by Karina Halle
Losing them, however briefly, has frightened the life out of me and it’s becoming harder and harder to let it go. It’s like I lost one fear and replaced it with another.
Not that all my fears have been replaced. There is the fear of losing Derio, which looms greater now than ever. Next week will be my last chance to leave the country before I become an illegal alien. Derio says he’s still looking into it but he hasn’t come up with anything yet. On my end, it doesn’t look good either.
I did go out for drinks with Shay one night, after I randomly ran into her on the street. It was nice to be able to take a load off and have some girl time while Derio watched the kids but it didn’t take long before she was crying her eyes out on my shoulder. It turns out that she and her boyfriend broke up the other night and she was trying to decide what to do. He was going back to the States but she could either stay in Italy and risk getting deported if she was found out, or go to a country outside Schengen law, like the Ukraine or Romania or the UK, for three months and then pop back in when the visa had reset itself. The last thing she wanted to do was go home, which put her in the same boat as me.
Unfortunately, the only solution that she had for me was to just stay as long as I wanted and then take my chances—just like she would be—when it came time to leave and hope the Italian officials wouldn’t care or notice when I came into the EU. With the date coming up so soon, it looks like I’m not really going to have a choice in this matter.
A part of me, though—the part that listens to my parents—tells me to do the responsible thing and just leave before I’m forced to. In some ways, I’m kind of kidding myself if I think I can stay on Capri and play house with Derio forever. The fact remains that they aren’t my children, and I’m not qualified to raise them or be anything more to them than a glorified babysitter. I’m not married or engaged to Derio and I don’t belong in Italy. I’m an American and can’t stay here forever. Eventually, something will have to give.
But so far, the responsible part of me isn’t winning. Though it wants to do the right thing and go back home and make plans for a future that makes sense to me, I manage to push it away. And when I look at Derio, when he whispers sweet Italian nothings in my ear and makes love to me on our moon-splashed bed, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have him and how terrible it would be to leave.
I would break my own damn heart.
“La mia leonessa è pensierosa,” Derio says to me as he brings my iced latte to the patio table. He places it down in front of me then brings my head close to him and kisses the top of it affectionately.
“I’m just thinking,” I say, taking a sip of the latte. He makes the best kind, with lots of rich milk in a blender with ice and a spoonful of Nutella. I make a happy little sound and smack my lips. It’s perfect on a hot day like today when you’re hot as hell and the energy reserves are running low.
He sits down next to me and I ask, “Where are the kids?”
“Watching some show,” he says. Then he smiles broadly. “I forgot to tell you, Signora DiFabbia called earlier when you were in the shower.”
“Who is Signora DiFabbia?”
“She used to run one of the bookstores and was friends with my mother. She has a daughter, Gia, the same age as Annabella and Alfonso. She was at the cooking event for the children and said Gia would like to be friends with Annabella.”
I sit up straighter. “Really? That’s great!” I pause. “Not for Alfonso, though.”
“Well, she invited the both of them to come over later in the week. I told Alfonso this but he said he would rather not hang out with girls anyway. He says he has some friend that maybe he will call. He is a well-liked kid, he just hangs around Annabella so much so he has never really reached out to others before. This might give him the push he needs.” He sighs to himself. “I hope this does not mean they will want iPhones now.” But he’s smiling as he says this.
“They have iPads,” I point out.
“True, but once kids start texting each other, then you have a problem. When I was younger I didn’t have any of that. If I wanted to play with a friend, I was even lucky to call them. Usually, I had to go bang on their door.”
“So Italy was backwards in the eighties, huh?” I muse.
“Italy is still backwards,” he points out. “But I love it.” He pauses. “Don’t you?”
I nod, taking another delicious sip. “I do.” But not more than I love you, I think.
“Of course, you don’t have too much to compare it to,” he notes, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head.
“Not true,” I point out. “I mean, I’ve seen more of the world at this point than you.”
He grins and gives me a sidelong glance. “Is that so?”
“Unless you’re suddenly going to tell me you’ve been to New Zealand, Australia, Southeast Asia, and the rest of Europe.”
“I have been to the rest of Europe,” he says smartly. “Even the little countries you missed. And I have been to Singapore, Thailand, India, and Sri Lanka.”
Show-off, I think. “But have you been to the States?”
He rolls his eyes. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” I tell him haughtily and noisily slurp down the rest of the coffee.
“You would like Florence,” he says.
I shrug. “I’m sure I’ll go someday.”
“How about tomorrow?”
I glance at him. “Are you going to send me and the kids off to Florence tomorrow? Because I’m not sure I’m up for that again.”
His eyes soften. “I know you’ve been having a hard time because of what happened, Amber. I wouldn’t do that to you when you’ve been feeling this way. Your feelings are very powerful, you know. I can feel them everywhere you are.” He pauses and gets up, looming over me and blocking out the sunlight. “But I do think you need to get off this rock. I am going with you.”
I stare at him dumbly, trying to think of the right thing to say to that. “You’re coming to Florence with me?”
He nods. “I am at least going to try. And if we do not make it as far as Florence, it does not matter. But I am getting off the island, with your help.”
