Honeymoon in Italy Page 10

  I looked out the window. The sun was setting over a field of sunflowers, which reminded me of Dad’s sketch. I hated to think about missing out on a treasure left by Mom and Dad, and yet, looking for it could be a complete waste of time if it had been thrown out years before.

  But still.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  Time for the last subject on my list.

  “Hey, Stella? I know this might sound out of the blue, but do you ever think about moving up to Otto Viti? So that your family could be closer to Jason’s work and maybe you could have a better work-family-life balance?”

  Stella took a moment to respond. “Jason and I talk about that a lot. It’s hard for me to imagine leaving Carlsbad since Mom and Dad lived there, but it would be easier to live up near OV. And if we wanted to move, now would be a good time—before the boys get too much bigger.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad it’s something you’ve thought about. I think it would be good.”

  She closed the scrapbook but left it on her lap. Then she looked out the window.

  “Seems like there’s a lot for all of us to think about,” she said.

  Holly and school, Mom’s post office box in Rome, Mom’s parents, Stella entertaining the idea of a move to OV…

  Yes, there was definitely a lot for us to think about.

  SIXTEEN

  “Where are we supposed to pick up our bags?” Holly asked as we stepped off the train.

  Stella consulted the papers clutched in her hands. When she looked up, she pointed to the left. “We need to go over to that ticketing area. They said they’ll bring our bags to us within ten minutes.”

  Holly and I followed. The ticketing counter seemed like a strange place to meet. Wouldn’t it be crowded? How would the porter recognize us? I kept quiet though. I was too tired to comment, and even if I hadn’t been too tired, it didn’t matter. I didn’t make the arrangements, so it wasn’t my place to judge.

  We found a spot to sit down with our little carry-on backpacks near the ticketing counters and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Twenty minutes later, Holly was getting antsy. I could see it in the bored look on her face as she propped her cheek against her fist.

  “Let’s call them,” Stella said. She grabbed her phone and punched in a number. I watched as she held the phone to her ear. After about twenty seconds, she hung up. “It was a recording,” she said.

  “They’re probably closed,” Holly said. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  Stella stood up. “They shouldn’t be closed. They should have some form of customer service if there are still customers waiting for luggage. I’m going to look around.”

  “Want us to come with you?” I asked.

  Stella shook her head as she walked away.

  “Do you want to take bets on how long this will take?” Holly asked.

  “I do not,” I said. “If it takes much longer, she’s going to be mad. And we don’t need to make it worse with bets.”

  “It’s funny how expensive ‘conveniences’ can turn into such hassles.”

  That was true, sometimes. I hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

  Stella came back five minutes later. “I can’t find anyone,” she said, still scanning the area distractedly.

  “Let’s give it a little more time,” I said.

  Stella sat back down, and we waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “I’m going to talk to someone,” Holly said. She stood and went to an open ticket counter. After what looked like a thoroughly-engaging conversation, the person behind the counter wrote something on a piece of paper and slid it to Holly. She stepped off to the side, fished her phone out of her little backpack, and placed a call. I assumed the employee behind the ticket counter had given her the number of a supervisor. I watched as Holly spoke Italian into the phone, probably explaining the situation, and then paused for a long time. After what seemed like at least two minutes, she started up again in Italian. This time, her voice took on a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me tone, and though I couldn’t understand her words, I was pretty sure whatever news she had gotten wasn’t good.

  I glanced at Stella. She was staring intently at Holly as well, the look on her face strained.

  Holly paused again, turning her body so that we only got a view of her back. She hadn’t made eye contact with us during the whole conversation, so I didn’t know why she bothered turning. If she didn’t want us to see when she was speaking or listening, the move didn’t help. We always knew when she was speaking because her head and hands were in constant motion.

  “This can’t be good,” Stella said.

  A couple minutes later, Holly walked back to us. Stella and I stood up.

  “Our luggage may or may not be here,” Holly said. “It may or may not be in Florence. It may or may not have been stolen. We won’t find out tonight because it’s already so late and no one who might be able to help is here.”

  “No luggage?” Stella said, her eyes growing. “How could that be? I paid for a porter to meet us here with our luggage.”

  “I know you did, Sis,” Holly said, patting Stella’s shoulder. “But sometimes things go wrong. I’m actually surprised that we haven’t run into more problems on this trip. It’s really been pretty smooth for the most part. Regrettably, this little bump leaves us without toothbrushes for the night.”

  “I have a toothbrush,” Stella said. “I packed an emergency Ziploc bag with a change of clothes and toiletries in case of something like this.”

  Of course she did.

  But I hadn’t. And I highly doubted that Holly had either.

  Shoot.

  Back when we were leaving Carlsbad for the San Diego Airport and Stella was hounding us about making sure we changed our cell phone plans and had our passports, I bet she would have checked to see if we had an emergency change of clothes, too—if Holly hadn’t told her to stop nagging us.

  Shoot.

  “We can get you toothbrushes,” Stella said. “And we’ll get this sorted out first thing in the morning. Let’s get a cab to the hotel.”

