All the Way to Heaven

Chapter 7

I untangled my feet from my bicycle and tried to stand, but gasped as my ankle buckled. Thanks to my sturdy boots, I didn't collapse, but the pain shooting up my left leg packed a wallop, and I carefully lowered myself back to my knees and scooted toward the girl, concern for her temporarily overriding any for my own injuries.

I placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, but jerked it away at the sting in my palm. To my chagrin, I left smeared blood on her white blouse.

Her father lifted his head to look at me, brown eyes wide with concern, and reached across his daughter to grab my wrists, then turned my hands over to look at them. "Signorina! Si sono feriti? Hai dolore?" His words came out so quickly, I only caught the word dolore which meant 'pain.' Tish had used it to describe me when I decided to take this trip now instead of after graduation, and I'd heard it often enough that I knew it well. "Mi dispiace molto, signorina!" Then he lifted them to his mouth and began kissing my fingertips, making me gasp and pull them away.

"It's nothing. Really," I assured him, trying to turn my grimace into a smile. I cupped my hands together on my lap, not letting my palms touch; they burned almost as much as my cheeks did.

"Niente. Only scratches." Flustered, I turned to the girl whose sobs had quieted as she watched the interaction between her father and me. With eyes just like his, wide and expressive, she stared up at me, still whimpering, but more softly now. I tried to recall how my mother had soothed my fear, my father's fear; I could hear her voice in my head.

"Hello, beautiful." I spoke quietly, searching the tear-streaked face under the brim of her purple helmet. Did she speak English? "Are you hurt? Dolore?" I didn't touch her, but smiled reassuringly, jutting my chin toward the arm she still cradled against her chest. "I'm Ani. What is your name?"

She smiled, shyly at first, and I let out a small exhalation of relief. Her gaze shifted to her father's face and she whispered something to him. He nodded and helped her sit up.

"My name is Simone." She pointed at her father. "Il mio papa." Then she touched the back of my hands where they rested on my knees. "You have blood."

Peering down, I could see I was in for a world of hurt when it came time to clean the wounds. The skin of my palms, desk-work tender, had shredded like soft cheese as they slid across the gravel. Pieces of sand were embedded under the torn flesh, and the nerve endings were waking up, causing both hands, my right one especially, to throb and burn. But I nodded, tight-lipped. "I'm all right. I just need to wash them." I curled my fingers gingerly so she couldn't see what I saw, and fought not to gasp.

"You are very brave. Not like me." She sounded a little awestruck. "You do not cry."

"I want to cry," I teased, glad she understood English. "But you were crying first, so I had to wait my turn."

Simone giggled. "But I do not bleed." She held up her arm to show me, then turned to her father again. "See Papa?" Straightening her arm, she winced a little, but didn't complain. "I will be brave, too."

A crowd was beginning to gather around us and I suddenly remembered the contents of the basket on my bicycle. "Oh no! My purse!" Without thinking, I tried to stand again, but this time my foot wouldn't cooperate, and I went down to my knees hard, catching myself on one raw palm. Trying desperately not to cry out, my words came out on a moan. "My purse."

I couldn't walk, I couldn't crawl, all I could do was point at my fallen bicycle. The contents of the basket were scattered where they'd spilled out, but my big black bag was nowhere to be seen. Someone had made off with it while I was tending to the little girl, my back turned.

My passport, my driver's license, my credit cards, even my cell phone; all were gone. Maps, reservations, Eurail pass, gone. Why, oh why hadn't I just strapped on my money belt this morning instead of shoving it into my purse? Dropping my chin to my chest, I closed my eyes, no longer able to hold back the tears that squeezed out between my eyelashes.

"It is your turn to cry now, Ani?" Simone asked. She said my name the same way Madalina did, and I just nodded, my thoughts reeling.

What on earth was I going to do now?

The crowd milling and murmuring around us added to the awkwardness of my situation, and my humiliation made me keep my head down.

The little girl turned to her father and began speaking in a rush of words, her high-pitched voice rising insistently, hand gestures emphasizing each statement.

"Mi scusi." Her father knelt in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched, hoping he wouldn't try any more kissing. It would hurt me more than him if I had to haul off and smack him. "Hai famiglia qui?"

I could tell he was speaking slowly for my sake, like my dad did whenever he met someone from another country, regardless of whether or not they spoke English. "Family? No. No famiglia. I'm here alone." I shook my head, keeping my eyes averted. No family. No friends. No purse. Just me and my broken heart. And now my broken body.

He glanced over at Simone, his eyes questioning, and the two of them slipped back into Italian.

I just needed to get back to my room. Once there, I could think straight. I could figure out what to do next. In my suitcase, I had a list of emergency phone numbers, along with photocopies of all my legal documents. And my laptop. Even though I couldn't make international calls from Alla Dolce Vita, at least I could get the ball rolling on the immediate necessities, like figuring out how to file a police report and contacting the U.S. Consulate in Florence to find out how to get a new passport so I could get home. And emailing my mother.

No longer caring what kind of impression I made, I dabbed at my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve and looked around. There was a bench a few feet away. Clenching my teeth against the pain, I leaned forward and used just my fingertips to brace myself, preparing to stand.

"No, Miss!" Simone's father lurched up and slid an arm around my waist to support me. Someone else, another man from the growing group of onlookers, hurried to my other side, and the two of them talked rapidly over my head as they helped me hobble to the nearby bench. They continued discussing me—I could tell by the way Simone's father kept waving his free hand back and forth between his daughter and me—and I tried not to worry too much about what they were saying. I gingerly brought my leg up onto the bench beside me, knowing I needed to get my foot elevated. I needed ice, too. And good drugs.

"I want my mommy," I whispered.

Simone stepped close and touched my knee. "Papa say you go to the hospital."

"Oh, please, no!" I blurted out, lifting my head to look up at the two men still discussing my fate. "Please. If someone would just help me get back to my room at Alla Dolce Vita, that would be great." I had decent medical insurance, but even if I was carrying the best coverage, I had nothing with me to show for it. My proof of insurance, along with the credit card I'd need to pay for whatever it cost to go to the emergency room, was in my purse. "It's not far, I don't think. There's a bakery, too. A panetteria, l'Aurora." For one desperate moment, I wondered if I could convince someone to push me home on my bike... and felt a bubble of hysteria rise up in my chest at that recipe for disaster. "I just don't know how I'm going to get there," I finished dully.

I closed my eyes in frustration, wishing for all the world I could get a do-over of this day.

"I know l'Aurora." My eyes popped open as the other man turned around, almostreluctantly, it seemed, and I gulped when I recognized Mr. Rude Guy from thetrain.