Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  “Jayne, stop!” Rafaele’s footsteps thudded after her before slowing to a stop.

  By the time Jayne reached her bedroom, her cheeks were wet. She shut the door behind her and fell against it. She listened for Rafaele’s footsteps, but they didn’t come.

  Twisting around, Jayne latched the door. As much as it pained her, she knew what she had to do.

  Balancing a breakfast tray in one hand, Rafaele gave a soft knock at Jayne’s bedroom door. He rearranged the sprigs of lavender between the two golden brown cornetti, fresh from Maria’s oven, while he waited for a response. A pot of hot tea stood on the tray beside a small jug of milk.

  He tried again, a little louder this time. She was probably still sleeping.

  “Jayne, cara mia, are you decent? Can I come inside?”

  Nothing but deathly silence responded to his call.

  Rafaele cracked the door and peeked inside, his pulse pounding. The room was empty, and her bed was made. Perhaps she’d risen early, gone for a walk. His gaze roamed the room. Something wasn’t right. Something was missing.

  He set the tray down on the bed then stepped to her closet. Palms moist, he gripped the door handles and flung open the doors.

  Empty.

  He rushed downstairs and out the front door. The spot where Jayne’s rental had been parked was empty. She’d gone. He’d lost her and all because he’d allowed history—his father’s—to play with his mind. She was probably halfway back to England by now.

  He wobbled back inside and stumbled to the kitchen, the feeling gone from his legs. He flopped into a chair beside Nonna.

  “Rafaele, buongiorno. I would ask if you slept well, but you don’t look so good. Are you sick?”

  He stared at Nonna, his mind foggy. “Perdono?” His voice was weak.

  “I asked if you were sick.”

  Rafaele shook his head.

  “Then what’s wrong? And where is Jayne?”

  “She’s gone.”

  Nonna’s hands shot into the air. “What do you mean, she’s gone? I knew it—you had an argument yesterday, didn’t you?”

  Maria chipped in, giving her two cents worth, scolding Rafaele for hurting such a beautiful soul. She swatted him on the back of the head. “Idiota!”

  “Ouch.” Rafaele shot Maria a look then rubbed his head. He turned back to Nonna. “Did Jayne say something to you last night?”

  “No. But I could tell from her face something was wrong.” Nonna eased forward and shooed at Rafaele. “Go. Go. Go and fetch your woman.”

  Rafaele held up his hands, but he wasn’t surrendering to Nonna’s wishes. “It’s better this way. She’s better off without me.”

  Nonna stared at him. Her head oscillated from side to side like the pendulum of Nonno’s clock hanging on the living room wall. She huffed. “You know, Rafaele, for a learned man, you are quite stupido.”

  “Stupid? No, Nonna, I’m not. Would you want to see Jayne’s and my children growing up the way that Ric, Sienna, Alessa, and I did? With a father who didn’t love them? Who didn’t have time for them? Who never had one good thing to say to any of them? Who continually tried to force his will on them? A father who was cold, controlling, and cruel?” His voice broke with a sob. “I would rather let her walk away and find happiness with someone else. I thought I was the man for her, but I’m not. Never will be.”

  Lines formed between Nonna’s eyes as her brows narrowed, adding to her wrinkles. “Why would you ever think that you will be like your father? Except for your eye color, Rafaele, you’re nothing at all like him. You don’t only have your mother’s looks, you have her kind nature too.”

  Rafaele thumped the table with his fist and shoved to his feet. Why wasn’t she listening to him? Was she deaf? He raked his fingers through his hair. “Because, I–I feel like I’m as obsessed with Jayne as Papà was with Mammà.”

  “Obsessed? Whatever gave you such a ridiculous idea, Rafaele? Your father was never obsessed with your Mammà. He was in love with her, yes, and when she died he grieved her loss deeply.” Nonna shook her head. “He never got over her death. That’s why he struggled so to love you children, and why Nonno and I loved each of you twice as much. It was just too painful for him to look at you. He loathed himself for feeling that way. He didn’t want to be like that—told me every time I took him to task about his treatment of you and your brother and sisters—but he couldn’t help himself. It all became a vicious cycle, especially when each of you grew older and were able to stand up to him and fight him in your own ways.

