Honeymoon in Italy Read online

  Holly nodded. Her eyebrows were still unnaturally high as she thought about the idea. “Should we write down promises or hopes for each other? Or just our own, individually?”

  “Our own,” Stella and I said instantly.

  I definitely didn’t want to see what my sisters wished for me. They probably saw in me what I didn’t want to see. And I probably saw in them what they didn’t want to see. We could do that on our next trip to Italy. Maybe. Baby steps.

  “Let’s mull over it tonight and tomorrow, and then we’ll have a little ceremony tomorrow night,” Stella said as John delivered our food. Her eyes darted across the plates, and she smiled, relieved. No octopus. “Oh, this looks wonderful,” she breathed.

  And it did.

  “Pesto Genovese—pasta with pesto sauce,” John said, pointing to one dish. He pointed to the second. “And grilled calamari.” He pointed to the last one. “And risotto ai frutti di mare—the seafood risotto. Enjoy.”

  Stella had been right about dinner helping to restore some of my energy. I didn’t necessarily want to hang out at a bar after dinner, but I did have more energy. And the food was ridiculously good. I hadn’t ever had pesto that flavorful or calamari that tender. I could eat at John’s restaurant every day for the rest of my life.

  Just as we finished dinner and Holly declared that it was our Italian-American duty to power through dessert even if we were stuffed, I saw a familiar figure walking up the steps from the beach. Nico. A soccer ball was wedged between his arm and hip, and he carried a pair of shoes in his other hand. With the sun setting behind him, he looked like…

  Oh stop, I told myself, shaking the unfinished thoughts from my mind. He looked like a guy walking up some steps. That was all.

  “Hey, honeymooners,” he said, approaching our table. “You chose the best restaurant for dinner. Did you try John’s wine?”

  We all nodded.

  “It’s amazing,” Holly said. Her expression turned sympathetic as she tilted her head. “But sorry about the soccer game. Wish you didn’t lose.”

  I gave Holly a dirty look and kicked her under the table. That was rude. And weird. Her back had been to the game the entire time. How in the world did she know they lost?”

  “Holly!” Stella said.

  Nico chuckled. “Oh, it’s fine. Better luck next time.”

  “How did you know they lost?” I asked. There was no way she could have learned the rules of soccer and grown eyes in the back of her head over the last ninety minutes. John’s wine was great, but it wasn’t magical.

  Holly lifted her chin to Nico. “He threw the game. That’s how he got Pietro to give us Mom’s letter today. He promised he’d let Pietro’s team win tonight.”

  My mouth dropped open. Stella gasped.

  “You did that for us?” Stella said. Then she leaned over the table and swatted Holly’s arm. “And you let him do that?”

  “Hey!” Holly said, recoiling. “If you wanted to understand conversations in Italy, you should have learned the language!”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay!” Nico laughed. “Not a big deal. You needed the note, Pietro really needed a win, and it all worked out.”

  “Looks like you’ve been playing a long time,” I said, wanting to change the subject, at least a little. Stella was still giving Holly the evil eye, and Nico looked uncomfortable.

  He spun the ball in the air. “Yeah. Been playing since I was five. But these Italian guys have been playing since before they were born, so I’m just trying to keep up.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re not Italian,” Holly said. “Hey, what brought you here, by the way?”

  “Oh, that.” Nico wedged the soccer ball between his arm and hip again. “Kind of a long story. I guess it was probably—”

  “Nico!”

  We all looked toward the voice coming from the beach. One of the soccer players was motioning for Nico to join the group.

  “I gotta get going,” he said, turning back to us just long enough to flash a smile. “Have a great night.” He walked backward toward the beach. “How long are you in town?”

  Stella held up two fingers. “Two nights. Tonight and tomorrow night. Then on to Florence. Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He nodded and turned to jog toward the players.

  Holly leaned against the table. “I like him, Jill. I approve.”

  I wasn’t going to acknowledge her. I sipped my wine.

  “Let’s get dessert,” I said.

