves. My mother said she tried to make friends with the girl’s mother, but nothing came of it.

  But you liked the girl? My stomach frog had returned. I figured there was a love story in there somewhere, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.

  Yes. Like I said, the family didn’t make any effort to be friendly, but I saw the girl several times that summer because I worked at the supermarket, and she’d come in to buy groceries sometimes. He paused again. We got to talking, and I thought she was nice.

  He hesitated, and I wanted to say, Hurry up, give me the bad news already, but I decided not to rush him.

  Being an only child, I had no one my age at home, so I always had to make friends with other kids. I guess you could say I became a little outgoing.

  You weren’t a ‘loner’ in those days.

  Not much. So anyway, I guess I seemed—er—available to talk to, and this girl asked me to meet her on my lunch break because she wanted to ask me something in private. So, of course, I said I would. And she told me this secret.

  Another long pause. I was slowly going crazy, and I wondered if it was possible to bite my fingernails down to my knuckles.

  Well, to make a long story short, she was pregnant and wanted to know if I’d help her get an abortion.

  I swear my voice squeaked. You didn’t.

  No, we talked about it, and I agreed to meet her the next day. In fact, we met several times over the next two weeks, and she changed her mind about the abortion. She decided to run away instead.

  So, you helped her run away?

  Yes. I had a little money in the bank from working every summer, and I took it out and gave it to her.

  Where did she go? Did she have plans?

  She told me she’d leave town and change her name, so no one would know.

  But, I interrupted, why couldn’t she tell her parents? That was—how long ago? It’s been fifty years since girls who got pregnant had to go away and hide.

  Todd turned sad eyes in my direction. You don’t understand. The baby was—her stepfather’s.

  I nearly fell off the train seat. You mean he—

  He raped her, and she was afraid to tell anyone.

  But couldn’t she at least tell her mother?

  He lowered his head. According to her, that was out of the question. I don’t know why. Anyway, we were both young, and she had her mind made up. I just gave her the money, and she went away.

  That’s so sad, I said. After a moment, with the only sound being the train’s wheels on the tracks, I remembered what had started this conversation. But what has that to do with you forgiving your parents?

  Well, when the girl left town, rumors started flying. Somebody else knew or suspected she was pregnant, and a few people had seen us together those last few weeks so—

  So they thought you were the father?

  Yes. And when my parents found out I’d taken all my savings out of the bank, they put two and two together—

  And got five, I finished. Why didn’t you tell them the truth?

  I’d promised I wouldn’t tell anyone the full truth.

  You didn’t admit to being the father of the baby.

  No, of course not. I denied it and said I didn’t know who the father was. I didn’t care if some people thought I was, but my parents didn’t believe me and that hurt.

  I’m sorry, but that sounds a bit narrow-minded of them.

  Oh, it’s not that they minded so much if I was the father. What they minded was that the girl ran away, and they blamed me for not letting them ever get to know their grandchild.

  I sat back and took several deep breaths to clear my head. They blamed you? After you’d been so kind?

  They didn’t see it that way.

  Wait a minute, I said. What about a paternity test? You could have proved you weren’t the father.

  Not without a baby to test, and I had no idea at the time where she’d gone.

  He stood up and stretched, as if telling me the long story had given him tense muscles. Probably so. Mine were sure tense.

  So, they never forgave you for this misunderstanding?

  And I never forgave them either. I felt they should have believed me, even without a paternity test.

  So?

  So, I left home, and I’ve never been back. He sat back down. We don’t communicate with one another.

  I felt chilled by his words but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  I’m sorry, he said abruptly. Maybe it was wrong to tell you, to air my family’s dirty linen—

  Not at all, but, I mean, are you sure you didn’t misinterpret their feelings? Maybe if you had just talked to them about it.

  I was so hurt that they believed the rumors instead of me. I felt that if they wouldn’t believe me, they never really loved me.

  Of course they loved you.

  I knew some parents did not love their own children; their abuse made newspaper headlines. Yet I remained convinced that most people did, my own family and those of all my friends being the norm. On the other hand, there was this girl’s mother who allowed her own husband to—But probably she didn’t know about it. Probably the girl thought she wouldn’t be believed if she told her mother.

  No, Todd was saying, my parents couldn’t have loved me or they wouldn’t have been so—At least they seemed that way at the time. I’m afraid I said some pretty terrible things to them. He rubbed his hand across his forehead as if wanting to rub out the memory of the hateful remarks. Look, I really didn’t mean to dump this on you. I’m sorry.

  It’s all right. I’m not upset. In fact, I’m flattered that you can confide in me. I wish I could help.

  You have helped already. Right from the first.

  I think by now you’ve already realized this was only a misunderstanding that should have been cleared up long ago.

  I know. I tell myself I should go and see them, and we’ll just laugh at the past. But somehow I keep putting it off. I know I can’t do that forever. They’re older, and I don’t want them to die before we resolve this. Meanwhile, I can’t seem to make the hurt go away.

  Your minister is right to tell you to forgive them.

  I know Christ preached that, and I sometimes tel
l myself that if I do, it will all be over.

  I’m sure it would be.

  Maybe, maybe not. Just the same, I guess I shouldn’t have told you all my troubles.

  No, I’m glad you did. We’ve become—well, good friends on this tour. Besides, sometimes talking helps.

  Talking to you helps, anyway. I know that. He took my hand and put it to his lips.

  And then the train arrived in Florence, and we walked back to the hotel from the station, Todd keeping a firm grip on my hand. He found a pizza shop, and we ate our impromptu dinner on the darkened patio beside it, sitting close on the narrow bench so his arm and thigh brushed against mine. As we left, some shops were closing, and he gently pulled me into a darkened doorway, put his arms around me, and kissed me.

  His kiss was everything I had imagined it would be, his lips firm but tender. I let my own arms find their way to his back, pressed tightly, and returned the pressure of his kiss. How right it felt. I wanted to stay in his arms forever. I needed Todd’s warmth and comfort as much as he needed mine, and—although I didn’t know how—I wanted to help him find a way to resolve his estrangement with his parents.

  After a long moment, we broke apart and walked to the hotel. We stepped into the lighted lobby and took the lift to my floor. After unlocking my door, he took me in his arms, and we kissed again. Good night, he whispered, his voice husky.

  I closed the door and leaned back against it, remembering everything we had said and done. I still felt the taste of his mouth, the warm smoothness of his neck under my fingers, the touch of his cheek on mine. The frog in my middle had turned into something more like a rapidly beating heart. Perhaps I was falling in love.

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 18