  “Before your Mammà died, you were a happy family. Don’t you remember?”

  He did. But the bad memories engulfed the happy ones, drowning them in a sea of verbal abuse, rages, and ostracism.

  “Nonna, you don’t know what goes through my mind when I’m with Jayne, the feelings she stirs within me, how I can’t breathe unless she’s there beside me. And even when she is, I still struggle. I feel like I’m losing my mind, that she’s bewitched me.”

  Nonna burst into laughter and her chuckles echoed through the kitchen. “Ahh, Rafaele. You make me laugh. You are not bewitched. You’re not obsessed either, or any other terrible thing you accuse yourself of. That’s amore, that’s all.”

  As she sipped her tea, Jayne turned her gaze from the familiar slopes to stare across the small, green table at her only friend in this foreign place. “Brigida, how can I ever thank you enough?”

  The young Italian woman shrugged, her long, straight hair shifting on her shoulder with the action. “We were fortunate to have a cancelation yesterday, late. So when you called last night, I was able to offer you the room.”

  “Yes, but I do prefer not to give good fortune the credit. My Heavenly Father is the one watching over me.”

  “Sì.”

  “But to get the same room too…” Jayne smiled. “That must have been your doing. Grazie mille.”

  “Prego. I was happy to help my English friend.” Her soft chuckle drifted across the table. “I see you’ve progressed a little in your Italian. You must’ve learned quite a bit at Villa Rossi over the past month.”

  You’ve no idea. Especially that Rafaele Rossi wasn’t as perfect as she’d thought him to be. And yet, she loved him. Given the chance, she’d do anything to make him happy.” Her thoughts returned to last night, and why she’d slapped Rafaele and stormed out on him. Well, anything except that.

  She should have left a note though. Especially for Isabella to thank her for allowing her to share her home.

  “What will you do now, Jayne?”

  Jayne hadn’t really given the future much thought yet, her mind consumed with yesterday’s bizarre happenings. It was almost as if Rafaele had gone out of his way to break up with her. Everything about him the day before was so unlike the Rafaele she knew. Maybe she should never have pressed him so to speak about his father. That seemed to have been the catalyst for yesterday’s events.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Well, the room is yours for the next eight days, if you want it.”

  Eight days. Yes, that should be more than enough permissible time for Rafaele to contact her. She didn’t feel like God wanted her to rush home to England just yet with a broken heart.

  She shot a quick prayer to heaven. Father, help Rafaele during this time to come to his senses…about me, and about You. Maybe if he had a taste of life without her…got the chance to miss her... But if she hadn’t heard from him by this time next week, she’d book a flight home the following day and leave Tuscany forever.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE EARTH CRUNCHED WITH EVERY step Rafaele took. He raised his gaze to Villa Rossi up ahead and picked up the pace. Time for breakfast. He was famished and Maria had promised him his favorite morning meal—freshly baked croissants filled with creamy, homemade vanilla gelato. Somehow he suspected she was trying to sweeten his sour mood.

  A week had passed since Jayne had run off in the middle of the night, and he’d remained surly. Had
she returned to England or was she still in Italy? Dare he even hope Tuscany or that they’d bump into each other at the side of the road one day, have the chance to start over again?

  The scenario had played in his mind several times each day, as had the one where Nonna told him that he was merely in love. Was it possible she was right? He hadn’t convinced himself of that fact yet, and that’s why he’d resisted the urge to call Jayne.

  Rafaele wiped his shoes on the front door mat then entered, flinging his trusty straw hat onto the nearby bench. The action reminded him of the night of Nonna’s party when he’d discarded his jacket and bowtie there to make his new cousin feel more comfortable.

  He stared at the bench, did a double take, then reached for the cardboard tube lying on the opposite side of his hat. Lifting the package, he examined the wrapping. Only his name was written on the front. He marched to the kitchen.

  “When did this come?”

  Alone in the kitchen, Maria shot upright. The oven door sprang shut with the action. “Oh, sì, this morning.”

