That Month in Tuscany (Take Me There)

by Inglath Cooper

  When Kylie steps back, she manages a wobbly smile and says, “I thought I’d surprise my dad and take him out to lunch.”

  “Well, I know that will make his day. You go on back, honey. And take good care of yourself, okay?”

  “I will, Edith. Thank you.”

  Kylie doesn’t allow her gaze to stray to the open doors of the offices along the hallway leading to her dad’s office. She’s not sure she can handle another encounter just now, and she hurries to the end of the hall. The door is half-open, and she slightly pushes on it and sticks her head inside.

  Her dad is standing in front of the window that runs the width of the office. A woman has her arms around his neck, and they are kissing like two people who cannot get enough of each other.

  The sound that escapes Kylie’s throat isn’t intentional. In fact, if she could have stepped back out of the office, silent and unnoticed, that is exactly what she would have chosen to do.

  But her dad looks up just then, spots her and releases a heavy sigh. “Kylie,” he begins.

  She doesn’t wait, though, to hear what he has to say. What is there to say? That one picture tells her everything she needs to know.

  64

  Lizzy

  KYLIE ARRIVES HOME far sooner than I expected her back, the streaks on her face clear evidence that she’s been crying.

  I lead her to the living room couch where we both sit for a long time without speaking.

  “He’s a liar,” Kylie finally says, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

  “Who?” I ask, but somehow, I think I already know.

  “Daddy. I walked in on him and some woman in his office.”

  She doesn’t add more. But she doesn’t need to. I wait for the stab of hurt the words should induce, but I think deep down, I’ve known it was just a matter of time.

  I pull her tighter against me and say, “It’s okay, Kylie. Thank you for telling me.”

  “But he’s been lying to you. Acting as if everything was good again.”

  “I think maybe he wanted it to be.”

  “Are you defending him?” she asks, her voice rising.

  “Of course not. But the two of us don’t make each other happy anymore. So maybe this is the reminder I needed that a marriage should be so good that the desire to stray from it never occurs to either person.”

  “Is there such a thing anymore?” Kylie asks, clearly disbelieving.

  “I have to believe so. Yes.”

  “He has no right to hurt you this way.”

  “I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt. It does. But probably not for the right reasons. We’re going to be okay, you and me. It might take a little time, but we’re going to be all right. Deal?”

  Kylie nods against my shoulder. “Deal.”

  65

  Lizzy

  IT DOESN’T HAPPEN overnight, but my promise to Kylie does come true.

  Life can change tremendously over the course of a year, and ours does.

  Kylie has gone back to school, determined to finish her degree. I know the fears are still there, but with therapy and pure will on her part, she manages to mostly keep them at bay.

  She’s no longer my little girl, or my sullen teenager, or my standoffish college student. She is grown-up now, tarnished by some of the disillusionment that comes with being an adult, but her shine is still there, and I love the relationship we now have with each other. Our conversations never end. Texting allows us to talk nonstop throughout the day, even when she’s in class or I’m working on my photography. And we talk every night before bedtime.

  I cannot deny that good does come from bad sometimes, even though none of us would wish to experience it.

  I’m out to dinner one night with Winn, sharing these thoughts with her when she says, “Don’t you think it’s time for you to move on, Lizzy?”

  “I have moved on,” I say.

  “Ty has remarried,” she reminds me. “And you haven’t even been out on a date.”

  “I’m hardly interested in basing what I do on what Ty is doing.”

  “Nor should you be. But you deserve to be happy. To have someone good in your life.”

  “I have plenty of good in my life. A daughter who loves me. A best friend who indulges my need for an occasional fine meal and talks about good books with me. What else do I need?”

  “A man,” she says bluntly. “Have you even tried to get in touch with him?”

  I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “No. I haven’t, and I’m not going to.”

  “Because you’re a chicken,” she says.

  “I’m not a chicken. Whatever happened between us, or what might have happened between us, was just a blip in time, that’s all.”

  “A blip during that time. That doesn’t mean it can’t have another time. Like now.”

  “Winn. There are some things you learn to leave alone. Thinking I could have something with a man like Ren . . . that I need to leave alone.”

  “But what if he wanted to see you? Would you turn him down?”

  “That’s not going to happen. He’s gone on with his life. I read somewhere that he’s no longer performing but developing new talent, starting up other bands.”

  “Is that a career that excludes having love in his life?”

  I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say I’d read that he’d become a monk. To the contrary, I’m sure.”

  “You never answered my question.”

  “What?”

  “Would you see him if he wanted to see you?”

  “He doesn’t,” I say. “Now, can we get back to our bottle of wine?”

  66

  Ren

  THERE IS NO doubt in my mind that I am taking a risk.

  Possibly one where I will make a fool of myself and end up regretting that I ever climbed out on this particular limb.

  At the same time, I’m pretty sure I will regret not trying.

