by Doug Walsh
Ahead, Kara approached a ticket office. Edward couldn’t see her face or how many tickets she bought, but he was relieved when she didn’t look back, didn’t wait. She disappeared beyond the entrance alone. The sign above listed a number of museums and attractions, including the Boboli Gardens.
She hadn’t lied.
Then he saw Alessio hurry to join the line for tickets. Any comfort Edward felt believing Kara hadn’t arranged to meet Alessio was replaced by a darker realization: Alessio was stalking his wife.
Edward peered out from behind an ornate lamppost, clenching his fists as the magnitude of Alessio’s arrogance hit home. He acted as if he could pursue Kara with impunity, not once looking over his shoulder to see if Edward was following.
He didn’t know how he’d confront Alessio, but Edward knew he wouldn’t allow him near her.
The queue for admission was growing by the minute. Edward waited until Alessio reached the ticket counter then joined the line ten people behind him, thankful he brought his wallet.
Once inside, Edward hurried after Alessio. The main garden path spanned the width of a street, was arrow-straight and flanked by columns of towering cypress trees, a detail gleaned from the garden map Edward wielded to shield his face from detection. Statues guarded numerous paths leading deeper into the gardens. Alessio paused at each, as if studying their detail, but Edward could tell he was merely waiting for Kara, biding his time.
Gravel crunched underfoot with every step, igniting Edward’s nerves, bringing him closer to … he had no idea. As Kara slowed, so did Alessio, and thus Edward in a chain reaction of cat and mouse—and dog, Edward thought, flattering himself in the apex role.
Kara strolled along, zigzagging across the path, photographing the statues and trees, her delight visible from forty yards. Though largely convinced she had no idea she was being followed, Edward was unsure how she would react upon seeing Alessio. Would she welcome his sudden appearance—he’d no doubt pretend it was a happy coincidence—or would she see through his ruse?
Again, Edward thought of the warning from Hiromasa.
He imagined Alessio wanting to trap Kara in an isolated corner of the garden, between the hedges, screened from view. He envisioned him grabbing her by the arm, pawing at her, pulling her behind a statue …
“I’ll kill him if he touches her,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling the heat rise in his face as he suspected Alessio was playing with her, just as he toyed with Edward at dinner. His breathing turned deeper, noisier, as he recalled Alessio all but asking Kara on a date right in front of him.
He had to do something. Wanted to do something. But what? Edward typically avoided confrontation and couldn’t recall laying hands on someone since elementary school. Still, he knew he had the size advantage, not to mention youth and strength were on his side if he had to guess. At the very least, he’d threaten him. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Kara continued around a reflecting pond, past a statue of a giant cracked face, to a thicket of gnarled trees that arched overhead, their limbs entwined, blocking the sunlight. Edward watched her disappear into the darkened, tunnel-like pathway with Alessio not far behind, lurking beyond a hedgerow that ran perpendicular.
Ahead, three women posed for selfies near the far end of the path, their backs to Kara. No one else was near. He had to act fast.
Edward rushed forward and grabbed Alessio by the wrist, pulling him onto a side path, out of view.
Alessio spun in surprise, his eyes flashing wide with anger, before settling into a veneer of manufactured friendliness.
“What the hell are you doing?” Edward demanded, steeling himself.
Alessio yanked his wrist free of Edward’s grip. “Enjoying the gardens—”
“Bullshit. You’re following my wife.”
Alessio shrugged.
“You followed her yesterday too. I know what you’re up to with this artsy Italian bullshit. Stay away from her,” Edward said, jabbing his finger at Alessio. As he did, the blue glow of Alessio’s face seemed to flow down his brow, over his nose, and toward Edward’s finger, as if being drawn magnetically. Edward struggled not to appear distracted, but couldn’t help watching in awe.
“Or what?” Alessio asked, leaning forward.
Or what?
It was a good question. Edward stared at Alessio, trying to ignore the flickering blue light, and clenched his fists, racking his brain for a response.
