Tailwinds Past Florence

by Doug Walsh

  He rubbed his hand along the downtube, to where the derailleur cables had been cut, their frayed ends pointing this way and that like an electrified cowlick. A wire punctured his skin and Edward squeezed a pinprick of blood from his finger, feeling as if he was squeezing his entire heart through the eye of a needle.

  There was other damage as well. Brake cables, the leather seat, the front racks. Looking away, unable to take the sight of it, he saw the other bike—his bike—had been equally tortured.

  As the torrent of blood rushed to his face, amidst the roar of his inner rage, he heard Kara behind him. Sobbing, trying to make sense of it. “Why? Why?” she begged. “Who would do this?”

  Edward knew. He grabbed a fragment of the shattered shifter and hurled it into the overhead netting. He was apoplectic in his fury.

  “You know who did this.”

  Kara’s eyes widened as she took a small step back, confused.

  She still doesn’t see it, he thought.

  “Alessio! I told you he was dangerous. Now do you believe me?”

  Kara shook her head as if she couldn’t process what she was hearing. “You really think he did this?”

  “Of course he did it. He told me I couldn’t keep you safe. He said he’d release you. Whatever the hell that meant.”

  “He wouldn’t do this,” she said, shaking her head, but Edward saw fear in her eyes.

  “How would you know?”

  “Because he wouldn’t. He works here, for one thing,” she said, controlling her sobs.

  “That’s right, he does.” Edward’s thirst for revenge sharpened as he envisioned grabbing hold of Alessio and stomping him in the gut just as he must have done to their bicycle wheels. “Where’s he staying?”

  “How should I know?” Kara stiffened, glaring at him.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

  “I don’t. Why would I?”

  “Fine. I’ll find him myself.”

  “Edward, no. What are you going to do? Beat him up? Get yourself arrested? You don’t even have proof!” Kara stepped in front of him and held her arm out, begging for him to stop.

  He hesitated as her words sank home. Arrested? Then I couldn’t protect her. Holy shit, was that his plan?

  “Maybe there’s a security camera,” she said. “Or maybe another camper saw something.”

  Edward took a deep breath and pumped his fists five times in quick succession, but the moment his eyes landed on the bikes, his simmering temper boiled up once again.

  Memories flooded his mind: the nights spent assembling the bikes, the nervous excitement of setting out from Alki Beach in Seattle, the freedom he felt rocketing down the Continental Divide. The bikes were practically the only things they owned.

  “Can you fix them?”

  He looked at the wheels and sighed. They were custom. “I can probably order most of the parts, but the wheels are toast.” He closed his eyes and wished the past five months away, wishing more than anything for a proper vacation. Maybe a cruise.

  “So, a couple of days then?”

  “At least,” he said. He looked at his watch. It was Saturday afternoon. “The shops might be closed until Monday.”

  He saw her staring at the pocket containing the phone.

  She stiffened as she collected herself, wiping at the last of her tears, purposefully stroking her eyes with a single finger in a slow, thoughtful manner. Edward could sense her remembering why she’d raced ahead, alone, ignoring him.

  “Might as well call around for parts. Or is that phone only good for calling Tom?”

  Chapter 24

  Saturday, June 20 — Florence, Italy

  Alessio set the faucet to full blast and slapped at the soap dispenser. Pink liquid oozed past the metal plunger into his grease-stained hand. As he scrubbed at the black smears, adrenaline drained from him like air escaping a tire pierced by a thorn. Not like the rubber he stabbed with a tent stake, where the air burst free in an explosive whoomp, but in a gentle hiss that left the frame of his excitement upright, ridable.

  The cold water stung as it penetrated the grated skin of his knuckles, the nicks and cuts from where the bicycles bit back in defense. He picked at a sliver of wire that jutted from his palm, eyes fixed in concentration on the silver splinter as his mind focused on the day ahead.

  The plan was in motion.

  Behind him, coins plunked into a metal box, a dial was wound, and a shower run. A man’s voice, groggy despite the midday hour, cursed the cold water.

