Tailwinds Past Florence

by Doug Walsh

  Their nervous breathing calmed and fell into sync as they sat intertwined on the cold, damp stones of Ponte-Vecchio, slumped against a centuries-old storefront, with Edward whispering assurances of safety, devotion.

  Hiromasa approached. “We must leave.” he said, and motioned to cut the rope from Kara’s wrists. Edward nodded. Once done, Hiromasa threw the rope and knife into the river and helped the couple to their feet. “We shouldn’t loiter here. You can rest in my cabin.”

  Kara took a steadying breath and dusted her pants off. “He’s right. We better go.”

  Edward stared at Hiromasa, unsurprised to see him glowing brighter than before, as if the dimming of Alessio’s light increased the wattage of Hiromasa’s soul. He sought to say something, but couldn’t find the words—and the questions were too numerous.

  Edward lay awake when Hiromasa entered the cabin, carrying a tray of pastries and coffee. Kara remained asleep, curled beside him, the two nestled together in Hiromasa’s twin bed. Judging by the angle of daylight shining through the screen door, it had to be at least eight in the morning.

  “Thank you,” Edward whispered, watching Hiromasa set the tray down atop a small table. “Anybody ask about …” his voice trailed off as he gestured at Alessio’s empty bed.

  “I explained he had to travel on short notice.” Hiromasa said.

  Edward pondered the comment, rooting around in the surface of the lie for the truth sown below. But if it was true, if he and Alessio had traveled through time and were somehow related to him—to his soul—then he had to accept the rest of their story as well: that even soul mates can break one another’s hearts. He recalled the sight of Kara on the bridge, the horror of seeing a knife to her throat, the paralyzing knowledge that Alessio would have killed her if Hiromasa hadn’t found him. He fixed his gaze on Hiromasa and admitted, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can agree to cover his shift. It’s best to start with the toilets.”

  Edward recoiled, but Hiromasa’s sudden laughter spared him from having to reply. Cracking jokes about a dead man made Edward squirm, but he couldn’t resist giving in to the moment. A snicker quickly built to a belly laugh that blew the lid off the pressure cooker of the prior night.

  Kara stirred beside him, awakened by the noise.

  Perhaps sensing Edward’s unease or wanting Kara to hear his words, Hiromasa said, “You mustn’t feel guilty about what happened. Alessio was a danger. But it was only thanks to you that he got to experience a life beyond death. Beyond his time. We both have.”

  The gratitude in Hiromasa’s voice rang as deep as the bells of the Duomo. Whether Edward believed in the fantastic didn’t matter, Hiromasa certainly did. And thanks to that, Edward found relief. Few even knew who Alessio was; nobody would miss him.

  “What will you do?” Kara asked, yawning as she rose to sit. Edward pulled a blanket across her shoulders and mouthed his good morning as he swung his feet to the floor. They both wore their clothes from the previous night.

  “I’m planning to return to Japan in the fall. I read on the Internet that Emperor Meiji ended the Christian persecution many years ago.” He clapped his hands together. “These are amazing times to be alive.”

  Edward and Kara exchanged confused looks, neither knowing much about Hiromasa’s past or Japanese history.

  “I never thought it would be safe for me to return home,” Hiromasa said, his tone wistful. After a beat, he continued. “But what about you? Where are you cycling to next?”

  “Well …” Kara began. Edward chewed his lower lip and listened as she handled the onion of an answer without slicing too many layers, keeping the core at arm’s length to avoid tears.

  “I can tell you have much to discuss. I will leave you to it.”

  Edward and Kara rose in unison to say their goodbyes. Edward extended his hand to Hiromasa, then thought better of it. He wrapped the smaller man in a bear hug and thanked him for helping to rescue Kara, for showing how to save their marriage.

  Edward stepped aside as Kara approached.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, gently placing her hand on his bruised face. “For everything.”

  Kara hugged Hiromasa goodbye as he bent to whisper in her ear. A pang of jealousy stabbed at Edward as he watched Kara blush upon receiving a secret farewell from a man who claimed to have once been her soul’s mate in another life.

  Edward could only hope that one day in the future, if he’s lucky, she’d tell him what he said. But he knew better than to ask—and suspected she’d never forget.

  The couple ate in silence after Hiromasa left the cabin. Whether it would be the last meal they’d eat together or the first of thousands to follow was uncertain. But Edward knew they had to open up, and not just about the trip or their secrets, but about the way they live and love together. When they finally spoke, they did so in unison.

