She had been, hadn’t she? She had been the first runner-up in the Miss Vernal Pioneer Days beauty pageant. The thought made her grin. Even then she had hated the idea of the thing: women being judged like cattle (in fact they were paraded before the judges on the same reinforced plywood stage the cattle were brought up on an hour later; same judges too). But at the time it was what all girls did. She didn’t know which was more pathetic: that she had participated in the pageant or that she now looked to it for validation.
She took a sip of her tea, then set the cup to the side of the tub and stepped into the water. It was too hot, but bearable. She turned off the faucet then let herself slowly slip into the porcelain tub until it covered all of her body up to her neck. Then she bent her knees and slid deeper into the water until it was on her chin. She closed her eyes and let the water soothe her. She just wanted to dissolve into the hot water, like sugar. Into something else. Something that didn’t hurt or tire or bruise. Another day in paradise, she thought. And then, a few minutes later, as her thoughts began to calm, she heard Alessio’s cry.
CHAPTER 8
“Amore la spinge e tira, non per elezion ma per destino.” Love drives on not by choice but by destiny.
—Italian Proverb
Ross had only taken three bites of his dinner when there was forceful pounding on his front door. He got up from his dinner and opened the door to find Eliana standing there. Her hair was stringy and wet and she was wearing a light jacket over a nightshirt. Her face was bent with desperation.
“Can you help me? I need to get my son to the hospital.” She sounded panicked.
“I only have a scooter.”
“My car’s already out front. My son’s inside.” Ross followed her out. A forest green BMW was idling outside the villa’s walls, its headlamps illuminated. She slid into the back of the car, lifting Alessio’s head onto her lap. Ross climbed into the driver’s seat and quickly oriented himself to the controls.
“Hurry, please. He can’t breathe.”
Ross grabbed the gearshift then looked back over his shoulder to turn the car around and saw the little boy. He reminded Ross of a fish fallen out of its tank. The wheezing of his strained lungs was harrowing.
“Breathe, Alessio. Come on, son. Breathe easy, not too fast.” She took an inhaler from a small plastic sack. “You’ll be okay,” she said as she inserted the device into his mouth. “This will help. This will help.”
Ross spun the car around. He pulled out a little too quickly, and the back wheels spewed gravel as the car lurched forward, bouncing over the rough drive.
Ross said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know the way to the hospital.”
Her voice was controlled. “Turn right up ahead. Follow the road to Grassina. You know where Grassina is?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll take the first right turn at the roundabout. Please drive fast.”
Ross pressed further on the accelerator as she turned her attention back to her son. The cabin light was on and she could see that his lips were beginning to turn blue. She was losing him and she knew it. She was staring into her son’s eyes. “Come on, Alessio. Stay with me.”
Ross slowed where the dirt road met the asphalt of the main drive; then he pulled up onto the road. On the narrow but deserted country roads, he pushed the speedometer past a hundred kilometers per hour. Ross converted it in his mind: sixty-two miles per hour and change. Eliana was suddenly quiet, and on a straight-away he stole a glance in the mirror. Her eyes were closed. She’s praying, he thought.
They passed through two townships, where he slowed only slightly for the vacant intersections, then ran the red lights. At the Grassina roundabout he veered right and came around a slight bend. The hospital, a great, gray concrete structure, suddenly loomed ahead. A road sign read, “Ospedale Santa Maria.” Saint Mary’s Hospital.
“The emergency room is up front. The first turn-off.” She pointed. “Right there.” Her voice was now trembling.
He raced the car up to where an orange-and-white ambulance was idling; then he screeched to a stop. Eliana flung her door open and began lifting her son out. Ross ran around the car, taking the child in his own arms. “I’ve got him. Just show me where to go.”
Eliana ran to the emergency doors with Ross after her. She yelled to the women in the lobby, “Mio figlio ha un attacco d’asma, non respira.”
A nurse came running out and waved them forward. Just then Alessio went limp.
“He’s passed out,” Ross shouted. “È svenuto!”
A doctor wearing hospital greens appeared at Ross’s side. He asked Ross in Italian, “Are you his father?”
“No.”
“I’m his mother,” Eliana said.
“How have you been treating him?”
“I’ve given him two doses of albuterol in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Get him into ICU. Nurse, get me an oxygen mask and a nebulizer. I need an IV of SoluMedrol. Get an oximeter on him, subito.”
A nurse placed an oxygen mask over Alessio’s face as they wheeled him into the ICU. Only Ross waited behind, standing outside the door as they all went inside. He stood for a moment wondering what to do before he walked out to the car and moved it from the emergency lane, parking it across the street in a lot. Then he came back in to wait for news.
CHAPTER 9
“Il linguaggio dell’amore è negli occhi.” The language of love is in the eyes.
—Italian Proverb
Ross checked his watch. It was nearly a quarter of one. He sat alone on the vinyl sofa in the front lobby. He had been up since four-thirty and was fighting sleep. He had been at the hospital for nearly two hours and still hadn’t received word on the boy’s condition. It must mean good news, he thought. Hoped.
