Honeymoon in Italy Read online

  “So,” he began slowly. “Carina thinks you must be Isa’s granddaughter. For a minute she thought you were the daughter since you look just like the pictures, but then she realized those pictures were taken a long time ago. If you were the one in the pictures, you would be much older now.” He hesitated, glancing at Carina before continuing. “Carina’s been working here for two years. Your grandfather recently passed away. Your grandmother has dementia and almost never speaks. The only word she has left in her vocabulary is your mom’s name, Lia.”

  I looked up at the hollow-eyed woman again. Her apartment was filled with pictures of my mom, and the only word she ever spoke was my mom’s name. What did that mean? Did she regret what had happened nearly three decades before? Before the dementia set in, had she been sorry? If she had still been angry with my mom, she wouldn’t have had pictures up…right?

  I felt badly that my grandfather had died and that my grandmother had dementia—mostly out of a sense of humanity. I hadn’t known them or had a connection to them, but I was sad to hear what had happened to them.

  “Could you ask her if my grandfather ever talked about Lia before he died?” I said to Nico.

  Nico posed the question to Carina. After she responded, he said to me, “By the time Carina started working for your grandparents, he was in failing health. He wasn’t able to talk much.”

  So, the answer was no—whether by choice or not, he didn’t speak of her.

  Carina said something else.

  “Isa gets agitated by visitors,” Nico said to me. “Otherwise, Carina would invite you upstairs. But she was wondering if she could get your contact information. In the paperwork she has for your grandparents, there aren’t any family contacts.”

  I nodded and stepped forward. Nico translated as I recited my phone number. After Carina waved goodbye to us and disappeared behind the door, I stepped back again and looked up to Isa. Still, she stared down with her empty eyes.

  Nico pointed down the street. “There’s a little café over there. Want to go sit and have a cup of coffee?”

  “That sounds good.”

  We walked to the café, and Nico went inside to order coffee while I sat outside at the last available table.

  So.

  How was I supposed to process what had just happened? I wasn’t sure that anything had really changed. Even if my grandparents had pictures of Mom all over their home, they still hadn’t attempted to make amends with her when they could have. Or, maybe they did—and Mom didn’t want to make amends. Either way, they were still estranged when my mom died.

  Mom had been such a kind, thoughtful, passionate woman. How very sad that her parents had missed out on so much of her life.

  But how very wonderful that I hadn’t. And neither had my sisters.

  When our parents went on their honeymoon, Mom said goodbye to her old life and promised to look forward. Her parents had been wrong about her decision to marry my dad. They had been wrong entirely about my dad. My mom didn’t marry the wrong man. She married Marco D’Angelo, son of Aldo. Marco D’Angelo, artist and engineer. Marco D’Angelo, lover of the sea and, eventually, father of three adoring daughters.

  My mother did not marry the wrong man. She had always been at peace with that decision.

  I’d never know if her parents ever made peace with it, but it didn’t matter. How Mom felt was all that mattered.

  Nico returned with our coffees. As he sat down, he asked, “You okay?”

  I nodded. “I think so. But you know what? Right now, I just want to shove this to the back of my mind and focus on enjoying the rest of the trip. I’ll process this later. So when we see my sisters, let’s not mention it. I’ll tell them about it eventually, but not today.”

  Just then, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

  “Speak of the devil,” I said. “It’s my sisters.”

  I read the message delivered from Stella’s phone.

  We’re going into a museum and turning off our phones. Let’s meet at the Pantheon around dinnertime. Maybe eight? See you then! Phone’s going off in 3…2…1.

  Dinner? That was six hours away.

  I pocketed my phone. “My sisters just ditched me till dinner,” I said.

  Nico grinned. “That’s not a problem. There’s some cool stuff here I can show you to fill the time.”

  TWENTY

  “So this is Circus Maximus,” Nico said as we approached a huge, open field. “Once we get closer, you’ll see that the track itself is sunken down, and we’ll get a good view of the whole thing from the top of one side.” He pointed past the open field. “See those ruins behind it? The crumbling brown building with all the arches? That’s the Palatine Hill—it’s the centermost of Rome’s seven hills.”

  “You sound as polished as the tour guide we had at the Vatican this morning,” I said. “Do you spend a lot of time here?”

  Nico shook his head at Palatine Hill. “I just have a good memory. And I really like history.”

  We reached the side of Circus Maximus, and I could see exactly what Nico meant. The slope at our feet ended just a little ways down, opening into a dirt track. Most the field, including the slopes on both sides, was green with slightly overgrown grass and weeds, but the ancient dirt track was unmistakable.

  “Obviously this looks nothing like what it did when chariot races were taking place thousands of years ago,” Nico said. “Now it’s used for concerts. Basically, it’s a park. But I like thinking about how centuries have passed since those charioteers made their marks, and yet those marks are still here. More or less.”

  I took it all in. It was so subtle and yet overwhelming at the same time. Sure, Circus Maximus was just a big park now, but its history persisted in an understated yet undeniable way. A moment passed before I could put my thoughts into words.

