by Doug Walsh
“I’ll see,” she said, deciding right then that she’d be there.
“I do hope you come, cara,” he said, again softening her name into a term of endearment. He made like he was going to kiss her hand, but paused, smirking, as if he knew the effect he had on her and wanted to tease it out.
He tilted his head in a slight bow and winked. “Ciao.”
A neon board announced the campground’s nightly special in fluorescent block lettering. As Edward read the sign, wondering what Spaghetti alla Carbonara was, the door swung open, releasing a din reminiscent of a college cafeteria. Here? This is where Kara wants to eat our first meal in Italy?
A young couple exited the restaurant, immediately lighting cigarettes once outside. The man stopped to stare at Kara behind the lighter’s flickering flame, squinting as he inhaled, eying her up and down. Edward followed his gaze, taking in the cut of Kara’s new dress, the way her hips moved as she walked, and he wondered how many other heads she turned that day.
“They’re probably inside,” Kara said, not paying her admirer any attention.
Edward trailed behind, feeling like an afterthought, stuck in the backseat with no power to steer the evening ahead. He had spent the day washing bicycles, doing laundry, and rehearsing his apology, hoping to earn a chance to explain himself over dinner. But it would have to wait. For when Kara finally returned, she already had plans. He could come, she said, if he wanted.
What choice did he have?
Inside, teenagers crowded around tables draped in candy-striped vinyl, sipping beers, and sharing pizza. Elsewhere, moms and dads slouched, absently twirling pasta, unable to mask their exhaustion beneath the fluorescent lighting, as their kids slalomed between the tables at full speed.
Without hesitation, or a glance back at Edward, Kara took off across the checkered tile floor, weaving between the tables, craning her neck.
At a corner table, a man stood and waved. Edward hurried after Kara as suspicion balled in his gut. It was him, the groundskeeper Edward caught watching them argue earlier that day. The man had changed into a pair of black jeans and a gray V-neck shirt, but there was no mistaking him.
“Buonasera, cara.”
“Good evening, right?” Kara asked, smiling as she leaned into his air-kisses.
Edward looked to Kara, hoping to share a silent laugh over how the guy pronounced her name, the absurdity of his honeyed Italian accent. But Kara didn’t look his way.
“This is my friend, Hiromasa,” the Italian said, introducing a man who, until that moment, Edward hadn’t noticed. Hiromasa stood and shook hands with Kara, who appeared to blush upon seeing him. Hiromasa wore a clean campground shirt with jeans and had short, black hair and a soft, fleshy face. His features and bright smile gave him the look of someone who could be trusted—at least compared to the wolf standing beside him.
Edward cleared his throat as the greetings gave way to small talk, hailing Kara’s attention, however briefly. “Oh,” she said, “This is Alessio.” Edward shot Kara a frustrated look. “I’m Edward. Kara’s husband,” he said, extending his hand to Alessio, annoyed that Kara didn’t introduce him.
“Ciao.” Alessio shook his hand, his gaze never straying from Kara.
Edward stared at Alessio, clenching his jaw, restraining himself from saying something that would upset Kara.
“Please sit,” Hiromasa said. Kara took the seat opposite Alessio, while Edward sat beside her, facing Hiromasa.
“Our first meal in Italy. I can’t wait,” Kara said.
Edward held his tongue, opting not to mention that he invited her to dinner hours ago.
Alessio whistled the attention of a server, then shouted across the brightly lit room in Italian, gesturing at the table as he spoke. A waiter arrived with two bottles of mineral water and four glasses as Alessio described the night’s pasta special. He poured as he talked, emptying the first bottle into glasses for himself, Hiromasa, and Kara.
“You forgot one,” Hiromasa said.
Alessio passed the unopened bottle to Edward, who took it, glaring at the man. Edward poured himself some water and made a point of setting the bottle down at his end of the table. If Kara wanted more, he’d be the one pouring.
When Edward turned back from Kara, he noticed Hiromasa staring at him curiously. Edward smiled politely, which must have been interpreted as a willingness to talk.
“You are American?” Hiromasa asked, his speech slow.
