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Alex was groggy the next morning, but the dread from the previous morning’s scene with Eva and the sorrow she felt last night were both gone. She was going to do what Signora always told her to do when she was anxious or sad.
“Stop fretting over your life, and live it,” she would say. “If I can wake up every day and face whatever life throws at me, then so can you.”
Alex never quite understood the meaning of her words before now, always attributing them to Signora’s old age and frail body. Signora went through so much, but she never felt sorry for herself. She was a fighter, so full of confidence and wisdom. She took everything she faced, all of her suffering, and turned it into a reason to celebrate the fact that she was still alive. How many times had she told Alex that she needed to appreciate the life she had and not dwell in all that she had lost? When Alex lamented about her mother, Signora told her to be patient, that there would come a day when the time would be right, and her mother would return to her. Hadn’t Isa spent what must have felt like an eternity waiting for Roberto and Paolo to return? She didn’t even know if they were alive, yet she believed.
After a shower and breakfast, Alex called over to the winery and told Maria that she would be in late today due to a personal matter. She would share her plan eventually, but for now, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of it herself. She spent over an hour on her computer trying to figure out the details. When she felt like she had everything worked out, she went to the fields to look for Nicolas.
“It sure is hot today,” she said when she found him inspecting one of the arbors.
His smile came easily as Nicolas took the cap from his head and wiped the sweat off of his brow with his arm. “Sì, fa molto caldo.”
“I know you’re busy, but can we talk for a minute?”
His smile disappeared as he replaced his cap and noticed the seriousness of her voice and expression.
“Sì, va tutto bene?”
“Sì, everything is fine. It’s just...” she hesitated and wished she had something to lean on. She suddenly felt like she needed extra support. “I need to go home,” she said quickly.
“Che cosa?” He was stunned and didn’t know what to say other than to utter “What?”
“Not for good,” she rushed to clarify. “I need to see my mother.”
“Sì, sì, ho capito.”
“I knew you would, grazie.” Though she thanked him for understanding, she still felt that she needed to explain. “I need to tell her that I understand. Well, not that I do completely understand, but that I’m still here if she needs me, and that I miss her.” Alex looked at Nicolas and blinked back a tear.
“Mia bella, of course you do.” He took her hand and looked at it, seemingly at a loss for words.
“I’ll be back,” she assured him. “And in time for the harvest.”
He raised his gaze and looked into her eyes. “Not until then?” Alex thought she heard a catch in his voice.
“I will return as soon as I can.” She squeezed his hand before pulling away and turning to go.
“When do you leave?” Nicolas called to her.
Alex turned back toward him and gave him a weak smile. “Today,” she told him. “I must leave today.”
Nicolas watched her go and felt like a case of wine had been dropped on his chest. He certainly hadn’t felt this way when Eva left for the coast. It was further confirmation that he made the right decision in ending their relationship. Alex wasn’t even gone yet, and he knew already that nothing was going to be the same until she came back.
Fifteen hours and two planes later, Alex landed at Chicago O’Hare Airport. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon in Chicago, but it was 11:30 at night back home. She smiled at the thought – Belle Uve had become her home, and she felt like a complete foreigner in Chicago. She had debated over just taking a taxi out to her childhood home or renting a car. She finally gave in to the convenience of being able to get around on her own. She had no idea what kind of vehicles might be at the house or what kind of shape they might be in.
It was past six when she stepped out of the car in front of the house where she lived until she was eighteen. Not much had changed as far as the house went, but the bushes were overgrown, the grass was dead, and there were no flowers adorning the gardens that were once the showcase of the neighborhood. She took a deep breath and almost choked. She could almost taste the pollution in the air and already felt a longing for the clear, dry air of Belle Uve, filled with the aroma of grapes and the passing scent of olives when the breeze blew in the smells of the neighboring fields. Grabbing her bag from the back seat, she made her way to the front door. Should she knock or just walk in? She hesitated before trying the knob, but it was locked, so the choice was made for her.
