It was an old flip phone, circa the turn of the century. Diana had had one of those . . . once. Back in the olden days, those and BlackBerries were high-tech.
At least it wasn’t the size of her forearm, but still . . . what kind of features did something like that have? The sinking feeling turned to outright nausea. This was bad. Really bad. “You don’t have anything newer?”
The woman stared at her, uncomprehending.
She didn’t have time for this. Besides, something was better than nothing. “Fine. Can you hook that up to my service so that I can get it to work?”
Again, the woman stared. Diana’s shoulders slumped, and she was ready to call it a day, when a voice in the back said, “I can.”
A younger man with a full head of dark hair and a tan came out of the back, picking up the phone. “You’re American, yes?”
She nodded as he looked her over, feeling herself blushing. He was probably about her height, a good six inches shorter than Evan, and yet he had the face of a movie star, the only signs of age a few creases at the corners of his eyes. Her breath caught.
“Lost your phone, eh?”
“Yes.”
He picked up the cell phone and inspected it. “You’ll need a SIM card from the carrier but I can get you set up. Usually, we don’t get people wanting new cell phones around here. Especially with FastWeb Cellular right down the street.”
“Oh—” She looked around. She knew she had to have been taken to the wrong place. As she wondered if it would be impolite to tell him no thanks, he spoke again.
“But you know what, I think these little babies have something special to them that the new phones don’t. People these days are too into their phones. They don’t look around to see what is going on.” He held up the flip phone. “This is just what it’s supposed to be. A phone. That’s all.”
Just what it’s supposed to be. Right. A phone. Not a lifeline.
She’d gone on this trip to assert her independence. To learn the ancient art of relying on oneself. What was so independent about being tethered to a piece of electronic equipment?
Besides, the man was right. She’d lived almost half her life without a cell phone, and life had been a lot different then. Freer. More fun. She remembered fondly the days of paper maps, of pulling over to the side of the road to chart a course with a highlighter. It was much more adventurous, exciting, heading out, not knowing every little thing about your destination.
Which was exactly what Diana had attempted to accomplish, first with her itinerary, and now with her phone.
As the man behind the counter worked on the phone, a little chill passed through her. Could she live without a smartphone, using one that was only good to put in the occasional call to her kids?
Maybe.
Was it possible? Well, she guessed she was about to find out.
The man handed her the phone. “You’re all set. You remember how to use one like this?”
She stared at it, remembering those days of the early 2000s, when she’d had one just like this. All she’d used it for was phone calls, usually meetings, on her drives into and out of New York City, before driving and talking on cell phones had been outlawed. Nobody texted back then, because texting took forever. Pictures were grainy and terrible. Really, a phone call and voicemail was all it was good for.
And maybe that was just what she needed.
If only she could let herself believe that.
She took it and handed him her credit card. “Thank you. It looks great.”
As she turned and walked away from the counter, she noticed a rack with brochures and maps to various local attractions near the door, sandwiched among a dusty eight-track console and an ancient bullet-shaped refrigerator. She lifted out a brochure which included a map of downtown Florence. Yes, this would do very nicely. And, bonus—she didn’t have to worry about it running out of charge.
When she stepped outside, she smiled. Really, who cared if it rained when she was out exploring? She’d never melted before. This would be fun. And that was what she’d come to Europe for.
*
A few moments later, she walked past the cell phone store again, trying to tell herself that it was only the old Diana who needed an iPhone.
But this was the new Diana. The Diana who rolled with the punches. Who let fate take her around, like a feather on the wind.
As she walked, she came across the Palazzo Vecchio, the town hall of Florence, a square, stone palace with its remarkable high tower stretching into the sky. She stared up at it, gazing at the remarkable architecture, and noticed the statues flanking the front entrance. She nearly tripped over another person, trying to get a better look at the one to the left. Wait . . . was that Michelangelo’s David? It certainly looked like it, though in pictures, it’d never had quite so much pigeon poop on it.
She looked at the map, then back at it. It was a replica. Turned out, the actual David statue was at the Accademia, several blocks northward. The map was written in Italian, but from what she could tell, this used to be the spot where the actual statue once stood.
She’d have to get to the Accademia, eventually. But right now, as she studied the map and the location of the nearest attraction, something far more exciting caught her eye . . .
Following the road signs, she traveled down another block, following the Arno River, until it came into view.
Her breath caught.
There it was.
CHAPTER THREE
She nearly tripped on the uneven stone of the old street, so fascinated was she by the sight.
It was the Ponte Vecchio. Tourist trap or not, this esteemed, romantic, thousand-year-old bridge had been on her bucket list since she was a little kid, even since she’d first heard about it in grade school. Once, she’d even imagined her husband-to-be putting a lock on the bridge to profess his love for her, or buying an engagement ring for her at one of the many jewelry shops, dropping to his knee and proposing to her, right on this spot.
But right now, she didn’t need any of that. She was just excited to be here, in a place she’d only dreamed about and seen from the screen of her cell phone.
Yes, the man at the electronics store was absolutely right. There was so much out there to see, which couldn’t be experienced with a cell phone. This totally beat any experience she could have with her cell. The brightly colored shops, sandwiched together in the center of the Arno, beckoned to her, making her heart do a little dance in her chest. She picked up the pace and fell in line with a large crowd of tourists, all flocking to the area.
In the confines of the narrow bridge, she inhaled the scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee, which had to be better than what it had smelled like in the thirteenth century, when it was nothing but butchers and tanners who took up residence here. It was the Medicis, in the fifteenth century, who moved the silver and goldsmiths into the shops, transforming the area to what it was today, a mecca for shoppers. She looked up at the second floor, which she’d read was now an art gallery. In the Medici era, though, it’d been a secret passage, for the royalty of the Renaissance era to cross the river.
That little piece of history was all so fascinating, but what thrilled her more was actually, finally, after so many years of dreaming . . . being a part of it.