“What will you do?” Alessio said, pushing Edward in the chest.
Edward swatted the hand away and shifted his stance.
Menace flooded Alessio’s eyes as he sneered, “You turista. You stranieri. You come to my city and follow me? You grab my arm—”
“You’re stalking my wife!”
Alessio laughed. “And you think you can keep my Sylvia from me? You believe you can protect her?”
Alessio was talking madness. Edward shot him a puzzled look as his leg quivered.
“Don’t play games,” Alessio said.
“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about, but you better stay away from Kara,” he said, shoving Alessio with both hands.
Alessio stumbled backwards, shouting at him in Italian, waving his hands in the air.
The outburst drew the attention of a small crowd, and Edward became acutely aware of the circle forming around them, murmuring in languages he couldn’t understand. He felt outnumbered, a soldier in enemy territory. “Leave her alone.” His voice sounded thin and feeble.
Alessio smoothed his shirt and approached, his teeth bared. A vein in his forehead pulsed and the whites of his eyes spread wild like those of the Medusa statue they passed earlier. This is what crazy looks like, Edward thought.
He paused alongside Edward and whispered, “I’ll release her. Kara. Sylvia. Isabelle. Her name is of no consequence. We will be returned.”
Edward stood, holding his breath until Alessio retreated toward the exit. Then he collapsed forward, his panic hissing out of him in a lengthy sigh, as Alessio’s words thundered his nerves. Sweat coated his skin and stung his eyes as he slumped with his hands on his knees, wondering what lunacy his deception had exposed them to.
It wasn’t long before the miles spent pounding the paving stones yesterday caught up to her, as did her lack of breakfast. After two hours at the gardens, Kara had seen enough. She exited onto Via Romana, a narrow one-lane road crowded with parked scooters and dumpsters and couples walking hand-in-hand. Three-story buildings loomed above, plunging the street into a trench-like shadow.
A sign up ahead advertised a trattoria, a word she’d heard before. It was what Alessio called the campground restaurant. The thought of last night’s dinner made her uneasy, and not just because of the food, though she was sure she’d tasted better pasta in Eau Claire. She merely wanted a diversion, another person to ease the tension between her and Edward. She’d never seen anyone get under Edward’s skin like that before.
It would have been easier if Alessio couldn’t speak English, she thought, recalling their meal with Jean-Benac, hoping he was okay. Kara sighed, wondering when they’d run into some female travelers, someone who might be able to relate to her plight.
“Table for one?” a goateed server asked, offering Kara a menu. Behind him, a dozen tables sat empty. A bad sign.
Kara bit her lower lip and shook her head in a sorry, but no thank you gesture.
“On the terrace, if you prefer,” the server said, motioning skyward, where the heads of several diners were visible. It was too early for lunch, but she was starving. He escorted her to a rooftop garden, where a cozy collection of tables sat occupied, all save for one. Hers.
She requested a half carafe of the house white and settled into the chair, her legs crossed beneath the table. The sun’s warmth radiated off the whitewashed walls of the adjacent, taller buildings, as the shadow line slowly dropped away. A small fan gave the air just enough circulation to feel refreshing without messing her hair.
&nb
sp; When the waiter returned with her wine, she ordered the insalata caprese (a safe choice, but perfect for an early summer lunch, she thought) and the carpaccio con rucola e parmigiano, unsure what rucola was.
Conversation surrounded her, mostly in Italian and English, but other languages as well. At the adjacent table, a woman told the waiter she and her friend were visiting from Buenos Aires. Yes, first time to Europe. Florence is beautiful, she said, stretching each syllable to its breaking point. The women resumed their conversation in Spanish after the server left.
Trying to distract herself, Kara reached for her book, only to realize she’d left it in the tent. Instead, she paged through her passport, but every -isima, -ito and -eria floated across to her table, the Spanish words sticking in her throat like a swallowed fly.