  “How long ago?” He pointed the tube at her.

  Her mouth turned down and her brows lifted. She looked up, giving her head and shoulders a little wiggle. “Eh, maybe half...no, one hour. Man come, I sign, he go. This time he say for Rafaele Rossi.”

  “Was it the same man who delivered Nonna’s package?” He moved closer. “Think Maria. Think.”

  She chuckled. “Signore Rafaele, Maria cannot remember it is her when she stares long time in mirror. Maybe it same man. Maybe not.” She shrugged. “Non lo so.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” His raised voice caused Maria to shrink away from him.

  “What is going on here? Rafaele?” Nonna’s voice thundered as she charged toward him.

  “Nothing.” Rafaele shoved the tube under his arm. Sidestepping Nonna, he headed for the door. He paused then pivoted. “Scusa, Maria.”

  The old housekeeper dipped her knees in a curtsy. “Va bene.”

  But it wasn’t okay. He shouldn’t have shouted at Maria. She’d done nothing wrong.

  Rafaele nodded then pulled the door open.

  “Five minuti, signore Rafaele, you come eat croissants,” Maria called after him.

  Upstairs in his bedroom, Rafaele opened the tube and allowed the canvas to drop onto his bed. He unrolled the painting, and the image snatched his breath way. Not because it was in the same artistic style as the ones Nonna, Ric, and recently Piero had received, or that it had the same hand-scripted card. It was the girl in the painting and the name of the card that emptied his lungs.

  Jayne woke with a heavy heart. Over a week and still no word from Rafaele. And today was D-Day. Clearly he wanted nothing more to do with her. How hard could it be for him to find her if he really wanted to? If she’d managed to find him with nothing but the vague idea of a region to go on, he could do the same when there was only one logical place she would’ve run.

  Besides, he had her phone number.

  Then again, she did have help from above when he happened to come to her rescue as her knight in shining armor—okay, make that sweaty armor.

  She rose, grabbed her Bible, and went to sit in her favorite spot—the wide window ledge. She gazed across the countryside, the sun’s rays filtering over the verdant landscape with its varying shades from light brown harvested fields, to forests of dark green. She opened to her daily reading, the book of Proverbs, chapter 16.

  To humans belong the plans of the heart, but from the LORD comes the proper answer of the tongue. All a person’s ways seem pure to them, but motives are weighed by the LORD. Commit to the LORD whatever you do, and he will establish your plans. The LORD works out everything to its proper end—even the wicked for a day of disaster. The LORD detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will not go unpunished. Through love and faithfulness sin is atoned for; through the fear of the LORD evil is avoided. When the LORD takes pleasure in anyone’s way, he causes their enemies to make peace with them. Better a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice. In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps.

  Jayne lifted her gaze to the blue skies then closed her eyes. “Lord, I did commit coming to this country to You, and so I pray once again that You will establish the dreams I have for being here. I know You have a plan and a purpose for me and Rafaele. Whatever he is dealing with today, Jesus, I pray that You will help him. Reveal Yourself to him in a mighty way. Abba, show him Your father’s heart. Establish his steps…” She smiled. “And I’d really love it if those steps would lead him to me today. Amen.”

  After a hot shower, she dressed in her favorite outfit—the same one she’d worn last Monday. And the day of her flat tire. If Rafaele did miraculously turn up at the hotel today, she wanted the chance to redo that last blue Monday, as well as repeat that first Tuesday in Tuscany—the day she was certain she’d met her destiny. So, just in case, she would look too good for Rafaele to resist before it was all too late. Once she boarded that flight home to England, she was certain she’d never return.

  Leaning against the counter in the small kitchenette, Jayne washed down her breakfast—a bowl of muesli and nuts with a large dollop of strawberry yogurt on top. A cup of hot tea, milk in first, accompanied her cereal. Once she’d rinsed the single cup, bowl, and spoon, she dragged herself downstairs, e-reader in hand. Good thing she’d brought it with her. She’d read a lot over the past week but perhaps she would choose a different genre today. She’d grown weary of happy endings.