“I hate to act like my father and play the psychology card here, but . . . are you sure you’re not better off going to a doctor first? A shrink to deal with your fears? Maybe the kids could go, too . . .”
He looks off into the distance with a grim twist to his lips. “No. No, they would only put us all on medication and I believe in figuring things out for yourself first.” He glances back at me. “Besides, they all suggest you face your fears. You have with yours. Now it’s time for me.” He holds out his hand for me. “Come with me, Amber.”
I take it and he brings me to my feet. “Of course I’m going to come with you. I’m glad. I’m happy and I think this is absolutely what you need to do to move on. I’m just . . . surprised. That’s all.”
And it’s the truth, though I’m also a bit nervous for Derio. I know how I was with my fear of heights and that was just the occasional panic attack. It didn’t directly affect my life. With him, his fears have affected everything. But I promise to be there for him, through it all, just as he was there for me.
* * *
Florence ends up being too far away for two nights—Annabella was adamant she not miss her playdate with Gia DiFabbia so we settle on Naples for the night. I know it’s not really a destination city and has a lot of crime and riffraff but Derio tells the kids they can visit Pompeii the next day and they get all excited and flail their hands about seeing the mummified bodies covered in ash, which makes up for it.
Derio assures me we are staying at a gorgeous hotel in one of the nicer parts of town, with its own balcony overlooking some piazza or something. I honestly don’t care where we stay—just like the twins, I am thrilled to be stepping off this island, especially with my man by my side.
We pack light, knowing luggage carts are hard to hire during peak tourist se
ason on Via Tragara, and leave early in the morning before the heat gets too bad. Soon we’re down at the Marina Grande and Derio is staring at the ferry with trepidation. I look around nervously as well, remembering how I lost the children.
But they don’t care and they drag us along. Even though the hydrofoil is a much faster and more convenient way to get to Naples, we’re taking the car ferry because of its size and sturdiness—anything to make this easier on Derio.
“Are you ready?” I ask him. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.
“We will find out,” he says. He gives me a stiff smile. I know how badly he wants to believe himself but the fear is jockeying for prime position.
“Whatever you need to do,” I tell him softly. And whether that means breaking down and crying or having a screaming fit or demanding the boat turn around, I will stick by him one hundred percent.
We walk down the ramp, our tickets already purchased, and step foot onto the ferry. Because of its size, it doesn’t bow or wobble with the small waves that come into the tiny harbor. It feels like we are still on land. We go and find a row of seats in the middle of the ship, far away from the windows, just in case.
“Alfonso, Annabella,” I say to the kids, leaning over Derio as he drums nervously on his knees. “Promise to keep your voices down during the trip and behave. Don’t have your iPads too loud.”
Derio closes his eyes. “It’s fine.”
I ignore him and make sure to look each twin in the eye. “This is a big deal for your brother. I know it doesn’t seem like it but it is. You’ll promise to be good and help him, won’t you?”
They both nod and look at Derio. “We promise,” they say in unison. Then they get out their iPads, put their brightly-colored headphones on, and start playing their games, content to pass the voyage that way.
I lean into Derio. “Do you want me to get you anything?”
Just then the ferry’s engines rumble louder, ready to push off.
He keeps his eyes closed but grabs my hands. “Just don’t leave me,” he whispers.
“You know I won’t.”
The voyage feels far longer than an hour. Even though the sea is relatively calm and you can barely feel the waves as the boat cuts through them, Derio has his eyes closed for almost the entire journey. His grip on my hand is one of the G.I. Joe, kung fu variety. He tries to keep his breaths deep and slow, in through the nose and out through the mouth. I don’t dare leave his side and I don’t want to keep staring at him either, so I stare straight ahead and try to pass him some calming vibes.
The closer we get to Naples, the city rising up from the port like a dirty oasis, the happier I get. When we dock with a creaking, rusted thud, I let out a little cheer. The twins join in, clapping their hands. And Derio slowly opens one eye.
“Did we make it?” he asks.
“Yes!” we all cry out.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time and breaks out into an amazing grin. He laughs and leans back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“You made it,” I tell him, kissing the top of his hand.
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, eyes maintaining deep contact with mine. “But not without you.”
When we disembark the ferry, Derio nearly kisses the ground. He looks astounded and stands at the base of the boat, staring at the city that lines the marina. It’s noisy and dusty and hot and busy, cars honking, people yelling, exhaust clinging to the air, and garbage rustling past us on the stiff breeze. But it’s the first civilization I’ve seen in a month and the first he’s seen in over a year. We are on the mainland. The dirty wind here whispers freedom in our ears.
We hail a cab from the terminal parking lot but not before Derio pops into a coffee shop and quickly downs a cold beer. “Best beer I’ve ever had,” he says, seeming utterly refreshed now. I don’t think I’ve seen him stop smiling.
The taxi ride to the hotel is a trip and a half. The kids are delighted as the driver seems to have no regard for traffic lights, or other cars, or pedestrians, or roads, or even life itself. Somehow we make it to an elegant yellow hotel up on the surrounding hills and nearly collapse onto the bed.