  ***

  After our fantastic meal, we hiked up the steep steps winding toward our apartment. I felt warm from John’s wine and full from tiramisu. My sisters insisted on going out, but I wasn’t joining them. And I had three very good reasons. First, I was sleepy. Second, I wanted to do some research. And third, I just didn’t want to.

  I told them that walking me back to the apartment was unnecessary, but Stella insisted. It probably was a good idea since she was the only one who definitely knew the way. I would have eventually found the place, but I might have gotten lost a time or two first.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Holly said, leaning against the apartment doorframe as Stella fished the key out of her little purse. “This is probably our one shot at going out in Vernazza.” Her eyes drooped, and she looked just as tired as I felt.

  “She’s right,” Stella said. “We’ll have to be up early the morning after next to catch our train to Florence, so I doubt we’ll want to stay out late tomorrow night.” She pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

  I shook my head. “Take pictures for me.”

  Stella swung open the door and walked in. “Give me a second, Holly,” she called over her shoulder. “I want to touch up my makeup. It’ll be quick.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. She sat down in the green wooden chair just outside the front door. “Why?” she called inside. “Can’t you let some of your perfectionist tendencies go for half a second? Seriously, Stella. We’re in Italy. You’re married and madly in love with your husband. Who’re you trying to look good for? You know what Guy says about women who worry so much about makeup?”

  “Shh!” I hissed at Holly. “Don’t bring up your pretentious boyfriend if you want Stella to move faster. Don’t ever bring him up if you want to change the way someone’s acting. No one likes him!”

  I probably shouldn’t have said that. It was true, but I should have kept it to myself.

  I blamed it on the wine.

  Holly looked down, letting her weird top knot flop over. “You’re right. No one likes him. I shouldn’t bring him up.”

  I needed to backtrack. “Well, you like him. And that’s really all that matters.”

  “Eh,” Holly said.

  I noticed a shadow moving up the stairs toward us. Moments later, Nico appeared from around the corner.

  “Hey, Nico, amico,” Holly said, pulling her head upright again. “I have two questions for you.” She held up one finger. “First question. Girls who fix their makeup constantly: yes or no?”

  “No,” he answered.

  “Okay.” Holly held up another finger. “Second question. Jill should go out with me and Stella tonight: yes or no?”

  “Hol, I’m tired,” I said.

  Nico dropped his soccer ball and pulled a key from his pocket. “Not if she doesn’t want to.”

  Holly sucked her teeth. “Oh, you’re no help.”

  Stella squeezed past me in the doorway. “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s about time,” Holly said, rising from her chair. “You look exactly the same as you did five minutes ago.” She turned to Nico. “Hey, Nico, buddy. Thanks for all your help today. Really, you’ve been a life saver. If there’s any way we can repay you,” she paused and then tilted her head toward me, “well, Jill’s right across the walkway. You can talk to her. Me and Stella are going out.”

  Nico chuckled as Holly and Stella picked their way down the stairs toward the town.

  “Sorry ab
out that,” I said. “She had too much wine at dinner.”

  He pushed open his apartment door and kicked his soccer ball inside. “No worries. Goodnight, Jill.”

  I gave a little wave and walked inside our own place. I found my phone right where I left it and plopped down on the couch.

  I loved soccer. Guys who didn’t insist on perfect makeup or going out to bars weren’t half bad either.

  But whatever. It was time to find those grandparents in Rome.

  TEN

  “Rise and shine, party girls,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed that Stella and Holly were sharing. “Long night, huh? Bet it was worth it! Who wants to hike up to Monterosso?” Over the covers, I grabbed my sisters’ legs and squeezed. “Come on, sleeping beauties. The clock is ticking away. The sun has been up for at least an hour. Let’s get going!”

  I knew they didn’t want to go hiking. But they had been really loud and woken me up at two o’clock in the morning when they stumbled in, and it was time for retribution.

  Stella stirred. “What time is it?”

  “Seven o’clock. Come on, let’s go!”