“Uh-huh. Born and raised.”
“And what year were you born?”
“Eighty-five,” Edward said, not wanting to be rude, but hoping to avoid being stuck on a conversation island with Mr. Twenty Questions while Kara sailed off with Alessio.
“And this is your first time to Italy?”
What’s with this guy? “Yep.”
“But only because you brought Kara to the wrong city,” Alessio interrupted, grinning as he spoke, making no effort to hide the mockery in his tone.
Edward fought to conceal his shock. He turned to Kara, wondering what else she told him, how long they talked. She sipped her water and returned his glance with a shrug, challenging him to deny it.
“It’s complicated,” Edward said through clenched teeth, trying to maintain calm.
“I don’t know,” Alessio said. “A beautiful woman wants to visit Spain and you take her to Italy? That sounds very simple to me.” Alessio raised his eyebrows and stared at him.
Edward’s skin tightened around him, armoring him as his pulse quickened, keeping pace with the barrage of threats and insults he wanted to hurl. His toes curled in anger as his chest ballooned. “It’s between my wife and me,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t leave him alone in this. A nudge of her foot, a hand on his knee, perhaps.
Nothing.
“What do you do for work, Edward?”
He ignored Hiromasa’s question, unwilling to have his fuse cut before it could be sparked. He glared at Alessio while cracking his knuckles under the table, silently daring him to make another comment, begging for a reason to knock the smirk off his face.
“He was in venture capital,” Kara said, drawing Edward’s attention. Her voice carried the urgency of someone hoping to change the conversation. “Investing,” she added.
Hiromasa nodded then tilted his head, eying Edward with suspicion. “Was?”
“He lost his job in February,” she said, looking away.
Edward stiffened as she repeated the story but was distracted by the response from Alessio and Hiromasa, who quickly turned to one another, their eyes bulging with private recognition. Hiromasa leaned to whisper something to Alessio who, in turn, nodded his understanding while glancing out the corner of his eyes at Edward.
Edward looked to Kara, the one person who knew how much he hated people whispering in front of him, but she merely shrugged and looked up as the waiter arrived with four plates of pasta.
“Wow, that was fast,” she said.
“They prepare large quantities early in the evening,” Hiromasa said. “Much goes to waste on many nights.” He shook his head with disapproval as Alessio spoke to the waiter in Italian, twirling his finger overhead.
The table fell quiet as everyone turned their attention to the food. The silence was a relief and the peppery scent of the Parmesan a balm for Edward’s nerves. He was on his third bite of the egg-coated spaghetti when the sterile overhead lighting was dimmed. Alessio’s request, no doubt.
“Can I have the water?” Kara asked.
“Of course,” Edward said, chewing as he spoke. But as he paused to wipe his mouth with a napkin, an arm reached across his plate, grabbing the bottle. Alessio’s blatant disrespect was startling—Edward nearly laughed at the absurdity—and his reflexes wouldn’t tolerate it. Edward grabbed hold of the bottle too and tugged. “I got it.” Only then did he see the blue fringe surrounding Alessio’s arm, the solar flares of light on his fingertips dancing and arcing toward Edward’s hand. He hadn’t noticed it with the fluorescents on, but now it was
as clear as the hair on his arms.
A memory of Jean-Benac appeared in Edward’s mind, only to vanish as Alessio pulled on the bottle, catching Edward in an impromptu tug-of-war. His eyes locked on the bottle, on Alessio’s hand, and the light growing in intensity.
“Peace, gentlemen,” Hiromasa said, seizing the neck of the bottle and lifting.
The glow dimmed as Edward and Alessio let go, but Hiromasa’s hand continued to emit the same faint bluish glow and, thanks to the shift in lighting, Edward could see that both men had a slight glow around their entire beings. He rubbed his eyes, watching Hiromasa pour the water, his aura-like glow visible all around him.
The light was reaching for me.
Edward turned to Kara and whispered. “Did you see that?”
“I saw you acting ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.
Was he seeing things? Across the table, Hiromasa resumed eating, but Edward could tell he was watching him, studying.