  “We need to talk,” Kara said.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Edward suggested simultaneously. She nodded.

  Edward led the way out of the campground, taking care to avoid the campsite where their damaged bikes and the trauma of the prior night lay. They took turns making innocent remarks about the weather, how tired they were, and the Italian architecture as they wandered the streets of Oltrarno, unwilling to glance toward the river or Ponte Vecchio, reluctant to embrace the conversation they so needed to have. Finally, Edward guided them up the hill to the overlook at Piazza Michelangelo, where only two long nights earlier he sufficiently turned a mess into a disaster.

  This time the words came easily.

  “I’ll never lie to you again. I promise,” he began, cutting to the chase.

  “Me too,” she said under her breath.

  “I’ve been a fool. A horrible husband.” Kara shook her head, but Edward continued. “I only wanted to provide. Like my father.”

  “I never cared how much money we had.”

  “I know that now. I read your letter.” He said it fast, spitting out the words quickly to avoid the toxic aftertaste. “But losing my job made me feel like such a failure. I was paranoid of telling you. Of what you’d think.”

  “It’s okay to fail. Especially in your career. Better that than your personal life.” She balled his hands in hers and met his gaze. “Or your marriage.”

  “God, Kara, the thought of you wanting a divorce. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too—”

  “I know you are,” he said, holding a finger to her lips. “You don’t need to say it. Maybe one day in the future, but not now. Right now, I only need to know if you’ll continue this trip with me.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. We’ll get the bikes working and go wherever you want. And whatever you want to do, we’ll do. I promise.”

  “That’s what you said in February.” Kara sighed.

  “I know. And I screwed it all up. But you’ve gotta believe me that I only agreed to Tom’s stupid contest for you. Everything I’ve done, I did for you.”

  Kara took a deep breath and straightened, sending chills up Edward’s spine. “I love you, Edward. I really do. But I cannot allow myself to stay married to you if things don’t change. If you don’t change.”

  “Okay, I’ll do whatever—”

  “Let me finish. This is hard enough without you interrupting me.” She blinked several times, then continued. “I know you worked really hard to get your degree and want to have a big house and drive a fancy car, and that’s fine. But I don’t. I want a friend. I need companionship.”

  Edward felt his breathing quicken as he braced for the worst.

  “I want to believe what Hiromasa said was true. That you and I are meant to be together. But you have to promise that I’m never going to come second to your career again. Even if it means we have to move someplace else, a different lifestyle, I need you to be there for me.”

  Edward nodded slo
wly, packing her plea tighter into his memory with each dip of his head.

  “I will.” He moved to kiss her, but was shocked solid when the phone in his pocket rang out. Kara pulled back, her smile drooping into a crease of incredulity.

  Edward yanked the phone from his pocket and showed her the screen. “It’s Tom.”

  “And?”

  Edward cracked a sly grin. “I quit,” he said, then whirled and flung the phone as far as he could. The ringing Blackberry went silent upon crashing through trees and shrubs far down the hillside.

  Kara smiled briefly, then exhaled into a slump.

  “What is it?”

  “This has been so much harder than I expected. I feel like we’ve been pedaling into a headwind ever since leaving Seattle.”

  Edward bit his lower lip. He’d felt it too, but knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. He put his arm around her and smiled in the mischievous manner she thought so annoyingly cute. “There’s a summer breeze on the way. And I hear it’s all tailwinds past Florence.”

  Chapter 30

  Fourteen Months Later …

  Kara’s head lolled as the hammock swayed. The sudden movement may have startled her weeks ago, but she’d since made a habit of napping while her batik paintings dried—and waking to the evening wind had become a favorite pastime.

  She opened her eyes to the wide brim of a straw hat pulled low over her brow and listened as the rice plants rustled in the breeze. Lifting the hat, she peered beyond the swimming pool, across the rice field to the west, to where the sun had all but disappeared behind the papaya trees.

  Oh, crap!

  “Edward?” She called for him as she swung her feet to the ground, wondering how late it was. As if in answer to her question, the sandalwood scent of the neighbor’s evening offering wafted through the bamboo as she listened for a response.

  She removed her hat and the denim apron she wore as a smock, and hung them on a hook in the covered patio that served as her studio. They’d been living in Bali for two months, and she’d taken to painting in the afternoons, after it got too hot to work digitally at the open-air co-op in town.