  I stand in front of the hotel-room dressing mirror, making a last-minute adjustment to my tie. I don’t remember the last time I wore one, and I second-guess whether I should just go with the shirt and jacket.

  But Lizzy’s friend, Winn, had said suits would be the norm. And I have no desire to stand out among Lizzy’s peers as a stereotypical rock star in torn blue jeans and a T-shirt.

  I wonder, not for the first time, if I should let her know I’m coming. Do I owe her that? Is this too far out in left field?

  I force myself to put aside the questions, leave on the tie and head for the elevator.

  There is only one way to find out if I have made more of what Lizzy and I shared in Italy than it really was. Time and imagination can do that. Seeing her face to face is how I will get my answer. And if I’m honest, I’m afraid if I call her, she’ll tell me not to come.

  So I go with the element of surprise. It’s the only card I have left to play.

  67

  Lizzy

  IT’S ONE OF those things you dream about but never think will really happen.

  I stand in the middle of the room, taking in the framed photographs on the surrounding walls, and even though they’re mine, I can’t help but admire them. Feel proud of them, like children I have raised to a respectable degree of success.

  The gallery is crowded. Mine isn’t the only work being shown tonight. Three other photographers have displays in adjoining rooms. It feels really nice to be a part of it, to achieve recognition not for the sake of recognition, but for validation of something I love to do and might possibly be able to make a living at.

  “Clearly, you know San Gimignano.”

  Recognition instantly washes over me. I can’t move, can’t make myself turn around because I don’t want to be wrong.

  But he reaches out and turns me to face him. I’m not wrong. He really is here.

  “Ren,” I say, his name barely more than a whisper.

  “Hey, Lizzy,” he says, his gaze drinking in my face, dropping lower to take in my dress, my bare legs, my high heels.<
br />
  “How did you . . . what are you?—”

  “Winn called me about the show. I hope you don’t mind that I came.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would be okay with it.”

  Kylie walks up to stand beside me just then. I look at her, preparing to babble some explanation, but she smiles and sticks out her hand to Ren. “It’s about time my mom let me meet you.”

  “You’re Kylie,” Ren says, shaking her hand and smiling the smile that would do to Kylie’s insides exactly what it had done to mine the first time he turned it on me.

  “It’s awesome to meet you,” she says, disbelief underlining each word.

  “It’s awesome to meet you,” he says.

  Winn slinks into sight then, her expression hopeful and a little wary. “Am I in the doghouse or not?” she asks, looking at me.

  “You definitely should be,” I say.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” she says, with a look of relief.

  Ren shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “So about that San Gimignano piece? I’m interested in that one.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Oh, but I want to. You see I have some really good memories of that town.”

  “You do?” I say softly.

  “I do. And with that photograph, every time I walk by it, I’ll be reminded of those memories. I think that’s a good thing. Do you?”

  “I guess it could be,” I allow, feeling Kylie and Winn staring at me as if they aren’t sure who I am.

  “Well, why don’t we agree on a price, and then to celebrate, I’d like to take you three ladies out to dinner after the show.”

  “Is that your limo out front?” Kylie asks, reverting to teenage awe as her face lights up with excitement.

  “We’ll have plenty of room,” he says. “And I’ve got champagne in the back. We can enjoy it without having to worry about driving.”

  “Wow,” Kylie says, and then looking at me, “Are we going, Mom?”

  “I’m not sure you’re going to let me say no,” I say, smiling.

  “All right then,” Ren says, taking my arm and leading me toward the San Gimignano photo. “Let’s get business squared away.” He leans in and says close to my ear, “And as long as you’re in the mode of saying yes, I have another question or two for you. Later. When we’re alone.”

  “Oh, you do?” I say, letting myself look into his eyes without bothering to hide how happy I am to see him, how much I’ve missed him.

  “Hold that thought,” he says, brushing my cheek with his lips. “First things first. Now about the price you have on this spectacular photo. I don’t think you’re charging nearly enough.”

  I laugh. “But you’re the customer. You shouldn’t mind.”

  “I know what it’s worth though, right?” he asks.

  “Maybe,” I concede.

  “Then I should get to set the price. Right?”

  “You’re far too used to getting your way,” I say.

  “Where you’re concerned,” he says, leaning in to kiss me full on the mouth, before adding, “Let’s hope the trend continues.”

  68

  Lizzy

  Eight Months Later

  THE TREND CONTINUES.

  How in the world can a woman say no to Ren Sawyer?

  I certainly can’t. Not when he asks me to finish our driving tour of Italy. Six months venturing from one town to another, stopping whenever we feel like it, eating our weight in pasta and Tiramisu.

  He buys a Range Rover so we have plenty of space this time, Sophia napping on the back seat unless she chooses to sit on my lap and look out the window at the vineyards flowing by, hillside towns in the distance.