  As Holly and Stella started walking, I dug through my little backpack for my phone and then scrolled through the contacts until I found Nico’s number. Then I tried to catch up with my sisters as I texted him.

  Hey, it’s Jill again—you know, one of the honeymooning sisters who keep running into trouble. So, we’re in Rome right now. Just got here. And our luggage isn’t here. Well, it might be here, but we don’t know. Or it could be in Florence, or it could be stolen. Looks like we won’t get this straightened out till morning. In the meantime, just curious: are there any luggage stealing scams that we should be aware of? Maybe something that dumb tourists like us might have overlooked while planning our trip?

  Just as Stella and Holly found a cab and called for me to hurry up, I pocketed the phone—but then two seconds later, it rang.

  “Hello?” I answered. I trotted over to the cab and squeezed into the back next to Holly.

  “Jill? It’s Nico.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry to have bothered you so late—”

  “No bother,” he said. “What happened?”

  “Who is that?” Holly interrupted.

  “It’s Nico,” I told her.

  I directed my attention back to the phone and relayed the story. The entire time, Holly talked in my ear, reminding me to add in parts she didn’t want me to forget. Why did she care if he knew what the luggage looked like? Whatever. I described the traveling backpacks to him anyway, just to quiet Holly down. I asked her twice if she just wanted to talk to him directly, and each time she got the hint and piped down. Well, at least for thirty seconds.

  “Okay,” Nico said after I finished the story. “I know the guy who’s working at the train station here in Vernazza tonight. Let me walk over there and see if he has any ideas. Small towns are different from big cities, but maybe he has som
e insights. What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  I leaned forward so that I could see past Holly. “Stella, what are our plans for tomorrow?”

  “I got tickets for a Vatican tour in the morning,” she said.

  I relayed the information to Nico.

  “That’s important,” he said. “You can’t miss that. How long are you in Rome?”

  “Tomorrow and then half of the next day.”

  “Okay, I’ll call or text you with any information I find. It might be awhile, but plan on going to the Vatican still, if you can.”

  We said goodbye and hung up. I looked at Stella, but she wouldn’t look back. I didn’t know if that was because she was upset about the luggage or because she wasn’t happy that my first impulse had been to call Nico, a guy we barely knew who may or may not have had a shady past. Holly, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop glaring at me. And her look very clearly said, I know why you called him, and you’re an idiot.

  Yay, sisters.

  SEVENTEEN

  Being preoccupied by the luggage issue, I didn’t sleep very well that night. So when my phone chimed at six-fifteen the next morning, I grabbed it off the nightstand right away to read the text. I had been tossing and turning the last hour, pretty much awake anyway.

  The message was from Nico.

  Good morning! With a little help from my buddies, I tracked down your luggage. It’s all in Florence. Today is my day off, so I’ll get it and bring it to you. You don’t need to spend the day going back to Florence and missing out on the sights in Rome. And (don’t tell your sisters I said this) you don’t need any more mishaps. I’ll be there about noon probably. I’ll text when I know more.

  I had no idea how to respond. It seemed like a row of heart emojis wouldn’t be appropriate. But for goodness sakes, this guy was unreal. Bringing our luggage to us? Please. That totally warranted a row of heart emojis.

  Under normal circumstances, I might have argued and insisted that he couldn’t do that for us. But he was right about not needing any more mishaps. Sure, more things could have gone wrong as Holly had said the night before, but I didn’t want to tempt fate.

  Ultimately foregoing the hearts, I tapped out an emoji-free response.

  Are you sure your name is just Nico? Seems like it should be Saint Nico. But wait, would that mean Saint Nick? Santa? Actually, I guess that still works with you bringing our luggage and all. But in all seriousness, thank you so. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. We’re all so grateful.

  Thirty seconds after I pressed the send button, he responded.

  St. Nico—that’s funny. Merry Christmas!

  I tapped out a reply.

  We all need Christmas in July sometimes, right?

  He responded with a winking emoji.

  I just didn’t believe what Vincenzo said about him. It couldn’t be true.

  ***

  “This is not going to work,” Holly said, eyeing Stella warily.

  “Yes it is.” Stella waved the black skirt at her. “It’s stretchy. Come on. Try it.”

  Holly snatched the skirt from Stella’s hands and trudged to the bathroom.

  “At least it’s black,” I called. “It could have been pink with yellow stripes.”

  “Ha!” Holly said, closing the bathroom door behind her. “Stella in a pink and yellow skirt? Not a chance.”

  I turned to Stella and grinned.

  Stella shook her head. “There’s really no choice.” She walked to her little backpack sitting on a chair and looked in it. “The Vatican requires that visitors cover their shoulders and knees, and she wore shorts on the train yesterday. If she wants to see the Sistine Chapel, she’s got to wear my skirt.”

  I tried to stop grinning, but I couldn’t. The night before, we had managed to procure toothbrushes for me and Holly, and Stella had graciously allowed us to use her appallingly-expensive and excessively-perfumed toiletries. Stella and I always were cold on trains, so we both had worn capris and long sleeves. Though I didn’t like wearing the same clothes two days in a row, at least yesterday’s clothes fit the Vatican’s dress code. Holly, on the other hand, had worn shorts and a sweatshirt.