  Alessio’s gaze drifted toward the sound, to a shower door with a towel draped over the top. A thrill rippled through him, coalescing in his groin as he recalled lingering inside the doorway to the lady’s bath house early that morning. Kara had been the first camper awake. He spotted her during his rounds and waited out of sight till he heard the water running. The stall door descended to her calf, limiting his view, but he stared as the soap bubbled down her legs, pooling atop her painted toenails. Under the guise of emptying the trash, he gawked at what was revealed and used his imagination—and memories of Sylvia—to paint in the rest.

  The memory thrilled him, but he couldn’t afford to waste any time. He had much to do before nightfall.

  Alessio hurried to the shed, hoping to gather the rope he’d need before Hiromasa returned from lunch. But the door was open when he arrived, and the landscaper’s cart he’d been driving that morning parked nearby.

  Inside, Hiromasa busied himself, his back to the door, bent over, loading a bucket of equipment. Scattered around him lay a variety of gardening tools. Alessio noticed the unsheathed soil knife and frowned at the sight of its serrated edge resting beneath a trowel and weeder.

  “Thought you’d still be eating,” Alessio said, smirking when Hiromasa jumped at the sound of his voice.

  Hiromasa aimed to collect himself, but failed to hide his embarrassment at being so easily startled. “Ah, Alessio. I was looking for you earlier.” He tossed the tools into the bucket and stood.

  Alessio stared at him, unsure whether to share his plan, the expedited timeline. He grabbed a shovel that hung from a hook and turned the tool over in his hands as he thought. The shovel felt powerful in his grip, deadly. The sensation emboldened him. “I followed Kara into town.”

  Hiromasa’s eyes widened, betraying his surprise. “And do you still believe she is related to Sylvia, that she can help you somehow?”

  “She left before I could speak with her.”

  “I see.”

  Alessio clenched the wooden handle, holding it in his right hand like a hatchet, recalling the husband’s interruption. “But tonight will be different.” His voice was raspy, and his lip curled as he spoke.

  In the damp silence of the shed, Hiromasa exhaled long and slow. Outside, a breeze blew. The painted barn-style door creaked on its hinges, and the daylight shrank to a mere rectangle. “Can you pass me that?” Hiromasa asked, pointing to a spray can on the shelf, seeming to change the subject.

  Alessio returned the shovel to the hook and placed the can into the bucket. While bent, he picked up the soil knife, pinching the blade tip between two fingers, lifting it slowly, swinging it like a pendulum. “Have you decided to return with us?”

  Hiromasa followed the swaying handle with his eyes, but said nothing. Between them, dust floated in the dank air, sparkling in the scant sunlight.

  “Well? You asked to sleep on it.” He had explained his thinking to Hiromasa last night, after dinner, as they lay in their cots. Sensing that Kara had felt a connection to him was all the convincing he needed. Their bodies were merely shells, false vessels imprisoning the souls meant to unite. If his theory was right, releasing their souls would send them back to their rightful era—and this time he’d be sure to keep Sylvia by his side.

  “She won’t go along with it.”

  Alessio sneered. “She has no choice.”

  “But Kara is no more Sylvia than she is Isabelle. Maybe your ideas would work if performed on Syl
via, but she’s an innocent woman—”

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Alessio interrupted. It had been five weeks since he and Hiromasa volleyed explanations across the table, before Hiromasa served up his soul mates suggestion. Ever since, Alessio had dreamed of finding Sylvia, of setting them free, returning home with their love renewed. “And if proven correct, I won’t make the same mistakes as I did,” he said, a reminder to himself.

  Hiromasa spun the bucket in his hand by the handle, oscillating it slowly back and forth as the objects knocked about. “When are you planning to do it? She and her husband may not stay very long.”

  “They’re not going anywhere,” he laughed. “I saw to that.”

  Hiromasa’s eyes shifted, as if searching for something, an escape perhaps. Alessio realized he was silhouetted against the doorway, and that Hiromasa had grown intimidated, uncomfortable in his presence. He tucked the soil knife in his belt, hooking it by its hilt.