Since arriving in Florence, she had sought to make the best of it, to distance herself from Edward, and not to dwell on his lies. But there was no getting over it. She stared at the Argentinian women, watching their plump, cabernet lips share indecipherable gossip, and realized any reference to Spain would forever remind Kara of her husband’s betrayal.
Forever?
She wondered as much as she gulped her wine, hoping it wasn’t so.
The waiter soon arrived with her salad and carpaccio. Kara twirled the beef on her fork, watching a drip of honey course its way through the tines, down along the handle, onto her finger. She licked it off, detecting a hint of pepper amongst the sweetness.
But as conversation progressed at the nearby table, Kara found it impossible to enjoy her meal. She couldn’t wait any longer. She needed to hear his explanation, to test the ground upon which their marriage stood. She hurried through her meal and set off for the campground.
Kara had nearly crested the hill when she spotted him. Edward paced along the sidewalk, chopping at the air, talking to himself. His hair was tousled and face pale. He had the nervous air of someone who felt he was being watched—or worse.
She took a deep breath, slid her purse behind her hip, and crossed the street to him.
“Kara. Thank God. I was hoping I’d catch you.”
“You were waiting for me? What’s wrong?” Kara nearly commented on his appearance, then recalled how he looked in Paris, right before he told her they were leaving that night.
“We need to talk.”
“Yeah, that’s why I came back.”
Edward nodded as his eyes darted back and forth anxiously. “Not at the campground. Come this way,” he said, leading her by the hand across the street to Piazzale Michelangelo.
Kara followed him through the parking lot, dodging tour buses as they went. He ushered her to the quiet upstream end of the plaza, away from the gaggles of tourists, ice cream kiosks, and merchants hawking postcards and faux leather notebooks embossed with the Florentine lily, red on a white field. To Kara, the lily reminded her of the fleur-de-lis, and France, where they should have been.
Still, the view was impeccable, even for midday.
Kara made a note to return at sunset, anticipating the sight of the Arno flowing into the descending sun, a swirl of Bellini pinks and oranges reflecting off its mirror-like waters. Even with the sun directly overhead, the view of the Duomo and the sea of sun burnt rooftops lapping against its marble walls was hard to ignore.
Edward took a seat without mentioning the view.
Kara sat beside him, her back to the overlook, and fixed her gaze on a crack in the pavement, listening with all her senses.
He sighed as he ran his hands through his already messy hair. “I’m sorry.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment, unsure what she hoped to hear, knowing she only wanted a return to normalcy, to how they were when they first married, before he became obsessed with his work, began lying to her. Lying to one another.
“I can explain everything. It’s hard though. I’ve never kept secrets from you.”
Kara raised her eyebrows. And …
“Or lied before. I was an ass, and I screwed everything up.”
Kara nodded again, vigorously this time, but willed herself to remain silent. She could feel him squirming next to her.
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Should I?” she asked, turning to face him.
“No. I suppose not,” he said, his voice cracking as he picked at a cuticle. “But I can explain. Really. I’ll tell you all the stupid reasons why I lied and why I’ve been hurrying us along ever since …” His voice trailed off.
I knew it, she thought. She’d suspected him of being up to something long before the train ride to Florence. He had a lot to explain. The flight to London, the long days in Canada, the Netherlands. Kara turned on the bench, her knees pointing toward his, and urged him to continue.
“God, I hope you understand,” he said, as if talking to himself. His knees bounced as he continued. “I’m so sorry and I can explain why we ended up here. I’ll tell you everything. But it has to wait.”
“Uh, no it can’t,” she said, shooting him a threatening look.
“We need to leave Florence.”
“What!” Kara shouted, leaping to her feet. “Again?”
“Maybe just ride to Siena. We can get there by dark if we break camp fast.”
Kara shook her head in disbelief, her hands on her hips, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, or do both.
