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MY LEFT knee smacked into something solid, while my arms and fingers closed in on the pockets of empty space where the black mare’s neck and mane used to be. I couldn’t stand up. My legs wobbled as the surface below me shifted with my weight. I gave up and sat down. I took off the travel glasses and shoved them in my backpack.
Then I smiled. Had it really worked? I looked out across the water at a fleet of gondolas that looked much like mine, the main difference being that my gondola had no gondolier. I’d entered Venice along the Grand Canal.
A single oar lay flat in the vessel, slightly to my right. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me before lifting the oar and dipping the blade into the water. The gondola bobbed forward as I pressed the water backward. Still seated, I lifted the oar and repeated the process until I reached a place where I thought I could step out.
Clutching both sides of gondola with my hands, I stuck my leg out and tapped the top of a wooden platform with the toe of my running shoe. As I leaned, the gondola leaned with me. I steadied myself and tried again. This time I drifted farther away.
Laughter echoed in my ears—the full, free kind that makes others want to laugh too. I looked up to find a short and way-more-attractive-than-I-thought-he’d-be Venetian standing on a platform above me. His face was a bit rounder than I expected and framed by dark curls that were similar to mine. He held out his hand to help me.
“Ciao, Siora!”
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, completely embarrassed.
His large almond eyes narrowed. “Me scusa?”
“You’re Romaso, right? Hi, I’m Calla. Is there a place we can talk? I need your help.”
Romaso lowered his hand and backed away a few steps. “No capisso, Siora. Ti parli venessian?”
I looked at him pleadingly, worried that I’d scared him by using his name. The same thing would have freaked me out too, but I didn’t know how else to explain who I was or why I was there. With a deep breath I started over with what was essentially the truth.
“Shirlyn told me all about you. You speak English, don’t you?”
Romaso’s eyes widened again. “You are a friend of Shirlyn?”
I grinned. Shirlyn’s name, enunciated by Romaso, sounded more like Sheer-lean.
“Something like that,” I answered. “She basically adores you. Can we—”
“A friend of my Shirlyn!”
Before I knew what was happening, I felt two hands close in around my arms, lift me up out of the gondola and then steady me when my feet landed on the platform. Romaso wasn’t much taller than me, but I still had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Thanks,” I said. “I need your help. Could we—“
Romaso wasn’t done celebrating yet. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through a maze of tightly packed streets and bridges until we reached St. Mark’s Square, the Piazza. Every detail appeared before me, true to Shirlyn’s writing—the palazzos and churches and the ongoing construction of buildings along the canal. I was positive that he took me through the same streets where he and Shirlyn had said their good-byes or, rather, their until-we-meet-agains.
The marketplace roared with activity. Craftsmen of various trades attended their stalls in the square, punching their fists in the air as they yelled at dirt-faced children who were running after pigeons. Both the kids and the birds upset piles of goods and nearby customers. It was really noisy and I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, but I really didn’t care—even if I was staring at everything with a stupid grin plastered on my face. I couldn’t help it. This was Shirlyn’s diary entries come to life.
Romaso laughed at my reactions as he pulled me back through the winding streets, away from the noise. Then he got very quiet. He let go of my hand.
“My heart aches, Siora.”
“You miss her, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“How long has she been gone?”
Romaso placed his hand on his chest and sighed. “A very long time.”
“Oh. How long?”
He squeezed my shoulders with his hands and searched my eyes as if trying to decide whether he trusted me. He lowered his voice. “Hours,” he said. “Two very long hours. I cannot bear it.”
Wow. He had it bad. Exactly as I’d hoped.
Shirlyn had left earlier that afternoon. I was relieved at this, having been careful not to search for Shirlyn there with Romaso, but with no way of knowing if the Romaso I would find would be dating someone else. I wanted to travel to Shirlyn at the time when she and her family had just returned to England from their vacation. For that, I needed Romaso’s help. Now I just needed to figure out a way to explain all of this to Romaso without scaring him out of helping me.
As I thought about this, it occurred to me that I must look very out of place in my sweatshirt and jeans.
“Romaso,” I whispered, “you haven’t said anything about my strange clothing. Do you think anyone else will notice?”
He gave me a wise and knowing look before he answered. “Shirlyn also does not wear the same clothes we do. A lot of trade happens here with other countries. I do not judge you, Siora. I will not,” he added as his eyes grew more intense, “let anyone turn away a friend of my Shirlyn.”
It became more and more obvious to me how Shirlyn had fallen for Romaso. I hoped that his charisma and passion for Shirlyn would be enough to help get past the story of the travel glasses, the news that I still needed to break to him. As we headed back to the canal, I decided to ask Romaso more questions, both to feel him out a bit and also because I was, unfortunately, stalling.
“Do you have a big family, Romaso?”
He considered this. “Yes and no. I never met my mother and father. My family is very large, all brothers.”
“You’re orphaned?” This information made me less anxious about some of my plans.
“Yes. I have a family of gondoliers, my brothers. That is what I am also. A gondolier,” he said.
“Do you sing?”
“Sing? You ask funny questions, Siora Calla.”
Not sure where to go from there, I added, “Can you show me how to row the gondola?”
“Ah, yes.” Romaso grinned, his round face dimpling. “I can show you.”
“Do you think we could find the gondola that you found me in?”
“Yes, Siora, I can.”
Along the way, Romaso pointed out the various gondoliers who’d raised him. The water traffic had died down since I’d arrived. Several men lazing around the canal returned Romaso’s greetings. They did not seem surprised to find Romaso with me, a girl his own age.
Romaso found my gondola in a secluded area along the canal. I looked at it and the area around it warily, not seeing any signs of the impact of my arrival. I sighed in relief that the boat was not broken, assuming that the water absorbed most of the impact.
“Strange,” he said as he inspected the simple black vessel. “How did you come to find this gondola? It is not one of the gondoliers’.”
I stepped into the boat. “It’s quite a story, some of it very sad. I traveled here from pretty far away. I also have a different kind of family, but I’m alone now.”
Romaso took his place on the gondola and began to row. “A sad story? You are in trouble.” He frowned.
“Yes, Romaso, I’m in a lot of trouble. I’m being chased by someone named Valcas who told me he’d protect me, and now I doubt whether he ever really wanted to help me at all.”
“What happened to your family?” Romaso rowed with an ease revealing many years of listening to others’ stories, their happy ones and those that brought them pain.
I responded, half to myself, “I think both of my parents are dead now. Or, no, maybe they aren’t born yet. This is so messed up. Oh, but my other friends, my new family, I left them with the creep who’s chasing me. They told me to run away and that’s how I came here.”
Romaso stopped rowing. “I do not understand all of this. How did you come here in this gondola?” He was completely confused.
And it was about to get worse.