Alex felt like a guest standing in front of her family home, an unwanted guest at that, and suddenly all of the misgivings she kept at bay began to assail her. Maybe she acted too hastily and made a rash decision. She was looking around as if she needed to find an escape when the door burst open. Looking much older than her years, with no makeup and wearing an old sweat suit, Annie O’Donnell stared at her daughter as if she were a stranger. The silence was deafening, and Alex began to perspire in the heat of the August evening.
“Mom?” she said tentatively.
“Alex?” Her mother breathed her name in a way that sounded like talking was foreign to her.
“Sì, I mean yes, it’s me, Alex. Mom, can I come in?”
Annie hesitated, and Alex waited, fully expecting the door to be closed on her as literally as it had been figuratively when her mother told her to leave and never come back. But after a minute, Annie simply opened the door, and Alex went in.
The house looked the same but felt like a different world than the one Alex knew and loved a long time ago. The furniture was the same as it had been when Alex left home for college, but now, the blue striped sofa was faded, and the white stripes were a dingy beige. The room was dark, the curtains closed tight, and the musty smell was overwhelming. Alex didn’t smell any lingering alcohol, for which she was glad. She had always wondered....
The room grew darker when her mother closed the door, and Alex had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dim light from the solitary lamp.
“I don’t have much for dinner,” her mother said as she made her way to the kitchen. It wasn’t “welcome home,” but it was a start.
Alex followed her into the slightly brighter room with the familiar Formica counters and the oak table where the four of them had shared many meals, stories of their day, and laughter; there had always been laughter. Alex ran her fingers over the grain as she stood in the room that seemed so much smaller now. She looked up to find her mother staring at her.
“You look good,” Annie said. “Healthy and tan. I guess you’re finally spending some time outside.”
Alex grinned, “Some, yes.” Her mother had always tried to steer Alex toward sports – running, swimming, field hockey, anything to get her out of the the house, but Alex always had too many books to read, paintings to finish, photos to edit. Though she played tennis in high school, she gave it up for theater in college. She simply couldn’t devote the time needed for both and keep up with her schoolwork.
“Good,” Annie nodded. “The fresh air is good for you.” She turned to the refrigerator and opened the door. “Salad?” she asked. “It’s about all I’ve got.” She peeked over the top of the door and gave Alex a weak smile.
“Salad is fine, Mom.” Alex smiled back even though her stomach was growling, and she could practically taste a nice, generous bowl of linguini with pesto and sun dried tomatoes. Tomorrow she would go shopping and make her mother a nice, hearty, Italian meal. That is, if her mother let her stay.
She watched her mother throw together two plates of salad and was grateful when she opened the cabinet and took out a fresh-looking loaf of bread.
“Toasted?” Annie asked.
Alex shook her head. “No, thanks. Do you have any olive oil?”
Annie gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She began rummaging through the cabinets.
“Butter is fine. Thank you,” Alex said. “But I need to use the bathroom first.”
“Oh, sure. You know where it is?” Annie asked, as if Alex was a visitor.
Tears came to her eyes as Alex nodded and headed down the hall.
When she was done, she made a right and went to the room at the far end of the hall. The door was closed but unlocked. Alex imagined a sewing room or office, but what she found was the room of an eighteen-year-old girl, turquoise walls covered with artwork and photographs, framed art and photography awards on the shelves, and the teddy bear Chad won for her at the carnival when she was ten. She walked around the room and ran her fingers along the shelves and the many books that lined them. It was as if she had fallen asleep and woken up in another time. There was no dust on anything. Her mother seemed to have kept it neat and tidy and ready for her teenage daughter to return at any moment.
Backing into the hallway and closing the door, she started toward the kitchen, but she hesitated halfway down the hall. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the next door. Not quite as decorative as her own room, Chad’s room bore little resemblance to the room he lived in before moving to Philadelphia. Most of his belongings were gone, having been moved to his flat after he graduated from college and left home for good. But the furniture was the same, and some of his posters still hung on the wall. Alex walked over to his desk and picked up the framed photograph. It had been taken when they were four and ten. At an age when most boys would have been trying to get away from their little sisters, Chad treated Alex like his own little princess. He doted on her, and she looked up to him like the hero that he was.