  “I still can’t find my clipboard,” Stella said under her breath. She looked up from her backpack. “Have you seen it?”

  I shook my head and started braiding my hair. The truth was that I hadn’t seen it. But I wasn’t going to tell Stella that Holly had purposely left it in Vernazza. That was not my idea of a fun way to start the day.

  “Why would you pack this as part of your emergency outfit?” Holly called from the bathroom. She opened the door, stomped out, and clamped her hands on her hips. She looked ridiculous, and not only because she was wearing an old college sweatshirt, a long skirt, and sneakers, but also because the skirt didn’t fit right. It may have been stretchy, but it was still sized for someone tall and skinny like Stella—not someone short and curvy like Holly. It dragged behind her, and the material around her hips was pulled pretty tight.

  Stella turned and looked at Holly before grabbing a brush from her backpack and running it through her hair. “I packed it because it wouldn’t wrinkle, it didn’t take up much room, and it would be fine to wear if we needed something more formal—like for a museum. Just roll down the top so that you don’t trip over it, and you’ll be fine.”

  Holly did as she was told. “Maybe I’ll leave my hair down today,” she said. “I’ll brush it out so that it gets really frizzy. If I’m going to look goofy, I might as well go all-out, don’t you think?”

  “You could,” Stella said. She crossed the hotel room and handed the brush to Holly. “But it would be impractical. It’s going to be eighty-five degrees, and you’re already wearing a sweatshirt. I’d do a ponytail and get that hair off your neck.”

  “Stel, it’s too early for you to be a know-it-all,” Holly said.

  “The private tour starts at seven-thirty,” Stella said, “so we had no choice about getting up early. And there’s nothing I can do about being a know-it-all.”

  This conversation was going to start spiraling downward quickly. It was time for me to jump in before Holly retorted that Stella could have booked a later tour.

  “It’s pretty cool that they do private tours,” I said as I finished braiding my hair. “I didn’t know they did that.”

  “I didn’t either,” Stella said. “Not until I researched it. The crowds are supposed to be horrendous by ten o’clock, and I didn’t want to deal with that. I’d rather have a thoughtful and reflective experience than a loud and chaotic one.”

  Me too. And certainly Holly did as well, though she probably wouldn’t admit it until she had gotten over waking up at six-thirty.

  ***

  With just twelve people in our little group and a tour guide who spoke perfect English, our tour was way better than anything I imagined happening later in the day while surrounded by hoards of tourists. Holly was a great tour guide herself, but not even she could overcome the challenges of looking at art in fussy crowds.

  Somehow, I was surprised that everything was so big. Yes, I knew it would be big, I just hadn’t pictured it to be that big. Saint Peter’s Square: big. Saint Peter’s Basilica: big. The Sistine Chapel: big. The museums: endless. And just as I couldn’t decently describe the espresso in Florence, I was completely inept at digesting and describing the beautiful art in the Vatican. Michelangelo was amazing. Duh. What an understatement. Of course he was. Raphael was brilliant. Uh, yeah. If I was grading my ability to wrap my brain around what we saw and put it into words, I’d get a C-. If I was grouchy while grading myself because I hadn’t had my amazing espresso yet, that grade would have been a D+.

  Luckily, if I was upset with myself over the D+ grade, the Swiss Guard was there to cheer me up. Tasked with protecting the pope, the Swiss Guard was patrolling Saint Peter’s Square, and their uniforms were a sight to behold. Head to toe, they wore blue, red, and yellow stripes. The baggy sleeves and pants seemed very Renaissance. When
we were milling about Saint Peter’s Square after the tour, my expression must have betrayed my intrigue because Holly grabbed my arm and hissed a warning in my ear.

  “Do not go bother the Swiss Guard,” she said.

  “What? Why would I do that?” I said, mildly surprised she thought I would try to talk to them.

  “They’re working right now. If you’re wondering about their uniforms, ask me. I can answer your questions.”

  Well. She sure had strong feelings about the Guard. But she was probably right. I imagined people asked them dumb questions all the time about their unique uniforms, and they really did have better things to do.

  “I need to find the post office,” Stella said suddenly. I have postcards for the boys.” She scanned the square. “I read that there’s one here in Saint Peter’s Square, just to the left of the Basilica. Ah, there it is. Let’s go.”

  Holly and I followed her through the thickening crowd. I was grateful that we had done the early tour. There were a lot of people.

  “You should mail yourself a postcard, too,” Holly said. “You’ll be home long before the postcards arrive, and wouldn’t it be nice to get something other than bills in the mail?”

  Stella looked over her shoulder and smirked. “Yes.”

  As Stella dropped off the postcards, a wave of disappointment washed over me—yet again. Slowly I was coming to terms with Mom and Dad’s lost post office box in Rome. Even if we did miraculously find the right post office, there was almost no chance that they’d have whatever Mom and Dad left there. And I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t have wanted us to waste our time in Rome on a wild goose chase. They’d want us to enjoy the sights. We needed to take this opportunity to see everything we could since there was no telling when we’d be back.

  Still, I wondered what would have been inside the box.