  “It’s the absence of a spectacular ruin that makes it so poignant,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s like the memories of the races are so strong here that the grass just can’t grow over the track. It’s just the sheer strength of those memories that keeps Circus Maximus as it is now.” He paused, reflecting. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe the government has something to do with keeping it like this too, but I don’t want to know if that’s the case.”

  “Me neither.”

  We walked along the side of the slope. I loved Rome. It was so different from the quaint village of Vernazza and the artsy, Renaissance vibe of Florence. It was a big, bustling city with too many cars driving too fast and ancient, crumbling ruins everywhere. And yet, it still had charming neighborhoods and grassy parks that were as stunning as anything else I had seen on the trip. Such a beautiful contrast.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For making this trip what it’s been. If it weren’t for you, it might have been a nightmare finding a place to stay in Vernazza. Then we would have lost half our time in Florence going back for the scrapbook. And we probably would have lost nearly all our time in Rome getting our luggage. Now you’re showing me around here. Really, thank you.”

  “Let’s go this way—I want to show you something else,” he said as we came to the end of the track. He veered left. “There were two reasons I brought the scrapbook back to you. In Florence, I said I was paying it forward. That was one reason. People in Italy have been so generous to me. Marco took me under his wing and was more of a father than my own father had been. And everywhere I go, people show such warmth and kindness. So spending four or five hours on a train to Florence and back wasn’t a big deal if it meant helping someone else. The second reason I brought the scrapbook to you was the same reason I helped with the luggage.” He paused and looked at me. “I wanted to see you again.”

  Wait. What?

  I looked at him and pointed to myself. “Me? Like, me and my sisters?”

  Nico laughed. “No, not your sisters. You.”

  Oh. I looked at my feet and tried not to smile. I felt like one of my high school students being asked to the Homecoming d
ance or something. It was silly how good it felt to hear those words.

  “I know you’re leaving tomorrow,” he said. “But, you know, we’re in Rome. So carpe diem.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I was supposed to be a grown up. There had to be a mature response—or maybe even a witty or flirty response. Ideally one that didn’t include a happy dance or squeals. But I had nothing.

  So I just sort of leaned into him and slipped my hand into his.

  Lame.

  But then he squeezed my hand, so I guess he got the message.

  We walked along in silence for a couple moments. Then Nico said, “Where we’re headed is a place that isn’t quite as touristy as other places. Plenty of tourists do manage to find it, but it’s not like the Colosseum or anything like that. It’s called the Giardino degli Aranci, or the Orange Garden. There’s a great view of the city from there.”

  He was right. The garden was on another one of the seven hills of Rome, the Aventine Hill, and while there were people milling about, the energy there was nothing like the energy down below with the cars and tourists racing around. We walked down the park’s main avenue lined by trees toward the terrace that promised a panoramic view of the city. A few people sat on stone benches, and a few others leaned on the stone wall enclosing the terrace. With just a light breeze washing over us, the atmosphere was remarkably peaceful.

  Nico was still holding my hand. With his free hand, he pointed to a dome far off in the distance. “There’s Saint Peter’s Basilica. And,” he pointed further toward the right, “that big white building with the horse and chariot statues—that’s over on Capitoline Hill.”

  I nodded. A few other domes rose higher than the trees and other buildings, and I imagined those were churches. Below us was the Tiber River, and beyond the city were rolling hills and blue sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Come on, I want to show you something else.”

  He led me back across the terrace, explaining as we went. “There’s a building back here that belongs to the Order of Malta—you know, like, the knights from the Crusades. Anyway, I think it’s a church now, and there’s something really cool about it.”

  We walked until coming to a white building with a green door.

  “Good,” Nico said. “No one’s here. Sometimes there’s a line. I don’t think tours specifically come up here, but it can still draw a crowd.”

  We approached the door, and Nico pointed to its keyhole.

  “Look through there.”

  I leaned down and looked.

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  Through the keyhole was a perfectly-centered view of Saint Peter’s Basilica, which had to be at least a couple miles away. Framing the Basilica was an archway of trees, which had to be much, much closer. The green tunnel, the bright blue sky, the white dome of Saint Peter’s—it was like something out of a hundred-year-old children’s picture book.

  When I straightened up, surely with a look of awe on my face, Nico said, “It’s one of the best views of the city, I think. I’ve heard it’s even better at sunset, but by that time, you’ll be meeting your sisters for dinner, so I wanted to show you now.”

  I felt the awe melt off my face. My sisters. Dinner. That was a few hours away, but still. That meant I only had a few hours left with Nico—if he didn’t decide to leave before then, of course.

  I stepped toward him, dropping my head slightly as disappointment ballooned inside me. “I wish I could come back here with you later. I really like spending time with you.”

  He stepped in and took both my hands. “Then I know where we need to go next. The Trevi Fountain.”

  I looked up and smiled. He was a good eight or nine inches taller than me, but his hazel eyes were close enough to make me forget my name. “Because legend has it that I’ll return to Rome one day if I throw a coin into the fountain?” I asked.

  “Sure. Coming back to Rome would be good.”

  He leaned in closer. His shirt smelled so clean. Oh my goodness, he was killing me with those eyes and that scent.

  “Vernazza would be better,” he said.

  And then he kissed me.

