Roman Holiday

by Phyllis A. Humphrey

  She doesn’t have to know. You have a new life, a very successful one. You’ve survived the past, but now you need to help Todd survive the same past.

  I got up and stood in front of her, waiting for her answer.

  After a pause, she said, Of course, I will.

  Do you remember the address where Todd lived?

  How could I forget? It was right next door to us. And if his parents aren’t still living there, I think I can track them down. Plus, there’s always the Internet.

  I grinned, and we high-fived each other.

  Roman Holiday

  Chapter 26

  I felt pleased that Fiona had agreed to help. In addition, Hardcastle approved my expense account so I didn’t have to start eating the free food samples they give out at Costco. But I didn’t gloat over my successes. I still had another problem to solve.

  My brother had been killed by that drunken driver almost two years before, but thanks to a clogged court system and lawyers’ continuances, the trial was just now ending. Because of my job, I couldn’t go to the courtroom every day during the trial, although my parents and older brother went often, but now I knew I had to be at the sentencing.

  Sitting in the Milan church, I had felt the hatred begin to leave me, and I was ready to forgive. I had even written to Todd and told him how I felt. I had to make good on my words.

  As I drove to the courthouse, I remembered that day in Milan. I sat in the little Protestant church listening to the sermon and then suddenly heard a voice in my head telling me that I must forgive the man who killed Howard. That, by doing what Jesus asked of us, I was not giving up something valuable. It didn’t grant this man some reward he didn’t deserve. He gained nothing from it. But refusing to forgive meant I held onto all the pain of the past myself.

  Yes, the intervention by my family had enabled me to get on with my life, but the agony was always there, just below the surface. By not forgiving, I held onto my vision of a bad person and my own self-pity. I was keeping myself from feeling the grace of God. But in the Milan church, I had been almost overwhelmed by a feeling that God was right there with me, forgiving me.

  Inside the courthouse, I hugged my parents and my brother Owen. He told me that Jennifer had decided not to come but remained in Texas with her own family.

  When we were called, we passed through wide double doors; entered a large, wood-paneled room; and saw a judge in black robes sitting above everyone behind a desk built into the back wall. I thought it looked just like those courtrooms in television programs, something Hollywood got right.

  But, my mind on what I’d say, I hardly heard the proceedings. Then the defendant and his lawyer stood up, and the judge turned to us and asked if we had anything to say before he pronounced sentence.

  My parents and brother spoke briefly, but I don’t remember any of it. Finally, I stood up, and, so far as I can remember, said something like, I know he didn’t kill my brother intentionally. He used bad judgment and made a terrible mistake, but I don’t hate him. I forgive him because I’ve learned that forgiveness is the right thing to do. Not just for his sake but also for our own.

  Fortunately, I had nothing more to say, because tears had started to well in my eyes, and my knees were so wobbly I felt as if they were made of cooked linguini.

  The judge thanked me, gave him the minimum sentence, and we all left the courtroom. In the corridor, the four of us hugged and cried, and my father said, You did the right thing.

  Then some reporters crowded around us asking their dumb questions, like, How did you feel...?

  ****

  I loved autumn. The weather could be counted on to be pleasant with warm days and balmy nights, and the tiny garden behind my apartment still produced roses, both pink and red, that I could cut and bring indoors. As I cut a rose that Saturday morning, I heard my doorbell ring and put down my clippers to go inside to answer it.

  I hoped it wasn’t a salesperson. After the Do Not Call list stopped telemarketers from trying to sell people something they didn’t want over the phone, some companies had decided to go back to house calls. I didn’t mind the Avon ladies—after all, trying to stay youthful-looking is one of a woman’s major avocations if not a downright necessity—but I was in no mood for it that morning. Instead, I opened the door to see Todd Matthews standing on my threshold. Talk about an answer to a prayer.

  He looked tan and fit, wore a gray short-sleeved polo shirt and blue jeans, and held a small package in his left hand, which he kept at his side.

  My heart threatening to jump right out of my chest, I couldn’t speak for a moment, but finally I stepped back from the open door to invite him in. What a surprise. What a cliché. It’s been—

  Almost six months, he finished for me. And I thought of you every day.

  Now my funny little heart was doing flip-flops. He came in, and I pointed to a chair. Would you like some coffee or lemonade?

  Nothing. He sat on the offered chair. You look wonderful, every bit as beautiful as I remembered.

  My cheeks burned. You look fine too. But how did you find me? I added quickly, From the letter I sent you?

  No, you forgot to put your return address on it. Enza helped. She knew how much you meant to me; and, after Karen Vale told those lies, she thought that getting your address for me was the least she could do.

  But I’d moved, I said.

