I awoke before dawn with my heart still heavy. Exhausted, I'd fallen asleep quickly after my talk with Cosimo, but now, as I lay there in the dark, my thoughts kicked into overdrive and I found myself wishing I knew how to pray. I longed for the comfort of reaching out to someone bigger than I was, braver, and more capable, too. The way I did as a child when I'd call out to my daddy in the middle of the night and he'd come running, sweep me up into his soothing embrace, and croon softly to me that everything was going to be okay.
Instead, I lay there worrying about what the day might hold. How would things be between me and Cosimo? Would he once again act as though everything was fine, like nothing had run amok between us last night?
And why, oh why hadn't Paulo called me back? I reached for Isa's phone on the nightstand, hoping against hope to see the screen lit up with a message or a text, or even a missed call, but there was nothing. It was too early to phone him, but my fingers hovered over the send button anyway.
An hour later, the sun had turned the sky a murky coral, and I could not force myself to stay in bed a minute longer. I pulled on a bulky sweatshirt with the Midtown University logo on it, and a pair of black knit leggings, and then strapped my brace on before slipping my feet into my Toms. I left my wheelchair and took my crutches instead, making my way silently through the shadowy house to the kitchen, wondering if I could get away with making myself a cup of coffee.
To my surprise, someone else had the same idea. Franco was standing at the counter, the back of his hair rumpled like he'd just rolled out of bed, but already dressed in his work clothes. He turned and smiled warmly at me, but didn't question my presence there. It was too late for me to turn around and go back to my room, but it was the first time I'd been alone with the man since the showdown; in fact, it was the first time I'd ever been alone with the man, period.
"Please, would you like to have a seat? I am preparing to make coffee for Claudia." His voice was morning rough, but I smiled at the notion of the burly farmer taking a cup of coffee to his wife in bed. "Or did you plan to sit outside?" He must have seen me glancing out toward the terrace. He dipped a head toward my crutches. "I can bring you a cup when it is ready."
"I was going to go out and see if the mist was in the valley still." It was basically the truth. I just couldn't sit still this morning, my worry for Paulo chafing at my insides. "But I didn't think about how I'd carry my coffee cup." I tittered nervously. "That would be very kind of you."
Franco nodded. "You go sit. I will bring your coffee."
"Thank you," I murmured, feeling terribly needy.
"And Anica, beware. It is cold outside this morning."
I nodded and slipped out the door he held open for me, bracing myself for the temperature change.
Oh boy, he was right. Fall seemed to be finally catching up with itself. The air was heavy with moisture and there was a new fragrance on the morning breeze, something so familiar to me, it rocked me back a little, making me homesick for Southern California. We waited every fall for this smell, for the first rain of the season to douse the parched summer soil where we lived, the slightly acrid tang of raindrops sizzling on steaming asphalt.
Homesick tears stung my eyes, my worry for Paulo a throbbing ache in my chest.
A few minutes later, Franco brought a bright blue mug of black magic to me. Apparently, he'd noticed I drank it black like he did, and I accepted it gratefully, wrapping my chilled fingers around it. He didn't go right back in, but instead, stood near my chair, his face turned out over the valley like mine. "It is the best place in the world, Lazzaro land, Anica. Do you see all that God has given into my care for this time?" He said my name so I knew he was talking to me, but I had to listen carefully to hear his words, he spoke so quietly. "If it is all taken from me tomorrow, I will still bless his name."
Oh, to have that kind of certainty about life, about the future, even about God. He and Paulo both seemed to have this inner compass pointing them in the direction they should go. It had nothing to do with whether or not the olive business succeeded, or whether Paulo lived in Italy or Portland or Timbuktu. I envied them their convictions.
As we waited there in the stillness of the morning, watching the sun light up the hillsides, a movement near the pool caught my eye. Cosimo stepped out of his little cottage, closing the door behind him, and turned to make his way down the path in our direction. He was dressed to see patients, not to pick olives, and I heard Franco sigh deeply behind me. I felt a flush of guilt creep up my neck, certain he was leaving because of me.
Cosimo didn't see us until he was almost upon us and started slightly, coming to an abrupt halt on the path. Then his features cleared and he nodded benignly. "Buon giorno, Franco. Ani."
Franco returned the greeting, and to my astonishment, dropped a light hand on my shoulder. I couldn't tell if he meant for me to stay, to speak, or if it was a hand of protection against whatever angst Cosimo was hauling around.
"Buon giorno," I echoed, my voice cracking a little. I hid behind my coffee cup until Cosimo had passed by on his way around the house. He'd uttered not a word of explanation for his early morning departure. As soon as he was out of sight, Franco removed his hand. I heard a garage door go up and realized I hadn't even noticed a garage before. So that's where his car had been all this time. The mighty purr of his Maserati engine made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Tish was going to kill me. I hadn't gone for a spin in the doctor's hot wheels.