“So, Alessio, what do you do at the campground?” asked Kara, snapping Edward’s attention back.
Alessio finished chewing then explained his daily maintenance and landscaping duties with disdain. For the first time since they arrived, Alessio wasn’t charming or disrespectful of their marriage, too absorbed in complaining to keep up the game. Kara listened politely, but Edward could tell she was sorry she asked.
“What about you, Kara? Do you have a profession?” Hiromasa asked.
“I’m in graphic design.”
“She’s also an incredible painter,” Edward said, putting his arm around Kara as he did. “Her paintings are amazing.”
Alessio’s face brightened as he leaned forward on his elbows. “I used to own a gallery in Malta.”
The hell you did.
“Really?” Kara shifted in her seat, her voice rising with interest as she slid out from under Edward’s outstretched arm, causing it to clunk onto the chairback.
Edward dragged his hand across Kara’s back in an effort to retract it gracefully. His jealousy spiked as he felt the absence of a bra strap, knowing how seldom she went without. “So, how does an art dealer end up cleaning toilets?” Edward asked, hoping to mask his hostility in the tone of the curious.
“It is, as you said, complicated.” Alessio barely shifted his gaze from Kara, who failed to stifle her giggle.
Edward bit down on his lip as he fought against the tug of his sinking heart. He couldn’t breathe, as if his body refused to exhale the last lingering scent of Kara’s perfume—perfume and makeup she refreshed before dinner. Her laugh echoed in his ears as memories of the past months spiraled in his mind. All the lies, the shouting, the tears spilled. He wanted only to give her everything she could want—and now he feared she only wanted another.
Dizzy with guilt and disappointment, Edward sat clutching his knees, staring at the salt and pepper shakers as he wondered how he could make it up to her, hoping she’d give him the chance.
“How long will you be in Florence?” Hiromasa asked, staring at Edward.
They answered simultaneously. “Maybe a week,” Kara said.
“Till tomorrow,” Edward said.
“What about your knee?” Kara asked, her voice laced with phony concern. “I thought you needed time off the bike.”
He mouthed his apology. I’m sorry. It was a start, he hoped, of a conversation they could continue later. Kara looked away.
“Ah, you’re injured. That is too bad.”
“I’m not—”
“You should rest. But don’t worry. Maybe I will show Kara around Florence,” Alessio said.
Kara coughed in her water, then uttered something noncommittal.
Through a red haze boiling within him, engulfing him, Edward noticed Hiromasa shaking his head ever so slightly, sending a signal. Hiromasa’s clamped lips, sucked inward with nervousness, rang like an alarm bell.
Edward tilted his head and narrowed his gaze at Hiromasa, wondering if he was imagining things.
Hiromasa dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“It will be fun. We can climb the steps of the Duomo,” Alessio said, ignoring the other men, his lecherous eyes locked on Kara.
The cathedral’s dome was visible from outside the campground, and all Edward could picture was Kara climbing its stairs in her new dress, with this creep lagging behind, eye level with her ass, ogling her thighs, licking his lips, planning his move.
“Don’t you have a lawn to mow?” It came out every bit the insult Edward had meant, only he didn’t intend to say it quite so loud.
“Edward!” Kara’s hand went to his knee, pressing it, calming him, a silent rebuke and reprimand, and an order to lighten up. Still, it was the first contact he’d felt from her since leaving Paris.
Her touch was a life raft in rough seas. It wasn’t salvation, but it was hope.
Chapter 23
Saturday, June 20 — Florence, Italy
Edward picked anxiously at the label on the jar of instant coffee as he waited for the water to boil, for Kara to return. He had wanted to get it over with last night, to come clean after dinner—about the contest, Florence, everything—but Kara was tired. “It can wait till morning,” she said.
What little relief he felt was gone by sunrise.
Steam sent the pot lid rattling as Kara approached in flip-flops, carrying her towel and toiletries, her damp hair combed back, and the purple highlights long gone. She wore capri pants and a wine-colored sleeveless blouse she saved for days spent sightseeing.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said, her back to him.