“Okay, fine, not Siena. We’ll take the train to Madrid, for real this time, I swear, but we’ve got to go—”
“Why?”
Kara watched as a curtain spun from the threads of shame and nervousness descended upon Edward’s face. It was a look she’d never seen on him before. “It’s that guy. Alessio.”
She guffawed, a spontaneous laugh that she regretted the moment it happened.
“It’s not funny.”
“You’re jealous?”
Edward looked away for a moment then gazed up at her, his eyes puffy. “I’m worried, Kara. The guy’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? You’re ridiculous, you know that? First you lie about … about everything, probably, and then—”
“He followed you today,” he said, interrupting her.
She flinched. “How do you know that?”
“Because I tracked him. I caught up to him in the gardens.”
“You went to the gardens?”
“I didn’t intend to follow you, I swear. But when I saw him take off after you …” He stood facing her. “Listen, Kara, he was stalking you. I confronted him by the hedges, when you were alone in that tunnel of trees, and I’m telling you, the guy’s up to no good.”
Kara remembered that particular path clearly, how dark it was, how isolated. The thought of being stalked made her skin crawl. But Alessio? She wondered if he had followed her yesterday, but recalled how much of a gentleman he was.
“He’s harmless,” she said, wondering if this was just another one of Edward’s lies, a story he concocted to rush her from yet another city.
“You didn’t see what I saw. You didn’t hear what he said. He told me I couldn’t keep you safe,” Edward pleaded, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“He’s taunting you. He’s Italian. It’s all bravado and bluster.” Kara placed her hands atop his, lifting them from her shoulders, trying not to laugh. “Don’t tell me you let him scare you?”
“He said—”
Edward was interrupted by a sudden symphonic chime. The ring of a telephone filled the air as the lump in Edward’s pocket vibrated. Kara stumbled back in surprise.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Edward repeated, fumbling at the pocket, squeezing it, slapping it as Kara watched, and feeling herself scowl. He pulled a ringing Blackberry from his pocket, one of the older ones with a tiny keyboard and a ball in the center.
Kara’s entire body went itchy. “Whose is that?”
Edward hit the red button, silencing the device, but not before Kara could read the screen: Unknown Caller. She watched him shove it back in his pocket, wondering wh
y he didn’t answer.
“Tom gave it to me.”
The name didn’t register, not at first. But it wasn’t long before a picture came into focus, a collage depicting their every decision dating back to Minnesota.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a phone?”
Edward stammered in his search for an answer.
Kara’s face puckered, so sour were the thoughts coming to mind. “Does this have to do with us not going to Cape Cod? Or Spain?”
He slumped in shame, then nodded. “You would have never understood—”
“You bastard,” she said, balling her fists as her rage drowned out his cascade of pleas and promises to explain everything. The phone already had.
Edward chased after Kara with an awkward gait, all hips and ankles, not wanting to run, but calling for her to slow down. He’d explain. Just give him a chance.
She didn’t slow. Kara never once looked back.
The phone rubbed against his leg as he pursued her. He wanted to tear it from his pocket and smash it to pieces, but he didn’t. He could barely remember why it was on him in the first place, the morning felt so long ago. Something about a restaurant, he thought, and then …
Alessio!
Alarm punched him in the gut, forcing him to quicken, knowing Kara was headed back to the campground, toward Alessio. Forgetting his reluctance to make a scene, he sprinted after her, shouting her name as he raced to their campsite.
Ahead, Kara halted steps from their tent, her hands flying to her face as she gasped. “The bikes,” she yelled, her voice shattering with horror and dismay.
Edward followed her gaze and saw their bicycles, slumping against the locks that bound them to a lamppost, like two prisoners who died shackled to the walls of a dungeon.
He ran to the bikes and lifted the one nearest him. His? Hers? He propped it against the post, gently, as his heart sank. The wheels were demolished, the spokes broken, the rims bent into tacos. The tires suffered lengthy gashes in the sidewalls.