  It feels like a dream, and there are times when I am convinced it can be nothing else. I take thousands of pictures, going through them at night and deleting the less spectacular ones, keeping the others.

  While I’m taking pictures of everything in sight, Ren begins writing in a journal. He has an idea for a book about his experiences with his brother and their band. It seems like a sort of catharsis for him. I know he won’t cut himself any slack in the picture he paints of his success as well as his regrets.

  Putting the truth out for the world to not only see, but judge him by, is a form of restitution for him where his brother is concerned. At some point along the way, I realize that although he will never forgive himself for what he considers a betrayal of his brother, he is determined to live in a way that would make Colby proud.

  And I am proud of him for his determination to face his past, accept it and his mistakes in a way that still allows him to find joy in life.

  And that, I think I can say, we’ve both done.

  I’m grateful for every day. Kylie’s abduction has made me realize how very fragile our lives are. How quickly it all can change. How unimaginable our losses can be.

  I have a relationship with my daughter now that means more to me than I can ever put into words. She’s getting her masters degree in psychology and wants to work with victims traumatized by criminal acts committed against them. She’s decided to work on her degree at Stanford in California, needing a change of scenery from Charlottesville and all the memories it holds for her.

  I think it is a good decision. She’s met someone, a South Carolina boy who looks at her as if she has all the answers to the universe. They both fly to Venice and meet us for a two-week stay, and I really can’t imagine life getting any better than the warm days we spend winding through the treasure trove of Venetian streets, lazing along its canals on sleek gondolas, and eating the wonderful food available at every corner.

  Then Ren asks me another question.

  At the top of the Spanish steps in Rome. On a beautiful, cloudless June afternoon.

  He’s wearing sunglasses, but not the baseball cap he usually wears in public places. There are people all around us. “Are you sure we should be here?” I ask him. “You’re likely to get mobbed.”

  He doesn’t answer me, but takes my hand and moves to the step below me, dropping down on one knee.

  My lips part in surprise and my heart starts beating a thousand miles an hour. “Ren. What are you—”

  He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small blue Tiffany box tied with a white ribbon. He hands it to me and says, “Will you open it, please?”

  I take it from him, staring at the lid and then raising my gaze to his. “Ren, there are people looking—”

  “Open it,” he says again. “Please.”

  Around us, people are starting to aim phones in our direction, pictures snapping. I hear a girl’s voice say, “Oh, my gosh, that’s Ren Sawyer!”

  “Ren—”

  “Please, Lizzy.”

  And so I untie the white ribbon, lift the lid, pull out the inner box and slowly open it.

  The diamond catches the sunlight, a work of art against its velvet background. I try to speak but I can’t make a single word come out.

  “Lizzy, will you marry me?” Ren asks. I lift my gaze to his again and see the uncertainty in his eyes, realizing suddenly that he’s afraid I’ll say no. Unbelievable as that is to me.

  “Why here?” I ask, glancing around at the people smiling and staring at us.

  “Because I want the world to know I love you. That I want to spend my life with you. That you’re the woman I’ve been waiting for.”

  I feel the tears well in my eyes, slide down my cheeks. He reaches up and wipes them away with his thumb.

  “Will you?” he repeats.

  I nod once, laughing and crying at the same time. Cheers erupt around us.

  Ren stands and slips his arms around my waist, pulling me to him. Church bells toll in the distance, taxi horns sound from below the Spanish steps. But it all fades away as he lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me in a way he’s never kissed me before, as if I’m his, as if I always will be.


  I kiss him back with awareness of this and then say it out loud. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Ren Sawyer.”

  And the trend continues.

  69

  Ren

  Epilogue

  THE SUN IS JUST coming up on the Mediterranean horizon. I can see it beginning its ascent to the sky through the glass door of our bedroom.

  I’ve been awake for a while now, but it’s not because I couldn’t sleep. I just don’t want to. I do this a lot. Wake up before she does so I can watch her sleeping. She usually opens her eyes pretty quickly, as if she can feel me looking at her.

  This morning is no exception.

  She comes awake slowly, blinking once and then bringing me into focus. “Good morning,” she says, her voice husky in the way it is before she has her coffee.

  “Morning,” I say, reaching out to brush the back of my hand across her cheek.

  She stares into my eyes and brushes her lips across my hand. “I had a dream last night,” she says.

  “About what?” I ask, leaning in to kiss the base of her throat and following her bare skin to the side of her breast. She’s naked under the sheet, and I gather her against me, my hand skimming the back of her bare leg.

  “About us,” she says, kissing my ear and then my mouth.

  We kiss for a minute or more before I say, “Were we doing this in your dream?”

  She smiles and says, “I think we had done this. And a lot more, actually.”

  “That’s my favorite kind of dream,” I say, sliding her on top of me. I know every inch, every curve, every soft spot of her. But I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of feeling her against me, of the knowledge that we fit as if we were made for each other.