OH, THAT BREEZE is nice.
The breeze is warm and humid. The boat rocks in the light swells off of the Lido sandbar east of the city, and a two-kilometer-long beach spreads out across from them. Jessica thinks about her mother’s words; it was one of those rare remarks she remembers coming from her mother’s lips more than once. At their pool in Bel Air, the only time the breeze felt cool was on her wet skin, in that moment before Dad would wrap her in a big towel. Usually the breeze was warm, almost as warm as the heavy, still air, and yet it was still refreshing, especially on the oppressively hot summer days. Jessica remembers how the wind would toss the fronds of the tall palms, how their trunks would bend thrillingly but never snap, even though she watched them, hands over her ears, waiting for the crack.
“What are you thinking about?” She feels Colombano’s voice at the base of her ear. His fingertips wander through her hair, rough and strong, stroke the scalp in a way she can feel in the pit of her stomach.
“Nothing.” Jessica turns her head so she can see herself in the lenses of Colombano’s aviators. She looks beautiful, even though the salt water has washed away her makeup and pasted her hair to her skin.
It has been eight days since Jessica was supposed to board the train for Milan. She has left behind her old life and leapt into an alternate reality, one that has no place for Torino, for skiing in the Alps, the train to Grenoble, the beach vacation in Marseille. Summer is at its most beautiful in Central Europe, and she’s in no hurry to get home. Besides, does she even have one? Has she ever had a place where she has felt safe and loved? Home is where the heart is. Her home is with Colombano now.
Sometimes Jessica feels like she has spent much longer at Colombano’s side. During those moments when she settles into a plush chair in the concert hall to listen to the Four Seasons, during those moments when they fix breakfast or amble around the city, during those moments when she sits alone in Colombano’s apartment, waiting for him to come home. During those moments when they kiss, make love, stroke each other’s skin, or feed the pigeons at Piazza San Marco. During those moments, her ever-present detachment finally evaporates, and she is enveloped in a sense of calm.
“You want to go swimming?” Colombano says, stroking Jessica’s cheek with his fingers.
“Sure.” Jessica smiles and sits up, takes off her sunglasses, and squints. The sun is blazing in the expanse of sky. She grabs hold of the hand bailer that has been pressing into her lower back while she’s been relaxing there and flings it into the bow of the boat. The boat is nothing special; there’s not a hint of luxury about it. Not a hint of the St. Tropez glamour Jessica had a chance to sample the summer before when she spent a few weeks on the French Riviera. Which is exactly why it’s perfect.
JESSICA WATCHES COLOMBANO slip out of his white T-shirt and dive into the water as effortlessly as a dolphin, leaving the little boat swinging from side to side like a rocking chair. His athletic body glides through the crystalline water, and then his head and shoulders surface a few meters away.
“Come in, princess,” he calls out, brushing the wet hair out of his eyes.
“I’m coming.” Jessica stands. Colombano floats in a manner remotely akin to synchronized swimming, then disappears under the surface again. Jessica is just placing her toes on the edge of the boat to push off into the water when she feels a sharp pain in her heel and drops down to sitting. She checks the sole of her foot and sees a metal ring digging into her heel; it has broken the skin. She takes hold of the band and cautiously pries it out. It’s a ring. A decorative gold ring, the empty crown of which presumably once held a diamond. Now the edges of the crown are like the tiny sharp teeth of a pike.
Jessica sits back down on the bottom of the boat, fingering the broken ring and massaging the cut in her heel at the same time. Blood is trickling out, mingling with the water, sweat, and sunscreen glistening on her skin. She hears Colombano splashing boisterously.
“Get in!”
Jessica turns the ring over. There’s an engraving on the inside.
“Jessica?”
Per il mio amore, Chiara.
“I’m coming, Bano.”
20.2.2003.—xx.xx.2103
Jessica looks at the cursive script. For my love, Chiara. Only a year and a few months have passed since the date engraved there, apparently a wedding day.
Suddenly Jessica feels the boat tilt, sees strong fingers hook over the edge, and the ring slips from her fingers into the dirty water pooled at the boat’s bottom. Colombano pushes himself up onto his elbows on the side of the boat.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, stretching out his neck to see the foot Jessica is now holding with both hands.
“I hit my toe on something,” Jessica blurts.
“Is it bleeding?” Colombano frowns and points at Jessica’s fingers. They’re red.
“I guess.” Jessica cautiously rises to her feet.
“Do you want to go home?” Colombano drops back into the water. Now he is floating on his back right next to the boat, looking at her. Jessica feels the sun burning her shoulders, which just a moment ago were draped in a sheer linen scarf. The water around the boat sparkles invitingly. She can feel it wrapping her body in its cooling embrace. She loves the smell of the salt water, its taste on her tongue. But something gives her pause.
It’s the way Colombano is looking at her.
“Not yet,” she says. “I don’t feel like swimming yet.”
“Why not?” All playfulness has disappeared from his voice.
“I just don’t feel like it.”
“Jump in.”
“I—”
“Jump in, Jessica.” Colombano takes hold of the side of the boat again. Jessica feels ice-cold fingers wrap around her ankle. Colombano’s face has grown suspicious.
“I don’t want to.” Jessica registers a quaver in her voice. The grip on her ankle tightens; the boat begins to rock. First slowly, then faster and faster. Water sloshes over the edge; droplets form on Jessica’s skin. She lets out a jittery gasp.
Then Colombano’s expression changes again, and the empathy creeping across his face is like a life preserver tossed into freezing water. “OK. I was just teasing.”
He lets go of Jessica’s ankle and takes a few strokes toward the stern, where there’s a swim ladder.
Jessica looks at the dark gray puddle. She hopes it will hide the ring forever.