“I still miss him every day.” Annie’s words cut through the silence, and Alex jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to face the woman who had cut her own daughter out of her life.
“So do I, Mom. So do I.” Alex paused. Was she really ready to do this? “I miss you, too,” she said, leveling her gaze at her mother and holding her stare.
“Things are different now,” Annie said. Alex nodded.
“Yes they are,” she agreed. “But not everything had to change.”
“But it did,” was all her mother said before turning and leaving the room.
Alex’s shoulders slumped. She felt defeated. She was exhausted. Her back ached from the flight, her head was beginning to pound, and all she wanted was to go back to the turquoise room, shut the door, crawl under the old, multi-colored comforter, and squeeze the teddy bear to her chest. Instead, she went to the kitchen and sat in front of the plate of salad. She drank the entire glass of iced tea in one giant gulp and reached for the pitcher. It was stifling in the house. She ate the salad, glancing across the table at her mother now and then. She was relieved to see that the food was fresh and her mother was eating, though she was much too thin and needed more than a salad for dinner each night.
Neither of them spoke, and when she was finished eating, Alex cleared her dishes and her mother’s, washed them by hand, and put them away as she had become accustomed to doing. Her mother sat in silence and watched her.
“I’m going to bed, mom. Will you be here in the morning?”
“I have to be at work by ten, but I’ll be here before then.”
Alex was surprised that her mother had a job. She was curious but too tired to ask about it and relieved that her mother wasn’t protesting Alex’s stay overnight. “Goodnight then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” Annie said. “Alex,” she called, and Alex stopped and turned around in hopeful anticipation. “There are clean towels in the bathroom.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled before retrieving her bag and heading down the hall.
Nicolas sat in the kitchen alone and ate his breakfast. The villa seemed so empty. No, it was downright lonely. Had it always felt this way since his Nonna died? He had never noticed it before.
He washed his dishes and gazed out at the fields. Harvest was about a month away. That seemed like a very long time. The good news was that with harvest time nearing, Nicolas was going to be very busy hiring on the temporary workers and preparing the vats and barrels for the first round of grapes.
“Buongiorno,” Maria smiled when Nicolas walked into the winery.
“Is it?” he asked. “I am not feeling well today, and I have much to do. I will be in the office if you need me.”
“Nicolas,” Maria’s caring tone halted him, and he turned toward her. “She will be back.”
“Will she?” he asked. “I am afraid that she does not know, that I have not told her...”
“She knows, Nicolas. And yes, she will be back.”
Nicolas nodded and went into the office, shutting the door quietly behind him.
By three in the morning, Alex was wide awake. If she were at home, there it was again – the thought of Italy as home - if she were there, she would be checking emails, answering the phone, compiling orders. She and Nicolas would have had breakfast already and discussed their plans for the day. Maria would be telling her a story about Pietro or lamenting that he was never going to propose. There were tours scheduled for that afternoon, and Alex felt bad about not being there to handle them. Nicolas would do them, and he probably wouldn’t even complain about it. He denied it, but Alex could tell that he enjoyed giving them. He loved Belle Uve, its selection of wines, its beautifully maintained arbors, and he loved talking about the plants, the process, and the vintage. He delighted in seeing people’s reactions when they tasted the samples he poured for them, and Alex smiled as she lay in bed and remembered the way he looked at her over the glass as she took her first sip of Amarone. It may have been at that precise moment that she fell in love with him. The warmth of his brown, sparkling eyes, his smile, his quiet but enthusiastic way of describing the properties of the wine. It was hard to say which she fell in love with first – the wine or him.