He watched as she draped the towel on the clothesline, then returned his attention to the coffee. Spooning the crystals into their mugs, he felt her hand upon his shoulder. He froze, welcoming his good fortune, relishing her touch, as if she was a butterfly that alighted on an outstretched palm. That she was merely using him for balance as she changed her shoes didn’t matter. She could have leaned upon a lamppost or sat in her chair. Instead, she chose him.
He swallowed hard and extended her mug. “Can we talk?”
“Thanks,” she said, taking it. She adjusted the angle of her chair so it wasn’t directly facing him, then sat. He watched her blow on the coffee, delaying, searching for her response in the twisting clouds of steam.
“I want to explain—”
“Now’s not a good time,” she interrupted. Then, looking embarrassed, as if aware she was denying him the chance to provide what she demanded. “I’m heading into town.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but could only manage the sound of stunned silence. What happened to making up?
“You didn’t give me a say in coming to Florence, but since we’re here,” she cocked her head to the side as her voice took on a determined edge, “I’m gonna make the most of it.”
“I’m confused. I thought you said—”
“I know what I said. Later, okay?”
Edward swallowed. “Are you going to the Duomo?” He left off the part he was really concerned with, about Alessio.
Kara checked her watch and, as if not really paying attention, said, “I don’t know. Maybe. The gardens open around eight. I want to be there while the light’s good.” Kara looked around, searching for a place to set her mug. She’d only taken a few sips.
He searched her eyes for a hint of the spark he’d always seen. “Will you be back for dinner?”
“Yeah. We’ll talk then,” she said, after a pause that seemed to last all morning.
Edward waited until Kara was well on her way before retrieving the Blackberry. The morning hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, but now that he knew she’d be having dinner with him—and only him—he was determined to find someplace romantic. He plopped himself in the chair, cradling Kara’s still warm coffee mug in one hand and the phone in the other.
The phone felt awkward. The tool he used to hammer a wedge between them would now be relied upon to span a chasm. He looked up as a golf car
t drove past, a shovel and rake flanked a pair of trash cans mounted on the rear. Alessio glanced his way before accelerating down the dirt path, the tires kicking up dust as he went.
Edward craned his neck as Alessio honked the cart’s cartoonish horn. “Who’s he beeping at?” Edward wondered aloud, lying to himself. He knew damn well who.
He stood in time to see Kara disappear over the crest of the hill outside the campground gate as Alessio parked the cart near the office. Edward relaxed, glad to see Alessio was working, only to see him toss his gloves on the seat and leave the campground, walking briskly after her.
What the …?
Initially, Edward thought she had lied to him, that she had arranged to meet Alessio behind his back. The thought tortured his empty stomach, but it was instantly replaced by the memory of Hiromasa shaking his head, as if to warn him about Alessio.
Edward dashed into the tent, gathered his wallet and passport, and thrust them along with the phone into his pockets. He tossed the chairs and stove into the vestibule and took off running.
Keeping Alessio in view, Edward stuck to the opposite side of the street as he followed him down the hill into town. A motley lineup of compact cars crowded the curving road, providing ample cover for Edward, who walked in a crouch, feeling his way after Alessio, moving between the pollen-dusted vehicles.
Edward’s chest tightened as they passed signs pointing to Giardino delle Rose and another for Giardino Bardini. Kara had mentioned visiting a garden, and he knew there were probably dozens in a city like Florence, but the farther they walked, the more he feared she had lied.
The road meandered past a fort and several villas en route to the river, where, even at this early hour, the street was alive with tourists. Edward expected a turn to the right, to cross the river into old town, but Alessio cut left, forcing Edward to dodge behind a van to avoid being seen. Through the window he saw Kara in the distance, standing on a corner studying a map.
Edward knelt, spinning his wedding ring around his finger, wondering if Alessio had marked a spot for them to meet. Then they were off again. She rounded the corner toward a massive stone palace the color of sand and the length of a city block. Pitti Palace was fronted by a sweeping plaza with little to hide behind. Lucky for Edward, Alessio’s royal blue shirt was easy to spot in the sea of earth tone travel wear, allowing him to keep his distance.