Two months later, Lillian was bent over a gigantic map on her lap, trying to make sense of the narrow, twisting Tuscan roads as they found their way from a tiny apartment in Montepulciano to her new job at Maurizio Wines. It was her first day of training as a tour guide and front desk clerk at the inn. She had landed the job as soon as she and Freddie touched down in Rome, jet lagged from an overnight flight. While he was waiting for their bags at the carousel, she had wandered sleepily toward a bulletin board near the exit doors.
There it was—an advertisement for the most perfect job on the planet. Maurizio Wines was looking for an English-speaking American or Canadian for the summer season to cater to the North American tourists. Lillian knew right away that she was the perfect person for the job, having worked the front desk at a resort in Florida for the past four years. She ripped off the phone number, found a pay phone, and called for an interview.
The manager at the winery asked her a few questions and hired her without even checking her references. She ran back to Freddie, who was lifting their bags off the carousel, and shouted, “I got it!”
Three days later, they were on their way to the winery in a secondhand car they had purchased from an old repair shop.
“Take the next left,” Lillian said, looking up from the map and scanning the rolling green countryside. They had just circled around the medieval hilltop town of Montepulciano and were now barreling down another twisty road at a terrifying speed. “And slow down!”
“It’s not my fault,” Freddie replied, glancing repeatedly into the rearview mirror. “It’s that knucklehead behind me. He doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.”
The knucklehead—who drove a shiny red European sports car—roared into the opposite lane, ignoring the fact that they were on a curve. He sped past them and disappeared around another bend.
Freddie took his foot off the gas pedal. “Good riddance to you, buddy.”
“He’s going to get himself killed,” Lillian said.
They continued up a steep, sloping road overlooking vineyards in all directions until they spotted what appeared to be a cluster of stone buildings at the top of the hill.
“That must be it.” Freddie craned his neck to see out the side window, and that was all it took—a moment’s distraction as they reached another hairpin turn.
“Freddie!”
He was too slow to respond. He didn’t make the turn in time and overcompensated with a desperate tug at the steering wheel. Their tires skidded across the pavement, and they flipped sideways. Over they rolled, tumbling and bouncing down the steep, grassy mountainside.
Lillian was belted in, but she felt as if she were being flung about in dizzying circles. Glass shattered and steel collapsed all around them. Surely, the entire world was exploding in a violent, thunderous end to all existence.
When at last they slammed into a grove of poplars and the world went quiet and still, it took a few seconds for Lillian to wake from the shock of the crash and become aware of her heart pounding against her rib cage.
“Freddie?”
She felt no pain. Was she bleeding? No. She was alert. Hyperalert, in fact. Sparks of adrenaline shot through her veins like bullets.
“Freddie!”
He was slumped forward over the steering wheel, and his face was covered in blood. Fearing the worst, she reached out and touched his arm.
He lifted his head and groaned.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Look at me.”
He turned his befuddled gaze in her direction and cupped his nose with both hands. “I think I broke my nose.”
The fact that he was speaking to her in full sentences was a good sign, so she unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and found herself looking straight down the nearly vertical side of the forested mountain. Her stomach spun like a wheel.
“Oh my God. We have to get out on your side. Hurry. Get out!”
He fumbled to unbuckle his seat belt and fought to open the driver’s side door, but it was mangled from their trip down the hill and wouldn’t open. Overwhelmed with panic, he slammed his shoulder against it, but that only made the car rock back and forth, creaking and groaning.
“Stop!” Lillian shouted. “Don’t move.”
Just then, the back door on the driver’s side swung open, and a man peered in at them. “Is everyone all right?” He spoke with a British accent.
Lillian was never so happy to see another human being in all her life. “I think so, but we can’t open the door.”
He glanced over the exterior of the vehicle, then peered in at them again. “Right. That door’s finished. Can you climb over the seat, into the back, and come out this way?”
The man looked at Lillian as he spoke, but Freddie was first to scramble out of the driver’s seat, crawl into the back, and spill out onto the steep slope at the man’s feet.
Lillian crawled out next, her thoughts ablaze with the terrifying possibility that the poplars would bend and snap and the car would tip sideways and fall over the edge of the mountain before she could make it to safety.
“Give me your hand,” the man said. “That’s it. You’re doing fine. Out you come.”
She fell onto her hands and knees, never so happy to see blades of grass up close. Fisting big clumps of them in her hands, she shut her eyes, pressed her cheek to the ground, and breathed in the heady scent of the earth.
A hand came to rest on her back. “Are you hurt?”
She sat back on her heels. When she finally lifted her gaze, she saw Freddie rising unsteadily to his feet beside her and realized she was shaking uncontrollably.
The man who had come to their rescue knelt beside her. His green eyes studied her with concern. “Can you stand?”
“I think so. I’m just a little shaken up.”
“No wonder.” He helped her rise, then spoke to Freddie. “Are you all right as well?”
“I think so.”
The man glanced up the steep slope. “My car is up there. Can you both make it up the hill?”
“I can do it,” Lillian replied.
“Me too,” Freddie said.
The man remained at Lillian’s side, helping her stay balanced as she made her way up to the road and finally to a silver Mercedes convertible parked on the shoulder.
Lillian hobbled toward Freddie, who had reached the top first. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” He was cupping his bloody nose.
“We should get you to a hospital,” she said.
The man stayed close. “I can take you. It’s not far. Hop in.”
Lillian got into the front seat, and Freddie slid into the back. As the man turned the key in the ignition, Lillian shaded her eyes and pointed at the buildings on the hilltop. “That’s where we were going. I’m supposed to start work there today.”
“At the winery?”
“Yes.”
It was madness to worry about her job at such a moment, when Freddie’s nose was bleeding all over his trousers, but she obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.
The man spoke with understanding. “It won’t be a problem. That’s my winery.” He pulled onto the road. “What’s your name?”
Lillian’s heart skipped a beat, and she stammered, “Oh . . . that makes you my boss. I’m so sorry about this. I’m Lillian Bell. This is my husband, Freddie.”