  Only because she yearned for one of her own.

  “Ciao, Brigida,” she greeted as she wafted into the hotel’s reception.

  Brigida stood beside the counter, sorting out a display stand of brochures on the various areas in Italy. So many interesting places to choose from. Jayne sighed. If only her choice of men she wanted to marry was as vast.

  But there was only one contender for that spot. Only one who held her heart.

  “You look beautiful, Jayne. Expecting to see someone?” Brigida waggled her brows.

  Jayne offered a smile, albeit a rather weak one. Where was the faith she’d had up in the room while praying that this would be the day? “One can live in hope.”

  “Absolutely.” Brigida’s eyes lowered to Jayne’s e-reader. “The pool again? Reading? How many books have you read this week?”

  Jayne rolled her eyes. “Far too many. I think I’ll sit on the patio area near the pool under the wisteria. It’s so peaceful out there. And cooler.”

  “Except if you are in the pool.”

  “Right.” She’d tried it a few times, but the water was somehow far colder than the pool at Villa Rossi. Perhaps because there wasn’t a certain hot Italian in this one.

  She turned and strolled toward the door, then paused. “Would you mind preparing my bill sometime today?” One way or the other, she’d be checking out tomorrow morning.

  It’s not possible.

  Or was it?

  Rafaele’s gaze floated from the painting unrolled between his hands and the small, white card on the bed. An ache formed deep inside him. Lost Love.

  But the woman in the painting walking through a vineyard, her floral dress blowing with a breeze, didn’t have long, blond hair and soft blue eyes. Rather, her eyes were a shade of brown, as was her hair. And the face so familiar.

  That was it! Three paintings and he’d had enough of this retribution. He was putting an end to Rachel’s game right here. Right now.

  He stared at the painting, the tiny flowers on the straw hat of the woman bearing that same vivid blue this artist seemed to love. Rafaele’s hands held a tremor that filtered through to the canvas. How did Rachel know that he and Jayne had parted ways? Unless Nonna had told her. What he didn’t understand was why Rachel would paint herself and not Jayne. At least, the woman resembled his newfound cousin quite a bit. The similarities were too close to ignore.

  But was it even possible? How could she paint
something like this so fast, have it dry and still have it couriered here? He and Jayne had only parted ways a week ago. And a day. He was counting…every second.

  Maybe Rachel had painted the piece a long time ago—felt this was a good time to send it. Rub salt in fresh wounds.

  He dropped the painting onto the bed. It curled from both ends, the tubes meeting in the middle. He snatched his phone from his shorts’ pocket and dialed Rachel’s number. The call went straight to voicemail.

  Ugh. Opening a text, he typed: call me. it’s urgent.

  Phone in hand, ready to answer should it ring, Rafaele paced the floor. Perhaps it was better she hadn’t answered. He needed to calm down. What if he accused her and she was innocent?

  But it had to be her. She was the one person who had the most reason, any reason, to torment this family.

  His stomach gnawed with hunger and ire.

  And emptiness.

  And longing.

  He missed Jayne so much. Her laugh. Her smile. The way she just brightened every day. Her kisses…especially her kisses. And her faith. She offered him so much direction in areas of his life he’d paid little attention to. He even missed the way she challenged him to face his fears. He needed her by his side to face his biggest fear—doubt. Doubt about how much like his father he was. Doubt about whether he had perhaps misjudged his father in some ways. And this doubt about Rachel…Jayne probably would’ve been able to give him clarity.

  But Jayne wasn’t here. He’d driven her away through one stupid move, and one careless and insensitive sentence.

  “Signore Rafaele.” Maria’s voice drifted up the staircase to his room just as his phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen. Rachel.

  “Not now, Maria.” He sucked in a breath and strode to the door, shutting it closed before answering the call.

  “Rafaele, I just got your message. Sorry I couldn’t answer when you rang—I was on my way to school. Too hard to ride a bike and answer a phone at the same time. Is something wrong? Is it Nonna? Has something happened to her?” Concern choked her voice. Perhaps she regretted refusing to forgive Nonna.