Alex reached for her phone on the nightstand. She hadn’t looked at it since it died on the way to her mother’s, but it had restarted at some point during the night and was fully charged. After the “Welcome to the US” texts rolled in, and the messages relating to roaming costs flashed on the screen, she saw the message from Maria, “He misses you.” Alex smiled and held the phone to her heart as she closed her eyes and thought about what Maria was actually saying in those three small words. She didn’t reply. Maria could read her like a book. There was no need to send the obvious, “I miss him, too.”
Alex switched on the lamp, got out of bed, and tiptoed to the closet. She pulled out a photo album, the very first one she ever put together when she was six and scrapbooking was all the rage. Settling on top of her covers, she turned the pages and looked at the faces of her family, so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Who were those people? The happy, smiling faces in the professional portrait her mother had let her have, of the perfect family,–a mom, dad, son, and daughter–looked out at her like the ones you see in the frames when you first buy them from the store. She always wondered if the people in those pictures were real families or just models. That’s what the family in the album looked like, models of what the perfect family should look like if they actually existed. The other photos were less than amateurish, the folly of a six-year-old just learning how to use a camera and set up a shot. Heads were cut off, and the focus was off, but Alex relished each one, remembering happier times when her family was all together.
Alex went from one album to another-her elementary school years with photos of ponies and birthday parties; middle school days with awkward, metal smiles, and several firsts–first school dance, first crush, first boy who ever broke her heart; high school friends and clubs, jobs, and college acceptances. Those pictures were half in the albums and half in the boxes on the floor of the closet—abandoned for boyfriends, sleepovers, and AP homework. Before she knew it, the sun’s rays were haloing around the drawn shade like the eclipse Alex had once watched with her science class. She picked herself up off of the floor, to which she had migrated to go through the boxes, and stretched her arms and back. She wondered whether or not her mother was up and prayed that there was coffee in the house.
By the time the aroma of Folger’s House Blend filled the kitchen and made its way down the hall like a welcome friend, Alex had managed to find some eggs and a small bit of ham which she fried on the stove.
“Ah, the smell of Heaven,” her mother said from the doorway. “I didn’t know you drank coffee.” She slipped into the small space beside Alex and reached into the cabinet for a mug.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mom,” Alex said quietly, “but I’d like to change that if you’re willing.”
Annie poured her coffee and pressed her lips together. “You seem different, more confident,” Annie said.
“I’ve grown up, Mom. I was barely twenty the last time you saw me, only halfway through college, with absolutely no idea what I was going to do next. Now I’m almost twenty-three, not much older, I know; but I live abroad now, and I own half a vineyard. I’m helping to run a successful business, and I’m using my skills to market our products. I’m not the same person you knew.” She looked at her mother. “And I don’t think you are either.”
“I don’t know if I can go back, Alex,” Annie said after a moment.
“Then let’s not go back,” Alex offered. “Let’s go forward.”
Annie didn't answer. She sipped her coffee and watched as Alex finished cooking breakfast. They ate in silence. Alex wasn’t sure what more she could say, and it broke her heart when her mother rose, put her dishes in the sink, and left the room. It was all Alex could do not to run from the house in tears. She finished eating, washed the dishes, and went to her room. She stayed behind her closed door until she heard her mother leave for work and wondered why on earth she had come back.
When Annie returned from work that evening, the little house was filled with aromas of Italy. Alex prepared the same meal that she had made for Nicolas and his family when she first arrived in Italy, and she even managed to find a bottle of Amarone at the local wine store. It wasn’t Belle Uve, of course, but she couldn't resist buying it. She hoped that she might be able to break the ice with her mother the way she had done with the others.
Annie pushed the pasta around her plate, taking small bites here and there. She buttered her bread even after Alex suggested she try the olive oil Alex bought at the store earlier that day. It was as if Annie purposely resisted every move Alex made. The wine left a bitter taste in Alex’s mouth, not a testament to its quality, but rather a reminder that it was not the wine that Nicolas had produced. Annie didn’t touch her wine but drank her unsweetened tea as she nibbled at the food.
