My packed suitcase sits on the bed in front of me, filled to the brim with sundresses and strappy sandals, cropped tank tops and plastic sunglasses. Mara, in typical detail-oriented Mara fashion, made sure I knew the exact weather forecast when we Skyped last night so I could pack appropriately for the insane heat. I could see the sweat dotting her pale forehead, her white-blond pixie-cut hair stuck to her skin.
I close my eyes and imagine the same warmth sliding over my skin. The AC at the institute was always turned too high. Even now—seven months after my release—I can still remember that bone-deep cold. It used to wake me in the middle of the night, shivering so badly my jaw ached.
I pull my cell out of the back pocket of my jean shorts. A notification has popped up, alerting me that my flight is on time and will depart in two hours and forty-five minutes. I shimmy my shoulders in excitement.
Finally, I think, sliding my phone back into my pocket. Time to go. There are still two weeks left in July, and I’m planning to live it up with my two best friends in Italy. Mara and Harper have been there all summer, doing an arts program, and I’m finally able to join them. I yank my suitcase off the bed, grab my tote bag from the back of my bedroom door, and hurry down the stairs. Dolce vita!
My parents wait for me at the front door. I offered to get an Uber, but “Dan Hubbard won’t let any daughter of his head to the airport alone!” (My dad actually said this while clapping me on the shoulder—God, so embarrassing.) He took the morning off so he could drive me to Bradley International, but Mom couldn’t get anyone to cover her morning classes, so she’s seeing me off here.
It would’ve been easier if we’d said goodbye last night. I can practically feel the nerves vibrating off Mom’s skin.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Her hands are at her neck, sliding her pearl necklace through her fingers. She pinches each pearl, counting them like they’re rosary beads. “Daddy and I have been talking, and it’s just that Italy is so far away . . .”
“Don’t worry, I told her you can handle it,” Dad adds, throwing me a wink. He puts a hand over Mom’s to keep her from rubbing the finish off her pearls.
“You’re sure it’s not too soon?” Mom asks. We look alike—same long auburn hair, round face, and full mouth—but now her lips are pulled tight over her teeth, making her look older than she is. The minuscule lines on her forehead are out in full force.
“I promise, I’ll be fine.” I lean in, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Mara and Harper will be with me the whole time, and I know not to push myself if I start feeling out of it.”
Those are her words. She’s repeated the phrase about a million times over the last week. Just don’t push yourself . . . And that’s when she’s not watching me like a hawk. Monitoring my eating. Making sure I don’t sleep too late. Casually checking what I’m reading, just to make sure it’s not something too “upsetting.”
I swear, last week she was about to psychoanalyze some dumb dream I had about a missing rabbit, but Dad stopped her before she could get the words out. Thank God.
“Well . . .” Mom still looks unsure. “Just promise to call.”
“Of course.”
She wraps her arms around me before I can pull away, hugging me firmly. She’s too thin—I can tell she hasn’t been eating since I got back—and her spine digs into my fingers, each bone a sharp point. “Be safe.”
I give her a tight squeeze before wiggling out of her grip, waving over my shoulder as I head for the door.
I step outside, and the weight of her worry falls from my shoulders, like a discarded sweater. The sun is warm on my bare legs, reminding me that, before long, I’ll have Italian sun and Italian streets and Italian boys to keep me company.
I tip my head back, inhaling deeply. The sky is achingly blue. I want to drink it in, hold it inside me. My luck is finally changing. It’s been seven long months since I left the institute behind, and, still, this feels like my first real moment of freedom.
Italia, here I come.
The Italian heat hits me like a wall.
The airport doors whoosh closed behind me, taking all the manufactured cold air with them. I scoop the hair off the back of my neck with one hand, gasping. My legs and underarms have already gone sticky, and I’m starting to feel a little jet-lagged. Eight hours cramped in coach will do that, I suppose. A dull headache pounds through my skull.
I grab my suitcase and start wheeling toward the curb, eyes peeled for a taxi, when light brown curls and a blond pixie cut catch my eye.
I release a shocked laugh. “Harper? Mara?”
Their heads swivel around.
“Berkley!” Harper squeals. She’s wearing oversized Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday–style sunglasses that cover half her face, and a dazzling smile unfolds beneath them. “We thought you’d never get here.”
I drop my suitcase and pull Harper into a hug. “I can’t believe you came all the way out to the airport to pick me up!”
“Of course we did,” Mara says, fanning herself. She’s somehow managed to keep her skin pale as porcelain despite the torturous Italian sunshine. “What are friends for?”
“You guys are the best.” I move in to hug her next. She seems to stiffen as I wrap my arms around her shoulders, but when I let her go she tucks a lock of white-blond hair behind her ears, smiling, and I figure I imagined the pause of awkwardness.