  “You seem nervous, Hiromasa.”

  “Your plan frightens me.”

  “Don’t you want to return to your rightful time? To at least test my theory?”

  Hiromasa sighed. “I don’t know. Life was hard back then—”

  “It’s harder now,” Alessio interrupted, raising his voice, recalling the decades he spent alone after Sylvia abandoned him.

  “But people didn’t live as long back then. You and I were lucky to see fifty.”

  “We were brought to this time to set the order right, to correct the wrongs.”

  “But why would God want you to harm yourself, or another person, as a way of penance? It makes no sense.”

  “The bodies are irrelevant. And our souls feel no pain. We’ve been through this.”

  “I don’t know,” Hiromasa said quietly, shaking his head. “Pardon me,” he said, crossing the shed. The plywood floor bowed under their collective weight as Alessio refused to move.

  Alessio stared at him nose to nose, their gazes colliding. “Your Isabelle’s soul is here too. In Kara.”

  Hiromasa grunted, a sound Alessio accepted as a reluctant admission of someone caught facing an undeniable truism.

  “Join us. We can return to our rightful times and leave this godforsaken place.”

  Hiromasa opened his mouth to speak, but made no sound, looking as if the decision bore him physical pain.

  “Don’t you yearn for your Isabelle?” Alessio asked. He picked up a pair of snips on the workbench and thumbed the safety lever back and forth, unlocking and relocking the blades. “You know you’ve wished for a way to stop her from leaving you.”

  “I have. But …” Hiromasa’s voice faded as his face twitched in the shadows.

  Alessio’s lips pressed into a tight smile as he stood taller, enjoying the smell of fear wafting off Hiromasa. He set the snips down and stepped aside, allowing Hiromasa to pass. “It will work.”

  Hiromasa hurried past him, scurrying toward daylight, the bucket bouncing plaintively against his leg. Before he left, he stopped, and without turning around, issued Alessio a warning.

  “For your sake, it better. There are worse places than purgatory.”

  Chapter 25

  Saturday, June 20 — Florence, Italy

  With her Hemingway paperback tucked under an arm, Kara slid a plastic tray along the cafeteria rails and helped herself to the day’s two remaining cornetti, not caring whether the croissant-like pastries were still fresh. She ordered a cappuccino and flicked the necessary coins onto the counter without eye contact. She’d already eaten lunch, but even greater than her cyclist’s appetite was the desire to dunk the agony of the last hour in something sweet.

  She carried her snacks to a postage stamp garden hemmed in by rhododendron and sat at a limestone pedestal table barely larger than a birdbath. Her metal chair, more decorative than comfortable, sank unevenly in the grass under her weight.

  Elbow on the table and head in her hand, she submerged the first of her pastries into the froth, coating it in the cinnamon and sugar sprinkled atop the foam. She flipped open her dog-eared copy of The Sun Also Rises, tasting nothing, and stared at the page. Jake was in San Sebastian and had returned to his hotel for supper, where a group of bicycle racers were holding court. Figures. As Hemingway’s narrator described the cyclists’ thirst for wine and women, Kara’s mind drifted to her damaged bike across the campground.

  She shoved the book aside and took a sip of the cappuccino, picturing a couple of would-be thieves who, upon failing to cut the bike locks, opted to vandalize what they couldn’t steal. And it wouldn’t have happened if Edward hadn’t followed her.

  Kara wondered if they should bother calling the police, a springboard from which her mind leaped to the ringing phone in Edward’s pocket. “Tom gave it to me,” Kara said with a snort, imitating Edward’s voice. But why? For safety? Maybe. But wouldn’t Brenda have said something? After all, Tom didn’t strike Kara as the kind of guy to worry. Something was definitely going on between them. She was sure of it.

  “What a dumpster fire this trip turned out to be,” she said in the snark-laced vernacular of her coworkers.