The twins bounce around on their beds in the adjoining room until I yell at them to stop (they’re tall for seven-year-olds and smacking their heads on the ceiling wouldn’t be the best start to our mini-vacation) and I flip through a guidebook, trying to figure out what to do. Tomorrow is Pompeii, which I might be the most excited about out of all of us, but we have half a day and night here in Naples to explore. Of course, the truth is I don’t mind just walking around the city and taking in the fact that I’m in the city. I don’t care if it’s full of beggars and pickpocketing children. I just want to feel that excitement thread through the air, the novelty of something new.
“Put that away,” Derio tells me derisively. “I know Napoli like the back of my hand.”
“So you’ll be the tour guide?”
“I’ll be the tour guide.”
We start out by getting food because we’re all starving. Since Naples is famous all over Italy—and the world—for their pizza, we find a pizzeria where I have pizza napoletana marinara, made with the juiciest tomatoes I’ve ever tasted, washed down with beer and Neapolitan espresso, which is strong enough to give a woman balls. Then we stroll downward through the streets, licking cones of gelato that drip down our arms until we come to the Piazza del Plebiscito. The square is so big and open, enclosed by the giant duomo of the royal palace and a curved colonnade, with rows of ochre, terracotta, pink, and lemon-yellow buildings beyond it. Derio tells the kids of a tradition and gets them to close their eyes and walk through the middle of two bronze statues of horses without bumping into them. Of course, the twins take this challenge—I was about to do it myself—but it’s harder than it looks and Alfonso comes dangerously close to walking into not only one of the statues but a crowd of Japanese tourists who are snapping pics. Naturally, being the worrier I am now, I yell at him to stop and open his eyes.
“There is a slope to the piazza,” Derio says, laughing. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“You’re a meanie,” I tell him.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him, pressing a long, wet kiss on my lips. “Oh yes, I am so very cruel,” he murmurs.
“You’re the Beast,” I remind him playfully while I attempt to remove myself from his grabby hands. The kids are marveling at the bronze horses now but I’m not sure I want to be molested in the middle of a busy piazza.
“I thought I was a frog,” he remarks, not willing to let go so easily.
“You’re all those things.”
“And a great tickler.”
His long fingers deftly find the tender spots on my sides, and I giggle. “Stop it,” I tell him. “Basta!”
“It is so good to see you smile.”
“You’re tickling me, it’s impossible not to,” I tell him, finally swatting his hands away. “Don’t you understand how tickling works?”
He sticks his hands in his shorts pockets and tilts his head as he looks at me. “No, I mean today. You have been smiling all day. I haven’t seen you smile in some time.”
His words bring me back to reality. I look around, feeling so very hot all of a sudden, the late-afternoon sun baking the square. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“You should think of things that make you smile, then.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It can be,” he says, stepping toward me just as the kids come running over.
“Fa troppo caldo,” Alfonso complains, throwing his arms around.
“It’s too hot,” Annabella translates, looking at me for approval.
I nod. “It is hot.”
Derio takes a moment to peel his eyes off of me, though something is still on his mind, then he says to the twins, “Allora, why don’t we go where it’s cool, then: underground. Sotterraneo. Cripta. Catacombe.” He m
akes a scary face.
The way he says it makes even me feel a bit apprehensive but the twins cry out excitedly, obviously intrigued by the bones and creepy passages of the catacombs. I just want someplace cool. As long as there are no spiders ready to drop on me, I’m good.
We end up taking a cab since we’re tired and it’s all the way uphill to the Basilica of Santa Maria della Sanità. We manage to get in for the last tour of the catacombs of San Gaudioso, which is all in Italian, but I don’t care—looking at the skulls and skeletons is pretty self-explanatory. It’s pretty macabre but it’s well kept, no spiders or creepy bugs anywhere, with ambient lighting down the passageways and a lot of old paintings and frescoes on the walls depicting saints and burials. I take discreet pics with my phone and remind myself to start writing in my travel blog again. I’d been so busy with Derio and the twins that the whole “traveler” part of my persona had completely slipped my mind.
When we pop back aboveground about an hour later, relieved to have fresh air, the sun is low on the horizon and the heat hugs instead of strangles us. We take the kids to a nearby park and find a bench to sit on while they play on the playground and chase each other around the grass.
“I like it here,” I tell him, head on his shoulder as we look out over the city and the bay. Capri sits in the background, barely visible through all the haze. “But I wouldn’t want to move here.”
“Me neither,” he says. “Where would you like to move?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. In Italy, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see a few places. Cinque Terre sounds nice. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. Florence, of course. Tuscany. Umbria. Sorrento and Positano were really pretty.”
“Not Capri?”
I glance up at him. His expression is solemn but curious. “Well, I live on Capri now.”
“But will you live there forever?” he asks.
“Forever is a long time,” I say, looking back at the view. Being with him feels so right. But part of me doesn’t want to be a nanny forever. There is so much more to see and do. Of course, now I can’t imagine doing anything, going to any of these places, without him by my side.