  “You home?” She opened the door leading inside and yelled as she checked the clock. Again, no reply.

  She’d grown used to the pliable concept of time in Bali, a place where punctuality meant arriving within hours of when one said they would, but restaurants were different. They had a reservation for the Sunday buffet at a nearby vegetarian café—as they did every week—and he was late.

  Kara smoothed the wrinkles in her sundress as she paced the outdoor kitchen, her agitation growing by the minute. And not even the cooling touch of the tile floor on her feet could chill her temper.

  “Did he forget?”

  Barefoot and braless, Kara snatched her phone from the kitchen table and strode around the side of the house. There she stared along the crumbling concrete walk that snaked between an irrigation channel and the steep embankment leading down to the lower rice fields.

  The throaty, sickly roar of Edward’s rented scooter echoed in the distance, straining as he climbed the ramp from the main street. Kara waited, tapping an invisible wristwatch, blocking his path.

  Edward soon rounded the corner wearing a white helmet with a peeling green decal and a smile as wide as the visor. Bundles of passion fruit hung from the handlebars, swaying with every bounce of the scooter. He rode with his legs extended, kicking off the ground for balance in his flip-flops, practically propelling the scooter forward by foot.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Our reservation’s for six. Where have you been?”

  “I’ll hurry. It was Wayan again.” He pulled off his helmet and gave Kara a peck on the cheek. “The guy shows up every day with another dozen questions.”

  “About the delivery service?”

  “No, the other one. Wayan with the taxi.”

  “You should’ve told him you had someplace to be.”

  “I tried. But you know how it is. Besides, he wanted to pay me.”

  Kara stumbled backward in melodramatic shock. Edward had been consulting with local micro-businesses for a few weeks now, and though the locals, half of whom were named Wayan or Made, were quick to recommend him to their friends and brothers, he’d yet to see a dime for his effort. And while Bali was certainly cheaper than Seattle, her freelance work was barely enough to get by. “How much?”

  Edward lowered the kickstand and hoisted the two bundles of passion fruit. “You’re looking at it!”

  Kara covered her mouth in attempt to stifle a giggle, but couldn’t. “Figures,” she said, taking the fruit and leading the way back to the house. Behind her, the seat of the scooter slammed shut on the small storage compartment.

  “I also stopped for these,” Edward said. And before she could turn to face him, he wrapped an arm around her waist from behind while raising a bouquet of exotic, sweet-smelling flowers to her nose. “I tried asking for daffodils, but it got lost in translation.”

  Kara inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the intoxicating fragrance of the cempaka. And as she did, she looked across the horizon of lemon-yellow petals to her husband and suggested a change of plans. “Let’s eat in tonight.”

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  Acknowledgments

  Authoring this book took longer than the trip that inspired it, a two-year journey from Seattle to Singapore by bicycle and ship. It was at a dinner party in London, that I sat, deflated, listening as the other guests all-but ridiculed my then-secret desire to write the next great travel memoir. A book about cycling the globe was passé, one said. The last thing the world needed, another commented.

  Deep inside, I suspected they were right.

  My wife and I pedaled for the coast the following morning and sailed to Denmark. Six borders later, atop a mountain pass in Spain, I furiously scribbled the premise for this novel. Like the adventure that inspired it, it wasn't possible without the help of many, many people I'm fortunate to have in my life.

  To David Anderson, Taylor Arthur, Chenelle Bremont, Sari Gallegos, Shandara Larson, and Jeff Weaver: This book owes what it is to you allowing me into your lives.

  To Natalie French: Your addition to our group couldn't have come at a better time.

  To Sandra Rosner: I fear the day you collect on the debt I owe you.

  To Edward Bittner, Joseph Epstein, Jennifer Lesher, and Staci Roberts: Your time and effort in helping me improve this story is forever appreciated.

  To Jessica Walsh-Jadach: Your long-distance enthusiasm is like a doppio to the veins.

  To my editor, Timothy Fitzpatrick: I only wish I wrote faster, so we can work together more often.

  To the Pacific Northwest Writer's Association: I wouldn't know half the people mentioned in these pages if not for this organization.

  To everyone who cheered us on and opened their homes and refrigerators to two exhausted cyclists: Thank you! The publication of this book is the final chapter in the Two Far Gone journey, but another has already begun.

  And, lastly, to Kristin: You're the only one I need betting on me.