The trowel fell from my grip. Excitement unfurled in my belly, and for the first time in a while, I felt brilliantly alive. I’d probably have a hard time convincing Frannie. She worked nonstop on her deals, chasing the next one with a furious intent that left no room for any other type of pleasure. As for Allegra, maybe she’d be excited to try something new. An adventure. A way to escape.
The thoughts churned in my mind, the details still blurry, but I already knew I’d made my decision. I would make this happen. A summer filled with the possibility of change—which we all desperately needed. The backdrop of a beautiful country and a foreign culture would be enough to push us all together again. Remind them all that roots and blood and family were everything.
Some things can’t be fixed with a different location, my love. Remember that.
Another ripple of pain wove its way through my gut, almost in warning. I pressed a dirty palm against my apron. But time can. And I can give us all that. For now.
You need to go to the doctor.
Can ghosts worry? I smiled at the thought, his presence pulsing around me. I had figured spirits brought cold, from all the movies I’d seen, but Jack was always like warm sunshine wrapping around me.
I will. Right after the trip. I promise.
I didn’t want anything used as an excuse not to go, including my health. I waited to see if he’d yell or scold me, but the air seemed to let loose a breath like a shrinking balloon, and I knew he was gone.
I’d never planned a big trip before, but maybe I’d go to an old-fashioned travel agent instead of surfing sites on the computer and ending up confused. I’d talk to a real person and explain I wanted it to be a surprise. There had to be a way to convince them what an opportunity this would be.
Sunday. At dinner. I’d make sure they both came—I’d been wanting to cook that turkey in the freezer for a while—and I’d break the news. Maybe I could even get some of those pretty brochures. A tour would be perfect. We’d be safe with a guide and get to see multiple cities. Though I would love to stay in Tuscany for a while and soak in the local flavor. Maybe I could combine a tour with a short stay.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to garden anymore. An adrenaline rush skated through my blood, giving me extra energy I hadn’t experienced in a while, even when I was on those super-energy organic vitamins Francesca swore by. I quickly packed up my tools, jumping up from the ground instead of slowly unfolding my old body, enjoying the bounce in my step. I had a new purpose, bigger than the threat of illness or worry about convincing my girls to accompany me overseas.
This could be the most important trip of a lifetime.
I walked inside and began making a list of all the things I needed to accomplish.
CHAPTER FOUR
Allegra
Nonni’s house always gave me a cozy, safe feeling I thought was missing in my own. Mom loved the color white, so at home everything was neutral and looked like fresh snow—pristine and clean and untouched. Even though my room had a pretty pink chandelier, fancy furniture, and a queen-size bed with black raspberry satin sheets, it felt like too much space. Nonni’s house was like being wrapped up in a tight hug. She preferred colors like brown, gold, and deep red, always citing white as showing the dirt too easily. There were thick carpets and lived-in furniture that cushioned my butt when I sat. The kitchen was always filled with amazing smells like tangy garlic, fresh tomatoes, sweet basil, and citrusy lemon. The oak table was round so everyone felt close. The best part was the clutter. It was clean—I could tell from the lemon furniture polish scent, and there were never any crumbs on the counters or dust—but there was interesting stuff. Endless pictures crammed into every inch of space on the tables, paintings of beautiful Italian landscapes on the walls, books and magazines with thick, glossy pages stacked up. Yards of colorful yarn with crochet needles and half-knit projects of afghans and pillows littered the living room. Knickknacks of shot glasses, heavy glass ashtrays, scented candles, mini statues of the Virgin Mary and St. Francis, and mementos from my mom’s childhood, from twisted pottery to macaroni art for Girl Scouts, filled the shelves.
I always loved picking through them and hearing my grandmother’s stories about each item. It was a nice reminder that once Mom was a child, too, and not always perfect.
I watched Nonni get up to retrieve more lemonade before I could get it myself—she was always able to anticipate every need of mine before me—and took in her wince of pain. She rubbed her stomach and plucked the pitcher of freshly squeezed juice, laying it on the table.
“Nonni, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
She looked startled, then smiled and shook her head. “No, just a bit of indigestion. I made a pot of that escargot and bean soup I used to love, but beans don’t agree with me anymore.” She made a face. “Gives me gas.”
I laughed. “Can’t be as bad as sitting next to Curt in English class. He farts so bad the teacher needs to open the windows. Even in winter.”
She laughed, too, and poured me a cup. “How are your classes going? Are you ready for finals?”
I shoveled in a forkful of salad, making sure I snagged a green olive. The tangy oil and vinegar with just the right amount of salt and seasoning was my favorite. “I think so. Just not sure about the Regents in Italian. I suck at foreign languages.”
She clucked her tongue but her brown eyes were warm. “Silly girl. You were born to speak the language of our ancestors, but you are learning the proper way. I spoke some of the rough dialect of Naples from my mother. It’s not the same.”
“Yeah, but they make me do all these conjugations and stupid stuff. I’m never going to write a book in Italian. I just want to speak it so one day I can go to Italy.”
She cocked her head and studied me like I’d said something interesting. “Would you like that? To take a trip to Italy?”
I ate more salad and nodded. “Sure. Maybe on my honeymoon or something. How come you never went?”
Her face softened into a wistful expression. For a moment, it made me sad, wondering what types of regrets my grandmother might have. But she always told me she loved her life, even though she missed Pop Pop. Funny, I watched my mother run around trying to rule the world and wondered if she was even happy. With Nonni, she lived more simply and seemed more satisfied. I hated the way my mom rolled her eyes at the stuff Nonni said, like she was making fun of my grandmother because she didn’t run a big business. Like that should equal a person’s worth.
“Time goes fast,” she said with a sigh. “I always wanted to go with Pop Pop and your mom, but I blinked and she was grown up and not interested in traveling with us anymore. We always felt like there’d be time next year.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. It looked delicate and frail, but she squeezed back hard.