“How was your trip?” Mara asks. “We were so worried when your flight got delayed.”
“Were you?” The plane was held on the runway for about an hour before takeoff, but after that everything was fine. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? We were practically yelling at the woman at the information desk, but it’s like she didn’t even care.” Harper rolls her eyes dramatically. “Italians hate giving a straight answer to anything, you’ll see. She kept being like, Maybe it’ll land in the next twenty minutes? Maybe it’ll be tomorrow? Who knows?”
I laugh, sure that they’re joking. They both smile back, but Harper can’t stop tapping her foot, and Mara keeps winding and unwinding her fingers. They were actually worried.
I clear my throat. “Well, I hope you didn’t have to wait for long . . .”
Harper waves my apology away with a flick of her hand. “Oh! It was totally fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“We just didn’t want you to be freaked,” Mara adds. “Those airplane seats can be so claustrophobic . . . Anyway, you’re going to love it here. The students in our program are really so nice.”
“You’ll meet them all at dinner tomorrow night.” Harper’s eyes go to my suitcase. “Is that all you packed?”
I’d been so proud of myself for getting all my clothes into a single carry-on, but now the bag seems comically small, especially for two weeks in a foreign country. “Should I have brought more?”
Mara shakes her head. “No, no—don’t worry about it. Harper brought her entire closet, obviously, but I packed light, too. You’ll be fine.”
“I just like options,” Harper says, adjusting her sunglasses. “I’m competing with Italian women here. I need to make sure I look my best at the clubs.”
“Although, we obviously don’t have to go out clubbing if you don’t want to,” Mara cuts in. “It’s no big deal!” I frown—I like going out just as much as they do—but Harper takes my suitcase before I can respond and starts pulling it down the sidewalk.
“Oh, right, of course not,” she adds. “Mara and I’ve been dancing practically every night this week, so it’s probably time for a break.”
“She’s such a bad influence,” Mara says. “I’ve barely gotten any studying done the entire trip.”
Harper rolls her eyes. “We’re in Italy.”
“And I’m premed. I can’t just take two months off.” Mara turns back to me. “We can just take it easy tonight—dinner and wine back at the apartment.” She glances at Harper. “I mean, neither of us can show our faces at Galleria anytime soon.”
Harper bursts out laughing. “Oh my God! I still can’t believe the bartender said that to you . . .”
“I’m pretty sure I could see his nipples through that tank top.”
“So gross! Did you—”
“We don’t have to stay in because of me,” I cut in. “I brought plenty of stuff to wear. Going out could be fun!”
“If you want. But seriously, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” Mara lifts her arm to wave down the zippy white taxi that just rounded the corner. “We’re happy to do something low-key. No big deal.”
It’s the second time she’s said no big deal in the last five minutes. It feels like something they talked about before I got here. If Berkley gets weird, just act like it’s no big deal. Pretend everything’s normal.
Which means they think I’m still sick. They’re worried they’ll be the ones who have to clean up after me when I lose it.
The taxi skids to a stop. Harper leans through the front window, saying something in Italian. Mara loads my suitcase into the trunk and climbs into the backseat. I slide in beside her, and she grabs my hand.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” she says, squeezing my fingers.
Harper sits next to me, pulling the door shut. “Oh my God, I can’t wait for you to see the apartment. It’s to die for.”
“The place is insane,” Mara adds in an undertone. “You know how Harper loves a little drama? Well, she went a little overboard when she picked this place.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, relaxing. At least this feels like it’s supposed to. The three of us packed into the back of a taxi, giggling. This is what I’d been picturing all those months stuck in Connecticut, and it’s so right that I have to bite back a smile. My friends came all this way to greet me at the airport, after all. They didn’t have to do that.
It’s about an hour’s drive from the airport to the village. The taxi takes us down a wide road lined with dying sunflowers and cypress trees. Earlier in the year, the fields were probably beautiful, filled with bursts of yellow, but by now the unrelenting sun has turned most of the flowers brown, leaving miles of packed dirt and rocks where the plants have all died. The sky above the field is dotted with black.
“Something must’ve died,” Mara mutters, and I realize the black dots are crows. Hundreds of them. They get closer, wings outstretched as they land on a spot far off in the field. “That’s the only reason crows act like that.”
“Thank you, professor.” Harper pulls a compact out of her bag to check her makeup.
I lean partway across Harper’s lap to get a better look. But there are too many crows to see anything else in the field. They swarm together, wings overlapping wings, pointed beaks pecking at something just out of view.
And then the taxi zooms past, and I watch them grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.