And I felt no regret whatsoever.
"It is best to let him go, Anica." Franco's voice was subdued, but steady; Cosimo's actions weren't a surprise to him, I realized. "He will return when the day is over. It is a difficult time for many in our country, but without peace, difficult times can be almost unbearable." His words struck a chord with me, and I knew what he meant. Perhaps that's why I felt compassion for Cosimo stirring again in my heart. I knew what it was to feel adrift, lost, rejected. I also knew Cosimo's struggles really didn't have anything to do with me, but Franco's words comforted me anyway.
I heard nothing from Paulo all morning, and by noon, I'd already tried calling him three times, to no avail. I would wait until three o'clock when he was scheduled to arrive with Cristofano. Maybe he'd lost his phone.
I went out with Isa and Claudia to the groves in the morning. We continued to sort olives, working along behind the tireless men. Because I was with her, I'd given Isa back her phone, asking her only that she'd keep it with her in case Paulo called. As concerned as I was, she strongly encouraged me to call Madalina. But I was determined to wait. If he didn't show this afternoon, I'd call her then.
He didn't show. I gave him an extra fifteen minutes, and then accepted the phone Isa wordlessly handed me. I'd left my wheelchair behind today, becoming increasingly at ease with hauling myself around on the crutches, so I hobbled over to sit under a tree by myself.
Madalina answered the phone at l'Aurora with a boisterous "Pronto!" but the moment I told her who I was, her voice fell to a worried hush. "Oh, Princess Grace! How is our Paulo? Have you spoken to him yet?"
Huge swells of relief and fear crashed over me at the same time. Finally. Someone who knew something... but what had happened? "No, Madalina. He left a message on Isa's phone yesterday, asking me to call. He said it was urgent. I've been trying to reach him since but he won't answer his phone. Or return my calls."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Madalina? What's going on?"
"Oh, Ani." She used my real name and my hands began to shake violently. "Oh Ani," she said again. "Paulo's mama was in a terrible car accident in America. She is very badly injured. Paulo left to be with her and his grandparents last night. Oh, Ani, I am so sorry you did not know." Her voice caught and I heard her sniffle.
I looked up to find Isa watching me, her face registering concern over the tears welling up in my eyes. I held out the phone toward her, unable to find words, and she rushed over, taking it from me.
"Ciao," she began. "Sono Isa." The usually chipper greeting was soft, tentative. She laid a hand on top of my head as she listened to Madalina. I could hear the other girl's voice, and it, too, lacked its normal sing-song vitality.
She was off the phone in only minutes. If Madalina had hoped I'd heard from Paulo by now, that meant she still hadn't. I thought about trying to reach his aunt and uncle, but in frustration, I realized I didn't even know their last name. I had no address, no phone number, either. These two women and their phones were my only link to him. Isa lowered herself to the ground beside me and ran her hand down my arm. For several moments, she said nothing.
"I wasn't there for him," I murmured into the silence, my whole body aching for him, imagining him hearing the news of his mother's accident. She was the most important person to him in the whole world. Oh, how I hoped he'd been at his aunt's apartment when he'd received word, surrounded by people he loved. And Sharon. How was she handling it all? Perhaps she'd gone with Paulo.
"It was not your fault, tesora. You did not have a phone and I left mine at home. I am the one who should be sorry."
"No, Isa. No! I didn't mean to blame you. I—I should have called him on Thursday. I just thought he needed... some space after... after the confrontation with Cosimo." Silent tears were trickling from the corners of my eyes, but I didn't bother wiping them away. I was at such a complete loss on how to even respond to the situation.
Isa spoke quietly, her voice ringing with that same quality I'd heard in Franco's, in Paulo's, that certainty. "Ani, you must go to him. He will need you by his side."
I looked at her through a haze of tears. "I couldn't. I barely know him. I can't." But her words echoed the cry of my heart. If Cosimo would clear me to start putting weight on my foot, I could get on the plane and go. I still had over a week left before my school expected me back. And thanks to Cristofano, bless his little pocket-picking heart, I had my passport.
"I could go today," I whispered, contradicting myself.
"He loves you, Ani. Everyone can see it in the way his eyes follow you." Isa took my hand and helped me stand. I didn't argue with her. My head declared it was too soon to call it love, but in my heart, the word hit home with such force it almost took my breath away. "He needs you to be by his side," she said again, and I nodded. I heard Paulo's words from only two days ago.
"You must choose, Ani. There are only so many hours in the day. Time will not stand still for anyone or anything. Not even for love."
And I'd told him wherever the man I loved was, I would follow.
"Come," Isa said, her eyes searching the grouparound us. "Let me talk to Mama, then I will walk with you to the house.Together we will make the arrangements for you to go to him."