  Knowing she’d be stuck in Florence for at least a few days while Edward repaired the bikes, she opted to take out the tourist pamphlet and find something to do. Hiromasa entered the garden carrying a lunch tray shortly after she spread the map across the table. His demeanor shifted upon spotting Kara, and he hurried over, an anxious look on his face.

  “May I join you?”

  Kara didn’t want to be rude. “Sure.”

  She folded the pamphlet before even looking it over and set it atop her book to make room for his tray. She considered it odd that he wanted to sit with her, given that he barely spoke to her at dinner. In fact, he seemed downright bashful around her.

  He set his plate and bottle of soda on the table and leaned the tray against his chair leg. “Forgive my intrusion, but I must speak with you.”

  His formality struck her as odd. Especially given the campground atmosphere. But, to humor him, she affected her best business posture and folded her hands over the table’s edge. “What can I help you with?”

  Hiromasa scanned the small garden, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned forward. His voice was hushed, whispering like a summer breeze through tall grass. His cheeks were slightly flushed. “Have you seen Alessio today?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Very good.” His face relaxed. “Please don’t tell him I said so, but you must avoid him.”

  “You too?” she asked. “Did Edward put you up to this?” Kara’s voice rose with frustration as she suspected yet another attempt to trick her.

  Hiromasa flinched from her question, as if confused, but he recovered and reached for her hands. Kara pulled them away, not wanting him to touch her. It was an urge that saddened her for a reason she couldn’t explain.

  “Please, believe me. You must stay away from him.”

  She paused, wanting to leave, but curious why Alessio’s own friend would warn her to avoid him. Even if Edward was involved. “Why?”

  Hiromasa glanced over his shoulder. “He’s dangerous. He has … ideas.”

  “All men have ideas” she said, brushing the comment aside.

  “He thinks you are someone else. A woman who once harmed him. You should leave Florence.” His voice was firm, but compassionate, like that of an older brother warning about the dangers of going to parties with boys. But Kara was no teenager. She stiffened in her chair. “Let me guess, I should hurry off to Siena?” She rolled her eyes.

  Hiromasa sighed and leaned back. He studied Kara for several awkward seconds, then lifted his panini to his mouth. He set it back on the paper plate without taking a bite. His mouth hung open, as if waiting for the right moment to speak.

  “Go on. Might as well say it.”

  “It’s my English,” he said, sheepishly. “I am unsure how to put it delicately.”

  Kara took a long sip of her cappuccino, wanting to finish
and leave. Her eyes drifted to the tourist pamphlet, where an advertisement announced discount admission to the Uffizi Museum.

  “Were you going to leave Edward?”

  “What? No. And that’s none of your business.”

  Hiromasa stared, observing her, his hands tented, fingertips tapping against one another. He raised his eyebrows slightly as he nodded his head in a knowing manner, a gesture she took to mean he was willing to wait for her answer—and already knew the response.

  “I mean, sure, I’m mad that he tricked me into coming to Florence, but I’m not going to divorce him over it.” Then, under her breath, she added, “It’s complicated,” parroting Edward’s line from the prior night.

  “Not now. When he lost his job. In February.”

  Kara squirmed in her seat and felt the color drain from her face as her head swam. How could he know? She told no one, not even her girlfriends at work. A sense of dread inched its way up her spine. It had to have been Edward. He must have sensed it.

  “I apologize. I don’t wish to frighten you.”

  Kara wilted under Hiromasa’s gaze, feeling judged. Though she knew she had every right to walk that path if she chose, she couldn’t stand to have it exposed by this stranger. She felt violated. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “So, it is true?”

  Kara looked away. Her nose itched, allergic to the scrutiny.

  “And Edward stopped it?” He asked, his voice hopeful.

  “Obviously,” she said, flipping her wrist in the air. She sought relief from his questions, but a part of her also felt relieved to share the burden of her secret. “If you must know, I was going to leave him if he didn’t cut back his hours at the office. Not that he would have noticed.”

  Hiromasa nodded his head slowly with what appeared to be a look of barely concealed delight. His stare unnerved her, but his eyes did not condemn.

  Kara crumpled the paper her cornetti had sat upon and stood.