Alex was tempted to ask her mother if she liked the meal. Would it be so hard for Annie to compliment her? Alex would rather find out that her mother hated every bite than sit in silence, but both women seemed to be at a loss for words. By the time Alex finished eating, she was exhausted, both mentally and physically.
“I’m going to bed. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll clean everything in the morning. I bought groceries, so help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast. There are fresh cheeses and fruits, and I put some pastries in the cabinet.”
Alex waited for Annie to reply. When she did not, Alex sighed and left the room.
Awake much too early again the following morning, Alex began going through her dresser drawers. Why had her mother kept these things? An old t-shirt from a Hilary Duff concert, an ugly sweater with a cat on it that had been a present from her father, a pair of jeans that her mother always hated because they had holes in them, but which Alex loved to wear around the house. Alex shook her head as she sorted through the clothes, abandoned when she left for school and forgotten, for good reason, when she left home for the last time. She looked around the room and decided that she would spend the day cleaning, not just in here, but throughout the whole house.
Throwing on an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts, she appraised her appearance in the mirror. What she imagined she would see was a much younger self, a throwback to her high school years. What she saw was a woman wearing child’s clothing. Though she had maintained the same body, in spite of the pasta, wine, and desserts, she knew that she was not even close to being the same person. Even as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, she realized that she would never again be that girl, so unfocused and lacking in self-confidence.
Alex wasn't sure if it was her early entry into adulthood after the death of her father and rejection by her mother, the hard work and long hours she put into college, her time with Signora, the responsibility of owning a business, the months spent living in a foreign country, or falling in love with Nicolas that created the woman she now was. She supposed it was a combination of all of these things. Things that she never saw happening, never felt changing her, but which were leading her on a journey she didn’t even know she was taking.
She remembered a class she once took in school. She couldn't remember the name of the course, but every book they read had the same theme—The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Great Expectations, The Odyssey, To Kill A Mockingbird-all ‘coming of age’ books. Alex cocked her head and looked at her reflection. She hadn’t saved a slave by rafting down the Mississippi. She hadn’t taken care of a grieving widow during the Industrial Revolution. She had not returned from war by way of an epic adventure nor watched her father defend an innocent man being tried more for the color of his skin than for any crime he may or may not have committed. Still, Alex had lived through a lot, and every event, every tear shed, every triumph hailed, had brought her to this moment. For the first time, Alex saw herself as a capable young woman rather than a lost and scared child. Perhaps she was finally seeing what Nicolas had seen all along.
Alex sipped her coffee as she watched Annie dump too much sugar to be healthy into her coffee. Annie stirred the liquid without speaking, and Alex wondered what was going through her mother’s mind. Alex turned and gathered some utensils from a drawer before reaching into the cabinet for bowls and sitting them on the table. She placed fresh yogurt, sliced fruit, and pastries on the table and took a seat.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” Annie said quietly as she spooned some yogurt into her bowl. “I don’t know if I know how to move forward. I seem to be, stuck, I suppose. I don’t know where to go from here, but I can’t find a way to stay behind, to go back to a time when we were all together.” She looked at Alex, truly looked at her, for the first time since Alex arrived.
“You have a job,” Alex said. “You must have found a way to make that happen.”
“It’s not much. I’m just a salesclerk at a shop in town. My therapist found it for me, to be honest. She said it would be good for me. I guess so. At least it gets me out of here for a few hours each day.” Annie looked around, and Alex followed her gaze. Everywhere she looked, she saw Chad and her father. It must have been ten times worse for her mother, living with their ghosts all of these years.
“It’s a step,” Alex said.
“Yes, that’s what my therapist said. She said I just have to take one step at a time until I’m not thinking about how to walk anymore.”
Alex thought about that, about the comparison to being paralyzed and learning to walk again. She supposed that’s what her mother had been–paralyzed. Maybe not physically, but certainly mentally.
“So where are you with your steps?” Alex asked.
Annie looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“How far have you come? Are you far enough to be a mom again?” Alex didn’t mean for it to sound cruel, and she hoped that her mother would hear pain in her voice rather than anger.