He had already read every magazine that held any interest for him, and now the lobby was deserted except for a gaunt, weary-looking man in custodial coveralls who dragged a mop across the marble floor. Ross would give it another hour; then he’d find someone with whom to leave her keys. He closed his eyes and lay back on the sofa.
Forty-five minutes later Eliana walked out of the ICU. She found Ross lying on the couch, his eyes closed. He was lightly snoring. She stood by him for a moment hoping he would wake at her presence. When he didn’t, she crouched down next to him. She realized that she had never really seen him up close. Even earlier that evening, standing in the doorway, she had not really seen him, as she had been too worried about Alessio.
His skin was clear but not without flaws and his face was rough with the shadow of beard growth. His hair, slightly curled, fell over his forehead. He had well-formed lips, full for a man, she thought, yet still masculine. Bello.
She reached over and gently touched his arm. His eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to remember where he was.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Ross rubbed a hand across his face then sat up. “Hi. How is he?”
“He’s fine. He’s sleeping now.”
“That’s good,” Ross said, his voice hoarse.
“I’m sorry to leave you out here.”
“I have your keys.” He sat forward in the chair then extended his hand, smiling slightly. “I’m Ross.”
She smiled back as she took his hand. “This is a rather odd introduction. I’m Eliana.”
“Eliana. It’s a pleasure. Here, sit down.” Ross slid over on the sofa. Then he yawned again.
“I was up pretty early.”
“I’m so sorry. Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome. What happened?”
“My son has asthma. He’s been congested the last few days and it triggered a severe attack. Usually the inhalers work, but tonight . . .”
She couldn’t speak and Ross saw that she was completely exhausted. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Then tears began to well up in her eyes. Ross put one arm around her. “It’s okay. It’s your son.”
She laid her head against h
is shoulder and began to cry. Now that the emergency was over, all of her fear released and bubbled forth and she sobbed for several minutes. Ross put his other arm around her, pulling her into himself. When she could finally speak, she said, “It was just so close this time.”
“It was,” Ross said softly. “But he’s okay now. He’s okay.”
It was a few more minutes before she regained her composure and wiped her eyes with her hands. Ross grabbed a Kleenex from a nearby dispenser and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She dabbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know you.”
Ross smiled at her and she thought he had a gentle smile. “It’s okay, we’re neighbors. We americani need to stick together.”
“Thank you.”
“You know, I thought you were Italian.”
“Most people do. My husband is. I’m American. We’ve lived here for six years.”
Something inside of Ross stiffened at the word husband . Up to this point he hadn’t really known if she was married. There had been no sign of another man. Even the landlady had only spoken of the woman and child. Of course she is, he thought, and he didn’t know why it should even matter to him.
She wiped her eyes again, then folded the Kleenex. “I need to stay here with Alessio tonight. If you’d like to take the car back, we’ll take a taxi home.”
“No, I’ll take a cab. There’s a stand out front.”
“It might be hard finding a taxi this time of night. Or morning. What time is it?”
Ross looked down at his watch. “It’s almost two. But I have my cell phone; I can call a taxi. Besides I’d probably just get lost on the way back anyway.”
She looked at him gratefully. “Can I at least give you some cab money?”
“No.”
She sighed. “You’re a real saint. Thank you.”
“I’m no saint. But you’re welcome all the same.” He put his hand in his pocket and brought out the keys. “You’ll need these. Your car’s parked in the lot across the street, near the bus stop on the end of the row, you can’t miss it.”
She took the keys from him, touching his hand as she did, and for a moment she looked at him, as if she wanted, or needed, to say something, but realized that she just didn’t want him to go. She brushed the hair back from her face.
“I better get back to my son.”
“You have a place to sleep here?” Ross asked.
“They brought in a cot.” Her eyebrows lowered in concern. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
He smiled. “It’s no problem. I’ll see you back at the ranch.”
“Okay. Ciao, ciao. Good night, Ross.” She turned and walked back to the ICU. Ross watched her disappear behind the emergency room doors then went out to find a cab.
CHAPTER 10
“L’amore è un erba spontanea, non una pianta da giardino.” Love is a spontaneous grass, not a plant cultivated in the garden.
—Nievo
There were no tours for Ross the next day, which, in light of the night’s events, he was glad for. He slept in until ten then drove to the Uffizi. Francesca was leading a tour, and he accompanied her from the room of the Flemish Renaissance painters to the second corridor, then wandered off alone.
His thoughts were on the previous night and his meeting of Eliana. A voice had been added to the woman he had admired from afar. In the throes of crisis we see either the best or the worst in each other, and he liked what he’d seen. There was something honest about her personality that made her even more beautiful to him.
It was late afternoon when he returned to Rendola. When he got home, Eliana’s BMW was parked next to the shed. He was surprised that she was back from the hospital so soon. He thought to check on her but then decided she probably had her hands full without him, so he instead went into his apartment, dropped his helmet on the ground near the door and exchanged his slacks and sport shirt for gym shorts and a loose-fitting tank top.