  I know. The address Enza gave me was the old one, but people are incredibly easy to find these days.

  Aren’t you supposed to be working somewhere, like Arizona?

  Not really. I’ve been exhibiting my paintings at art shows this summer, and I saved the last one for here in Los Angeles so I could come to see you.

  Silence followed. Not knowing what to say next, I sat on the sofa.

  I’ll start my new job next week. He paused and picked up the package he’d placed on the floor earlier. I really meant it when I said I thought of you every day, so I accepted a job with a company here in L.A. where I could be close to you.

  He wanted to be near me. The thought sent waves, some of them as big as tsunamis, crashing through my body.

  I have something for you. He leaned forward, extending the wrapped package.

  I took it, removed the blue satin ribbon and shiny foil paper and opened the small box. Inside, swathed in tissue paper, lay a silver bracelet.

  I bought it in Florence, he said. For you. I just didn’t know when I’d give it to you, and then—

  It’s lovely, but I don’t think I can accept it.

  It’s a thank you gift for what you did for me.

  I didn’t do anything.

  He chuckled, looked up, and then shook his head. You did everything. First, you wrote that wonderful letter.

  I worried that you wouldn’t get it, I said.

  I was still at the hotel in Cernobbio. He went on. So I went to that church in Milan you wrote about, and I guess I felt what you did, even though I’m sure the sermon was different. I knew then that you had forgiven the man who killed your brother and that if you could do it, then I could forgive too.

  In spite of the tears that filled my eyes, I told him about the day in the courthouse and how afterward I had felt liberated from the pain of holding onto the past.

  He nodded with understanding. But that’s not all you did for me. I started to understand after reading your letter and going to the church. But since coming home, all the time I made paintings from my photographs of Venice, I was trying to figure out why I was beginning to feel that way.

  What do you mean?

  I’ve been attending church regularly, and the minister reminded me that God was leading me on the right path. When I let go of self-righteousness, I finally realized that forgiving was a choice I could make. But I wanted to understand it logically, not just emotionally. Do you know what I mean?

  I think so.

  I don’t usually give long speeches, but I want you to understand, because you need to believe that I’m over the bitterness
and anger.

  I think I believe it already. He did look calm and relaxed, at peace with the world.

  You see, I figured out that there are two elements to forgiveness. One is that you give up the resentment you’re entitled to. I mean, I was entitled to resent my parents’ treatment, as well as Karen’s lying, wasn’t I?

  Well, it would be understandable.

  But you deliberately give that up, he said.

  And you’re okay with that?

  I am now. And that’s not all. The other element is that you give a gift to the person who hurt you: your compassion—your moral love—even though they might not deserve it. He grinned again, as if proud to have worked it out in his mind. They don’t have a right to your goodness, but you give it anyway.

  Because... I prompted.

  Because they’re human beings too. He stood up and paced the floor for a moment, his face animated, almost glowing. Forgiveness gets a bad rap because people think you do all the giving and the other person does all the getting, but it isn’t like that. It isn’t about justice.

  You mean like ‘an eye for an eye.’

  Right. Forgiveness means you don’t have to look at what the person did but at who they are, people who, perhaps like many of us, are still learning how to do God’s will. And you can forgive that person, even love them, not because of what they did, but in spite of it.

  After a pause while I marveled at his recitation, I said, So, did you forgive Karen Vale?

  Yes. I wrote a letter to her and said I forgive her, and Enza promised to forward it for me. He looked down for a moment. While I was at it, I told Karen to be good to Kimberly.

  You did the right thing.

  He came to the sofa and sat close to me, taking my hand in his. And there’s more. You found Fiona and told her to visit my parents and tell them the truth.

  When did you find out about that?

  Not for awhile. In fact, the wonderful thing is that I had decided to forgive my parents before I knew about it, before it happened, actually.

  You forgave them as well?

  You’ll never guess what happened. When my mother opened the door, she threw herself in my arms and kissed me. Before I could say a word, she and my dad both asked my forgiveness for not believing in me.

  How wonderful.

  And then, while I was still there that week visiting my folks, Sally, I mean Fiona, arrived and told them all about what happened years ago.

  I felt more tears gather in my eyes and tightened my hold on his hand. I’m so happy for you.

  Todd picked up the silver bracelet and put it in my hand again. So you see, you deserve this.

  Not really.

  Okay, then, it’s an engagement present.

  I think the tsunami hit me, because I felt swamped.

  He hurried on. If you haven’t fallen in love with anyone else since Lake Como, I want to marry you.

  My heartbeat escalated and warmth rushed through my veins, but I couldn’t speak. My hand, holding the beautiful bracelet, trembled like the leaves that were falling from my solitary tree in the garden.