“I, I don’t know,” Annie whispered. “I’m, it’s not that I don’t want to,” she looked pleadingly at Alex.
“Okay,” Alex said, “but can you at least think about it?”
Annie nodded. She stuck the spoon into the half-eaten bowl of yogurt and stood. “I’ll try,” was all she said before leaving the room to get ready for work.
After her mother left, Alex took down all of the curtains in the house. She washed and rehung them and was happy to see that it made a noticeable difference in every room. While they cycled through the wash, she scrubbed the walls and the floors and cleaned the windows. Before she knew it, her mother was home.
Annie stood in the living room and looked around. “It’s awfully bright in here, don’t you think?”
Alex tried to see what her mother saw-freshly washed curtains, clean floors and windows, the trash taken out, and the furniture dusted off. Alex had left the curtains open so that the sun shone in, and even without the lamp on, the room sparkled with light.
“I figured I should help out while you’re at work. I’m sure you don’t have time to,”
“Are you saying I can’t take care of my own house?”
“Of course not,” Alex swallowed and closed her eyes.
Memories of being fifteen and clashing with her mother came flowing back, and Alex had to remind herself that she was an adult now and not a teenager with an attitude. She took a deep breath and laid out the argument she had rehearsed. “I always had chores when I lived here as a child. Why should it be any different now? With you at work, I might as well earn my keep. Is there something else you’d like me to do?” Alex squeezed her lips between her teeth and hoped that her mother wasn’t about to kick her out. Again.
“Well,” Annie paused. “I suppose it does feel better in here. If you really want to keep going, I’m okay with it.”
Alex tried not to smile too broadly or seem too relieved. She felt like Galileo must have felt when he discovered the moons of Jupiter. A major breakthrough had just taken place.
The next morning, Alex decided to try a new approach. “I’ve been thinking,” she began. She noticed the way her mother stiffened, and she had to push herself to keep going. “I understand that you’re not quite ready to be a mom again. So I’ve been thinking.... What about being a friend?” Alex offered. “With no pressure or strings. Can we start there?”
Annie pressed her lips together, and it occurred to Alex for the first time that they both shared this habit. She watched her mother bring her coffee mug to her tight lips and hold it there. The steam rose from the cup, leaving behind its warm, moist presence on her upper lip in the form of small beads of condensation.
“Maybe,” she said, and then smiled a small, shy smile like a toddler meeting a distant relative for the first time. “Yes, I think I would like to try being friends.”
An hour later, Annie appeared in the kitchen doorway, freshly showered and dressed. Alex noticed that her mother wore another cute, up-to-date outfit and asked about her new wardrobe, a far cry from the sweats Alex had found her in when she first arrived.
“It’s from work. I get a discount.” And then, after a moment, she added. “You could come by today, if you’re not busy.”
“I’d love to,” Alex said, careful not to let her exuberance show too much. They were still in the ‘new friend phase,' after all.
“Okay, then,” her mother said. “I’ll see you later. You know how to get there?”
“You told me the name, so I can find it,” Alex assured her.
“Okay, then” Annie said again. “I’m off to work.” She smiled and reached into the hall closet. For the first time since being home, Alex noticed her mother’s purse, a beautiful leather bag that was stamped “Made in Italy.”
Alex looked from the purse to her mother’s face. “It’s a present,” Annie said with that same, shy smile. “From a friend.”
Before the end of the day, Alex went into the little suburban town to see her mother’s place of work. The boutique was adorable, filled with designer clothes of which Alex couldn’t even imagine the cost. It was one of those places where there were no price tags, and Alex was astonished that her mother could afford the clothes, even at discount. She suddenly felt a ripple of pride go through her. It had taken several years, but Annie was slowly returning to the woman Alex had known and loved. She prayed that their “friendship” would last and would grow into something deeper. Alex longed to have her mother back in her life more than she had ever realized.