He did pushups until he couldn’t do any more, seventy-seven straight; then he went out to jog. It was a warm evening and he completed his run in a little under an hour, past rolling hills of orchards and vineyards and dense forests.
When he got home, he turned on the shower and had just taken off his clothes when there was a light knock on his front door. He put on his robe, tied the sash around his waist, then went out front. Eliana stood in the corridor holding a plate wrapped in foil. She glanced down at his robe. “Buona sera.”
“Buona sera. You came home sooner than I thought you would.”
“The hospital discharged us around noon.”
“Everything’s okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Alessio just needs to take it easy for the next week.”
“Would you like to come in?”
“Thank you, but I better not. I need to listen for Alessio.” Ross saw that her door was wide open. “Did I get you out of the shower?”
“Almost. You knocked just in time.”
“I came over a little earlier but you weren’t home.”
“I was out running.”
She lifted her offering. “Well, I made you some chocolate chip cookies.” She handed the plate to him. “I’m sorry they’re not still warm. We made them yesterday before everything got crazy.”
Ross lifted a corner of the foil. “Real chocolate chip cookies?”
“It’s hard to find chocolate chips here so I cut up chocolate bars. We wanted to welcome you to Rendola.”
“Thank you. Are you sure you won’t come in and have a coffee or a glass of wine?”
This time she hesitated. “I better not. I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for us last night.” Her expression turned serious. “It’s a good thing for us that you were here. You saved my son’s life.”
Ross felt uncomfortable accepting such praise. “No, you and the doctors saved his life. But I’m glad I was able to help. If you ever need me again, just holler. Any time. I know the route now. I’m betting I could shave another minute off my time.”
She smiled. “You drove like a crazy man. How many red lights did you run?”
“Only four. But in Italy they don’t count after midnight.”
Eliana laughed. “No, they don’t.” The moment turned into a pleasant silence for both of them. She twisted a strand of her hair.
“We’d like to do something to thank you. Alessio and I were wondering if you would have dinner with us tomorrow night. I know it’s short notice, so I’ll understand if you have other plans.”
“No plans. Just frozen pizza. It can wait.”
She smiled. “Then how about seven?”
“Seven will be great.”
“Well then, Alessio and I will be looking forward to it. Good night.”
“Good night, Eliana.”
As she walked back to her apartment, a smile bent her lips. She liked the way he said her name. Or maybe she just liked that he knew it.
CHAPTER 11
“Chiusa fiamma e più ardente e se pur cresce.” A silent passion increases more ardently.
—Italian Proverb
The next day was Ross’s busiest yet at the Uffizi. He led four large tours—three groups from the UK and one American. Between his tours, and sometimes during them, he thought about Eliana. On the way home from the Uffizi, he drove his scooter past the villa to the nearby hamlet of Impruneta, where he stopped at a restaurant and purchased a bottle of red wine, then, realizing that he didn’t know the night’s menu, returned and bought a bottle of white as well. He went home, took a quick shower and put on fresh clothes as the Tuscan heat tended to wilt everything before sunset. Even though he usually didn’t give his attire more than a few moments’ thought, tonight he had trouble deciding what to wear. He finally selected a black shirt and jeans. You can’t ever go wrong with black, the woman who sold him the shirt had told him. Black is confident. Black is slimming, she said like a daily affirmation, then added, Not that you need it.
He knocked
on Eliana’s door at the top of the hour. As she opened the door, his first thought was how remarkably different she looked than she had the night before. She was wearing light makeup and her hair was styled, carefully pulled back to accent the curvature of her face. She wore a satin blouse buttoned only halfway up like the young Italian women did and a dark skirt. For a woman naturally beautiful, she was stunning with a little work.
“You look nice.”
“Thank you.” She had been thinking the same about him but the words wouldn’t come. “I must have been a fright the other evening.”
“No, you weren’t. You looked pretty then too.”
It had been a while since anyone other than strangers had told her that, and she blushed. “You brought wine.”
Ross glanced down at the bottles. “Sì. I didn’t know what you were planning, so I brought red and white.”
“You’re very thoughtful. Here, come in.”
Ross stepped inside. The house smelled of sage, oregano, basil and other enticing odors, rich and sweet, that he could not identify.
“It smells buono,” he said.
“It’s not frozen pizza, but you might find something you like,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m running a little behind.”
“You’re right on time for Italy.”
“Vero.” True. “I’m making spaghetti carbonara, and it’s best if you wait to finish it just when you’re ready to eat. I’ll only be a minute. Look around the house, if you like.”
“Thank you.”
As she walked back to the kitchen, Ross surveyed the apartment. It was many times larger than his own and far more luxurious. The foyer opened to a large sala with a vaulted ceiling, a massive, stone-lined fire-place and an ivory-colored piano in the far corner. There were four windows, tall and arched, and they were covered with exquisite drapery, the outer layers in thick velvet fabric with burgundy-and-golden fringe, the inner curtains of sheer silk, glowing amber with the setting sun.