  Holly groaned. “Why are you waking us up at seven? We’re on vacation. We. Don’t. Want. To. Hike.”

  I walked to the dresser and picked up Stella’s sunglasses. Putting them on and then holding out an imaginary clipboard and pen, I said in my best Stella voice, “As you know, the hike to Monterosso will take exactly one hour and fifty-seven minutes. Now, I’ve been in touch with Mother Nature, and she’s told me that optimum hiking conditions begin at eight o’clock. That gives us exactly eight minutes each to shower, twenty-one minutes for breakfast, and fifteen minutes to make sure that we have all our hiking gear in order.”

  Holly sat up and pushed some frizzy hair out of her face. “As much as I love a good Stella impression, it’s just too early.”

  Stella rolled over and slammed her head into the pillow. “I don’t even like me in the morning, hangover or not.”

  I took off the sunglasses and set them on the dresser. “Oh? Do you two mean that you don’t want to go hiking? I’m so sorry I woke you up. I’ll go on my own and see you in a couple hours.”

  “We’re going to get you back for this,” Holly moaned before sinking back onto the bed and covering her face with a pillow.

  As I headed toward the living room, I heard Holly mumble, “Are we going to tell her?”

  I stopped and turned. A moment passed before Stella found the words to answer.

  “Play it by ear,” she said.

  “Play what by ear?” I called to them. “What were you going to tell me?”

  “Nothing,” they both said.

  Hmm. I’d have to remember to ask them later.

  I jumped in the shower, got ready for the day, and left before either of my sisters showed any signs of emerging from the back bedroom. In fact, I was pretty sure I heard Holly snoring as I left the apartment.

  There were hiking trails between all five villages in Cinque Terre, but I really only wanted to do the one between Vernazza and Monterosso. I had heard that it took two hours on average. My plan was to hike as fast as I could to Monterosso and make it a workout. Then I would hike back to Vernazza at a leisurely pace and take plenty of pictures to make my sisters jealous.

  The trail was beautiful, and being that it was early in the morning, few people were on it. The path was narrow in many places, and as beautiful as I knew it was, I kept my eyes down and focused on keeping my heart rate up all the way to Monterosso. About an hour later, I was there, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Perfect. I loved that feeling.

  I thought about checking out the village. But from where I stood, I could see a long beach lined with umbrellas, and it occurred to me that Monterosso was more of a resort town. It looked like hotels lined the coast. It was all beautiful, but I had seen resort towns before. I preferred Vernazza’s quaint little harbor, pirate lookout, and pick-up soccer games on the beach—especially since we weren’t going to be there much longer.

  Part of me wondered if I’d regret not exploring the town once I returned to California. That’s what happened when Mom and Dad took us to Greece as kids. Years later, I regretted not exploring every nook and cranny of Santorini and Ios. I had been content at the time looking at the sea and the bougainvillea, which, in my pre-teen mind, looked exactly like what we had in San Diego. Much later, I wished that I had been more observant.

  But even now, knowing that I might regret it later, I decided to head back to Vernazza right away.

  I guess we were who we were, deep down. Change was really hard—even when we knew change could be good.

  The trail was thin and filling with people on my way back to Vernazza. I loved seeing the terraced hillside on my left, covered in grapevines and olive trees, and the sea on my right, a beautiful calming blue. Later in the day, if all went according to plan, Holly and I would jump into it.

  Taking in the scenery, I mulled over what I had found on the internet the night before while researching my mother’s parents. Before Mom became Lia D’Angelo, she had been Lia Abato. I’d known that from childhood. Holly and I asked a lot of questions when we were kids. I signed up for three people-finder websites while looking for Abatos in Rome, and eventually I found a couple that was about the right age to be Mom’s parents and had past addresses in Southern California. I wondered if I had found the right people. It had to be them. There couldn’t be that many seventy-five-year-old Abatos who lived at some point in Southern California but now lived in Rome. And if I had found the right people, would my sisters and I actually want to find them?

  Then there was the question of the promises I wanted to make for Mom and leave in the post office box. What would I say? What needed to be my biggest priority?