Over the course of that week, Alex’s body adjusted to the time change, but her heart was not adjusting to being away from Nicolas. She thought about him every minute of every day. She wondered if he was thinking about her, or if his life had resumed as normal, just like she’d never been there. What worried her the most was whether or not he had seen Eva since she’d been gone. But every morning, she awoke to a text from Maria reminding her that Nicolas missed her, was asking about her, and was wondering when she was coming home. He hadn’t made any attempt to contact her personally, but Maria let her know that her presence was still being felt and that he was looking forward to her coming ‘home.’
Later that week, Alex did some poking around in her mother’s desk and discovered bank statements that sent her reeling. Chad had left his mother a software patent as well, and the amount of money she made in the sale was staggering. Give your house to charity, buy a whole new wardrobe, and live the rest of your life bouncing from one cruise ship to another kind of staggering. No wonder her mother could afford the fancy clothes. Alex looked around the house with its outdated furniture and the old-fashioned box television set and marveled at the fact that her mother was quite a wealthy woman.
“Well, good for her,” Alex said out loud. “Good for her,” she repeated, and she meant it. Obviously Annie wasn’t running around spending the money like an overzealous lottery winner, but she would be able to purchase nice clothes for work even if she did spend all of her free time in worn out sweats, and she would be comfortable for the rest of her life.
“Speaking of comfort,” Alex said, “let’s see what I can whip up for dinner.” She stopped and looked in the mirror over her mother’s dresser. “And is it bad that I’m now talking to myself?” she asked her reflection. At least she didn’t wait around for a reply.
By the time Sunday rolled around, Alex and Annie were more comfortable with each other, and Annie seemed to be okay with the small changes Alex was making around the house–new pillows for the old sofa, new rugs at the doors, flowers on the front porch and back deck, and the bushes trimmed to a reasonable size.
“Mom, do you want to go to church?” Alex asked that morning when the aroma of coffee lured Annie to the kitchen. Annie stopped in her tracks, a look of horror crossed her face.
“Church?” Alex recognized the signs of a panic attack about to occur. She had suffered through her fair share throughout her high school and college years.
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m just asking because I’m going this morning and thought perhaps.... You don’t have to go. I just thought that if you were going, we could go together.”
“It’s just that... your father... I haven’t gone since....”
the funeral, Alex mentally finished the sentence. “It’s fine. I’m going to go, but you can stay here.”
“Thank you,” Annie whispered. “Someday....” Alex nodded. She was nervous herself. She hadn’t been to their parish church since that day either.
As she sat alone in the pew, Alex looked around at the building, a late 1990s style church with white walls and clear glass windows. There was stained glass above the altar, but the church, though nice, was quite bare compared to Our Lady of the Roses. Alex glanced at her watch. It was four in the afternoon at home. She wondered which house the family was gathered at today, was there a soccer game on, was Pietro there, was Eva? Alex stood for the entrance song and tried not to picture Eva at the dinner table.
When the phone rang that evening, Nicolas couldn’t answer it fast enough.
“Ciao,” he said and then felt a guilty letdown.
“Not her,” his mother said. “No word?”
“No, nothing. I do not think she is coming back.” Nicolas walked to the sofa, their sofa, and sat down on the too-large-for-one-person cushion.
“She said she was coming back, Nicolas, and it has only been one week.”
“One week?” He looked over his shoulder through the window where only his car sat in the driveway. Certainly it had been longer.
“What does Maria say?”
“That she misses me but that her mother is doing better, and she needs to stay longer.”
“Ah,” his mother said. “Perhaps you should call.”
“I do not want to be a nuisance. She wanted time with her mother, so I must wait for her to want to come back to...” he looked around the lonely villa, the one place he had always felt content and at home.
“To you,” his mother said.
“Si,” he admitted, “to me.”
When they ended their call, Nicolas picked up the journal and held it in his hands. He smiled as he ran his fingers along the leather front.
“Prozia Isa, you did know me, more than I imagined.”
His cell rang again, and Nicolas picked up the phone although he didn’t recognize the number.
“Ciao.”
“Ciao,” said the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. “How’s my vineyard doing?”