  Finally, I managed to say, I’ve thought of you every day, too, but we really haven’t known each other very long. Eleven days— I stopped. Where had that come from? I loved this man.

  It was a start, he said. If we can see each other, date for a few months like people do—

  I didn’t need to hear any more. I just threw myself in his arms and kissed him.

  When we broke apart, Todd said, I often thought I’m not worthy of you, and it’s taken me awhile, but as you see, I finally got it.

  He leaned forward and kissed me again then kissed my cheeks and my chin and even my nose. My sweet Darcy, he said, will you accept my gift and at least think about marrying me?

  I could only nod. Forgiveness had brought me more than peace. It brought me a chance to love and be loved.

  ****

  Todd and I visited Fiona together to thank her for what she’d done.

  She ushered us in and offered some Perrier. I was glad to do it, she said. It’s not often one gets to set things right. I feel like a character I played in a film. She giggled.

  What about your mother? Todd asked. Does she know what really happened all those years ago? Will you ever tell her?

  No, and thank goodness I don’t have to. She poured some water for all of us and sat on the sofa next to me. After I visited your parents, I decided it was time to visit my own. I didn’t plan to tell her the truth, just see her and maybe tell her I loved her.

  What a great thing to do, I said. She probably worried about you after you disappeared so long ago.

  Fiona sighed. I’ll never know. She didn’t recognize me.

  Because, now that you’re an actress, you look so different? Todd asked.

  No, because she has Alzheimer’s. She paused, and a pained expression crossed her face. She doesn’t know anyone. My stepfather has to take care of her now.

  Todd’s voice took on a hard edge. Serves him right. I’ve heard about how difficult caring for a person with the disease can be. After what he did to you, this is at least a partial punishment.

  I forgave him, Fiona said. She stood up. I guess the mood was catching. After talking to you and your folks, and everyone forgiving one another, I knew I had some forgiving to do myself. She walked to the window and looked out. He was a very selfish person, and he did a wicked thing.

  I know some people think life is all about taking what you want and that other people don’t matter, Todd said, but I think the greatest joy comes when you love and respect others.

  You’re right. She turned to us. Show business gets a bad rap sometimes, but I’ve made wonderful friends. Besides, she added, if that hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t met you and come to L.A., I might never have had this career.

  Todd stood and raised his glass of Perrier. To good things happening to good people.

  ****

  Kimberly wrote to me, using the business address on the card I’d given her:

  Dear Darcy (Miss Gibson):

  I had to write and tell you what’s happened. You were right about my father and stepmother being willing to have me visit them. I stayed the whole summer and had a great time. Dad’s new wife is very nice, and the baby is adorable. You were right about that too. No way would I want to have a baby of my own at this time in my life. They need lots of attention, and I’m having way too much fun now.

  And, guess what? When I got home, my mom, instead of being upset for my wanting to visit my dad, as I thought she might be, was nicer to me than ever. Maybe she missed me, you think?

  So, thanks again for the advice. I guess older people really do know a few things.

  Love, Kimberly

  I didn’t care much for the older people label, but I was happy things had worked out so well for her.

  As for Hardcastle, not only did he like my article about the Italian tour, he also liked the one I wrote about Fiona. Which was fortunate because I had completely forgotten I was supposed to do one on the Getty Museum, and by the time I remembered and got it written, I was a week late turning it in. However, it was brilliant, if I do say so myself.

  Plus, my suggestion of an article about Lake Como turned out to be inspired. Hardcastle called me into his office to discuss it.

  Your preliminary article is fine, he said, but a bit short for such a vast area. How soon can you do a longer one?

  Well—I hesitated—that depends.

  The Italian tour story went over very well, and perhaps we should strike while the iron is hot and do a comprehensive article about the entire Italian lake district as a follow-up.

  When?

  I thought for next spring.

  Does that mean—?

  Yes, I’m sending you to Lake Como on an expense account. He wagged a finger in my face. And, Gibson, stay within the budget this time.

  Of course, I assured him.

  Todd’s new job left him time to be with me every weekend and
lots of evenings in between. When I told him what Hardcastle said, his face lit up, and he grinned like he’d just discovered a cure for Internet spam.

  I have an idea, he said, putting his arms around me and drawing me so close I could feel his heart beating under his shirt.

  And that would be?

  I think your Lake Como assignment would make a grand excuse for a honeymoon.

  I quite agree with him.

  A Word About the Author...

  ROMAN HOLIDAY is Phyllis Humphrey’s eighth published romance novel. A member of RWA, one of her books was a Golden Heart finalist, another won the San Diego Book Award. She has also sold several short stores, many articles and a non-fiction book. She’s a member of Mensa and listed in Who’s Who in American Women.

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