  I wondered what my sisters would promise as well. Stella was uptight, but she was a wonderful mother and wife. What could she do to make Mom and Dad smile down on her even more?

  And Holly. What was she going to promise? She was an accomplished linguist, a pretty darn good musician, and on her way to being an Art History expert. Mom and Dad didn’t care about whether we had kids—all they ever expected from us was to work hard and be kind. So it wasn’t like Holly needed to promise that she’d have a family one day. Sure, she was a bit sarcastic and loud, but she was also passionate about the life she lived already, and Mom and Dad would be proud of that.

  But my sisters were the ones who needed to come up with promises for themselves. I needed to focus on the promises for me.

  So, back to me. No family, no real passion, nothing to be particularly proud of. I was probably a pretty decent teacher. My principal seemed to think so. At least he said so on my reviews. But so what? Were nouns and verbs really that meaningful? Was running a yippy-yappy girls soccer team into the ground with drills when they annoyed me really meaningful? I didn’t really do anything important. That meant I had a lot of possible promises to choose from. Any aspect of my life was up for grabs.

  I had a lot to think about.

  My sisters had said they’d be sunbathing on the pier by the time I got back to Vernazza, so once I returned, I went right up to our apartment and changed into my bathing suit. I only got lost once on my way up, and I didn’t get lost at all on the way down. Not bad.

  Stella was lying on her stomach and writing in a journal when I reached the end of the pier. The area was covered with beach towels and tourists. Although I had gotten in a great morning hike, I was clearly late to the Vernazza sunbathing party. Luckily Stella had managed to snag a prime spot right in the middle, not too far from the sea, and not too far from the big rocks where people were jumping and diving.

  “Hey big sis,” I said, nudging her leg and hoping that she’d move over so I could sit down on her towel. “Where’s Holly?”

  Stella rolled onto her side and shaded her eyes with a hand. “She’s getting something to drink. How was your hike?”

  “Amazing,” I said, sitting down. “Do we really ha
ve to leave tomorrow?”

  Stella smiled sympathetically. “This place is wonderful, but we do need to leave tomorrow, my dear.”

  Of course I already knew the answer, but I could dream.

  “How are you doing away from your kids?” I asked.

  “Okay, I think. I miss them. And Jason. Holly’s toes are much colder than Jason’s at night. And Hudson and Thatcher just started doing this cute thing where they walk into our room together and wake us up by calling cockadoodle do! That’s been our morning alarm clock for the last week. I missed it this morning.”

  “That sounds absolutely awful,” I said.

  “It’s not,” Stella said. “Not when it’s your own children.”

  Maybe one day I’d agree with her, but today wasn’t that day.

  “Who wants water?” Holly said behind me. I turned just in time to catch a bottle she threw in my direction. “And who wants to jump off a big rock with me?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Thank goodness,” Stella said, ducking as Holly threw a water bottle at her. The bottle hit the ground and rolled onto the tourist’s towel next to us. “She’s been asking me all morning, and I keep telling her there’s no way I’m jumping.”

  I stood and held out my hand to Holly. “Let’s go.”

  Holly took my hand and pointed to the pathway leading to the boulder being used as a diving platform.

  “I’ll take pictures,” Stella called after us.

  We followed the line of adventurous people making their way to the top of the big, black rock. When it was our turn, I looked over the edge to the deep, dark, blue sea below. Mom had written in the scrapbook that it was much colder than it looked. I wondered exactly how cold that meant. It seemed like we were at least fifteen feet high, but the height didn’t bother me. The cold, though—that I was something I’d need to brace myself for.

  The stranger behind me and Holly barked at us where to put our feet before jumping, but at that point, I was just more concerned with Holly keeping her balance and not accidentally pushing me over the edge. Her incessant giggling was evidence of nervous excitement, and her insistence on clinging to my arm wasn’t making things particularly easy. Eventually the stranger behind us gave up his bid for goodwill ambassador and stopped offering his expertise.