Nicolas laughed, “Your vineyard? I think il nostro vigneto.”
“Sì,” she laughed, “It is our vineyard.” The line went quiet for a few seconds, and Nicolas feared the call had been dropped.
“Alex?” he panicked.
“Sì, Nicolas, sono qui.”
No, you are not here, you are there.
“Allora, I thought the cell... How are you, mia bella?”
“How are you, mia bella?” They were the most beautiful words in the Italian language.
“I’m well, Nicolas, but I miss home.” And you.
“When are you coming home?” Alex smiled at the affection in his voice, or was it her imagination?
“Soon, I promise. My mother is doing well. In fact,” she smiled, “we are both doing well, together.”
“Oh, Alessandra, I am happy to hear the news.”
Alessandra. It was the first time Nicolas had used the Italian form of her name, and the sound of it on his lips was like a choir of angels to her ears.
“One week, Nicolas, and then I will be home.”
“One week, Alessandra, until we see each other again.”
“Sì, Nicolas, but I must go.”
“So soon?” She both loved and hated the sadness in his voice.
“Sì, but one week more. Ciao.”
“Ciao, mia bella.”
The call was short, but it was all she needed to make it through another week.
––––––––
Over the next several days, Alex stayed busy by cleaning out closets and drawers. Annie was surprisingly receptive to the idea of decluttering once Alex had gotten started, and Alex was happy to help her mother make the transition back to the realm of the living. While keeping herself busy in the States, Alex’s heart and mind often crossed the Atlantic, her thoughts always taking her to Italy. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the sound of the summer breeze as it swept through the leaves, smell the fragrance of the grapes, and feel the warm sun as it shined down on the field as she and Nicolas walked hand-in-hand, feeding each other a grape here and there. She and Nicolas began calling each other every other day, for just a few minutes at a time, and Alex could feel the miles between them, both elongating and melting away at the same time.
The week was nearing its end when Alex’s cell phone rang. Smiling as she reached for the phone, she expected Nicolas to wish her a good morning. Instead, she heard Maria’s frantic voice.
“Alex, grazie a Dio.” Alex’s heart skipped a beat, and she clutched the phone tightly.
“Maria, cosa c'è?” Alex asked what was wrong as a sudden panic gripped her.
“È Nicolas. È ferito. Era sul tetto e lui è caduto. Siamo all'ospedale.”
Alex tried desperately to understand, but Maria was speaking so fast, and many of the words were ones that Alex did not know. As Maria continued to talk at a breakneck pace, Alex’s mind swarmed with possibilities. All that she knew was that something was wrong with Nicolas.
“Maria, prega, slow down. Non capisco.”
Annie walked into the room and sat down on the couch next to where Alex had unconsciously collapsed. She reached for her daughter’s hand and tried to follow the conversation that floated back and forth between English and Italian.
“Sto arrivando,” Alex promised to head home and ended the call. Her eyes filled with tears.
“What is it?” Annie’s eyes and voice showed her concern.
Alex shook her head. “I don’t know any details, but Nicolas is hurt. I think Maria said he fell off of the roof.” She furrowed her brow in confusion. “She was talking so fast, and my Italian is still pretty lame. I had to keep asking her to slow down and to say it in English, but she was having a hard time finding the right words.” Alex turned to look at her mother and grasped both of her hands. “I need to go.”
Annie nodded, “Of course you do.” She squeezed her daughter’s hands and offered a feeble smile. “You love him,” Annie said quietly.
The tears fell in a steady stream from Alex’s eyes as she nodded. “I do,” she admitted, and for the first time in many years, Alex’s mother pulled her into a warm and comforting embrace. Annie smoothed Alex’s hair and gently shushed her cries. After a few minutes, Alex pulled away and gave her mother a weak smile.
“I’ll help you pack,” Annie offered as she stood and pulled Alex up from the couch. She wrapped her arms around her daughter in the loving embrace that Alex had missed so much.
“Thank you,” Alex whispered, “For everything.”