Chapter 6

FOR A WHILE WE lie on our backs and listen to the water and the boats that paddle gently by. I listen to the sound of the gondoliers singing and in my head I see the tearful, wonder-filled smiles of the couples who never imagined they would be floating on a canal in Venice, Italy. The sweat that coats my skin is quickly drying in the cool air and soon Grace’s hand searches for mine. When she finds it, she squeezes it.

“Was it good for you, tiger?” she poses, and together we start to laugh. Suddenly, I am no longer the tough guy prankster I was playing at the outdoor café. I am no longer the man who knows what happened between Grace and her ex-husband on a single lonely night when I was away at war. And even though my eyes see only darkness, my dark mood has fled the scene along with the concern over that overcoated, black-eyed man who couldn’t stop staring at us.

I roll over and kiss Grace’s mouth.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this afternoon. I’m not sure I know who the hell I am anymore.”

“Do we ever?” she says.

“But I can tell you this. Now. Just now. I knew exactly who I was. Who. I. Am. And why we are together and how we must love one another unconditionally.”

She squeezes my hand harder.

“I believe all the things that are ever meant to be, will be,” she says.

I am completely blinded now, my sight rendered to complete darkness. But somehow, I see the light.

Then the telephone rings.

I feel a start in my heart.

Apparently so does Grace, because although I can’t see her, I know she has shot up.

“Who could be calling here in this apartment?” she begs.

“I can’t imagine. I don’t even know the phone number to this place.”

“We have mobile phones,” she points out. “It must be for the owner of the apartment.”

“Maybe we should let it go.”

“But what if it’s important? Like a family member in trouble?”

“Hope your Italian is sharper than it was at the café,” I laugh.

The phone continues to ring.

“That means I’m getting it?” she poses.

“I’m blind,” I say, rolling over onto my side under the comfort of the covers. “Besides, I might stub a toe or something. It’s a health risk.”

“Oh, now I see what you’re up to,” she says, sliding out of bed. “Poor, poor, pitiful me. Some G.I. Joe you turned out to be.”

“Hoo Rah!” I bark.

I hear her lift the receiver.

“Pronto,” she speaks into the phone. Then, after a silent beat. “Hello. Hello.” Then, “There’s no one there.”

“Just hang up. Probably a wrong number.”

She issues one more exaggerated “Hello!” into the phone. She gives the nobody who’s there a couple more seconds to answer. When it doesn’t happen, she hangs up, and starts back towards our bed.

And then the phone rings again.