  Ahh. Yes, Vernazza would be better.

  ***

  “So, are you going to give us details?” Holly asked.

  Nico and I had met my sisters at the Pantheon exactly at eight o’clock, and though Stella invited him to stay for dinner, he declined. He didn’t say so, but I knew the trip back was going to be long, and he had to work the next day. Plus, he could have been thinking what I was thinking: I’d rather our last memories together be of just the two of us—not with Stella and Holly.

  Now he was gone, and the three of us were sitting on the patio of a restaurant just steps from the Pantheon. The sun was setting, and it was beautiful, blah, blah, blah, but I was over all the scenery. I just wanted to think about Nico.

  I looked at the menu in front of me as though I could read the Italian printed on it. I just couldn’t look at my sisters. I’d tell them about the afternoon, but I couldn’t look at them while doing it—not right away at least.

  “We had a great afternoon,” I said. “Circus Maximus, Aventine Hill, the Trevi Fountain, the Forum, the Colosseum. We saw so much. What’d you two do?”

  “Who cares what we did?” Holly said. “You and Nico were holding hands when you walked up. Stop pretending to read the menu and tell us what happened.”

  I looked up and couldn’t get the huge, stupid smile off my face. “He’s so great. He told me all about where he was from and how he ended up here. And all kinds of stories about growing up, playing soccer, what college was like for him, stuff like that. He’s so funny and so smart. And so nice. And so easy-going. He’s always smiling.” I sounded like one of my twitterpated high schoolers, and I knew it. And yet, I couldn’t stop. “He’s so different from me. I make everything so complicated. He makes everything seem easy. I mean, we lost our luggage in Rome, and it was no big deal for him to help us find it. I wanted to check out a random neighborhood this afternoon, and he went along because, well, why not? He just goes with the flow. It’s such a nice change.”

  Holly looked at Stella and held her hand up for a high-five. “Our plan worked,” she said. “It only took six hours for true love to conquer all.”

  I made a face. “Oh stop, don’t be dumb. You already knew I liked him. I admitted it in Florence. But you said he was a liar and a cheat, and you only found out that wasn’t true an hour before I did. You didn’t have a plan for anything—there wasn’t time for a plan.”

  Stella shrugged, neither confirming nor denying my accusation. “So what do you have in common?” she asked.

  The look I was giving Holly morphed back into another huge, stupid smile.

  “A bunch of stuff.” I thought about giving examples—books, music, wine, sports—but I wanted to keep that to myself.

  “I know one thing that you don’t have in common,” Holly said. “He is rich, rich, rich.”

  “He is?” I said. “He said he made enough money to retire, but that was it. How would you know if he was rich?”

  Stella gave Holly a withering look, clearly not impressed by our younger sister’s crass declaration about Nico’s wealth. “When you went to take the luggage upstairs this afternoon, I made Holly apologize for the ironic comment,” she said. “He told you about that, I assume?”

  I nodded.

  “He explained the actual situation and then told us to Google him for proof,” Stella continued. “So we did. A bunch of websites came right up—”

  “Did you know his name is really Nick?” Holly interrupted.

  I nodded. “They just call him Nico in Italy.”

  “Anyway,” Stella said. “There were tons of stories on him and his company, and then plenty of local news about how he came to take over the wine shop.”

  “That’s why I kept saying he was completely honorable and ethical,” Holly said. “We had seen the evidence
on the internet. And he made way more than enough money to live comfortably. Want to see? I can pull up some articles right now.” She reached for her phone.

  I shook my head. “He didn’t tell me, and I don’t care.” I let out a long, deep breath. “I’m just sad that it’s over.” I thought about if I wanted to voice my next thought. Oh, why not? I was already pouring my heart out. “I’ve dated here and there since Shane, but I haven’t really clicked with anyone. And now here we are, less than twenty-four hours away from heading back to California, and I just met someone I really like. It’s so unfair.” I shook my head, feeling a completely overwhelming mixture of happiness, disappointment, and incredulity. “You know, Shane and I met when we were young, and our relationship was built on kids’ stuff. I haven’t felt really connected to anyone as an adult ever. And we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Well, he has enough money to fly to California every weekend, so maybe you can work something out,” Holly said.

  “Will you stop with the money thing?” Stella said in a voice she normally reserved for warning her boys about questionable behavior.

  “Okay,” Holly laughed. “It’s just funny to me.”

  I had no idea why Holly would think it was funny, but really, it didn’t matter.

  “Jill, I’m happy and sad for you, too,” Stella said. “I love seeing you so full of joy. I don’t think this is the end.”

  I hoped not, but how could it not be? We lived over six thousand miles apart. That was kind of a big deal.

  Truly, so unfair.

  ***

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. Holly had been snoring by ten-thirty, and Stella had finished reading and turned her book light off shortly after eleven. I lay in the dark, reading on my phone’s ebook app, hoping that sleep would come to take me away sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, it seemed like my brain was more interested in the later than the sooner.

  At twelve-thirty, Nico texted me.

  Goodnight, Jill.

  The text was followed by a picture of Saint Peter’s as seen through the keyhole on Aventine Hill. At sunset.