Love & Gelato (35 page)

And that was something.

I picked up the journal. It was time to finish.

JUNE 19

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
I had that song lyric written on a piece of paper above my desk for almost a year, and only today does it actually mean anything to me. I've spent the entire afternoon wandering the streets and thinking, and a few things have become clear.

First, I have to leave Italy. Last September I met an American woman who's trapped in a terrible marriage because Italian law says that children stay with the father. I doubt Matteo will ever want anything to do with our baby, but I can't take that chance.

And second, I can't tell Howard how I feel about him. He thinks I've already chosen someone else, and he needs to keep thinking that. Otherwise he'll leave behind the life he's created for himself for a chance to start things with me. I want that so badly, but not enough to let him give up his dream of living and working in the middle of so much beauty. It's what he deserves.

So there it is. In loving Howard, I have to leave him. And to protect my child, I have to put as much distance between her and her father as possible. (Yes, I think it's a girl.)

If I could go back to one moment—just one—I would be back at the tower, a whole world of possibility ahead of me. And even though my heart hurts more than I ever thought it could, I wouldn't take back that sunrise or this baby for anything. This is a new chapter. My life. And I'm going to run at it with arms outstretched. Anything else would be a waste.

The End.
The rest of the journal was blank. I slowly turned to the front cover and read that first sentence one more time.

I made the wrong choice.

Sonia had been wrong. My mom hadn't sent the journal to the cemetery for me—she'd sent it for Howard. She'd wanted him to know what had really happened and tell him that she'd loved him all along. And then, even though she couldn't go back and change their story, she'd done the next best thing.

She'd sent me.

I PRACTICALLY FLEW BACK TO
the cemetery. I was incredibly nervous, but I felt light, too. No matter what Howard's reaction was, it was going to be okay. And he deserved to read her story. Right this second.

Daylight had totally transformed the cemetery, taking it from washed-out to vibrant, and I ran diagonally across the grounds, cutting through a batch of headstones and ignoring my blossoming side ache. I had to catch Howard before he started working.

He was sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, and when he saw me he stood up in alarm. “You aren't being chased again, are you?”

I shook my head, then came to a stop, struggling to catch my breath.

“Oh, good.” He sat back down. “Do you always sprint? I thought you were more into long-distance running.”

I shook my head again, then took a deep breath. “Howard, I have to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Do you know you're not my father?”

For a few long seconds my words hung in the space between us like a bunch of shimmering soap bubbles. Then he smiled.

“Define ‘father.' ”

My legs gave out and I stumbled toward the porch.

“Whoa, whoa. You okay?” He put his hand out to steady me.

“Just let me sit down.” I fell to a seat on the porch step next to him. “And you know what I mean by ‘father.' I mean the man who gave me half my DNA.”

He stretched his legs out long in front of him. “Well, in that case, no. I'm not your father. But if you go with another definition, meaning ‘a man who wants to be in your life and help raise you,' then yes. I am.”

I groaned. “Howard, that's sweet and everything, but explain yourself. Because I have spent the last twenty-four hours completely confused and worried about hurting you, and you've known all along?”

“I'm sorry about that. I didn't know you had any idea.” He looked at me for a moment, then sighed. “All right. You up for a story?”

“Yes.”

He settled in, like he was about to tell a story he'd told a million times. “When I was twenty-five I met a woman who changed everything for me. She was bright and vibrant and whenever I was with her I felt like I could do anything.”

“You mean my mom, right?”

“Let me finish. So I met this woman, and I fell completely head over heels in love with her. I'd never felt that way about anyone before—it was like I'd been looking for her all along and just hadn't realized it. I knew I had to do everything in my power to make her feel the same way, so I started by being her friend. I took an Italian class I didn't need just so I'd have some extra time with her—”

“The beginners' class?”

“Shh. Lina, listen. We took Italian together, I sat in on the rest of her classes, and I even worked my way into her circle of friends. But every time I tried to summon the courage to tell her how I felt, I turned into a blob of Jell-O.”

“A blob of Jell-O?” I said incredulously.

“Yes. You know, the gelatin—”

“I know what Jell-O is!” Apparently “good guy” does not equal “good storyteller.”

“What I mean by that is that I liked her so much it literally tongue-tied me. And then I found out I was too late. While I was bumbling around, carrying her books to class and pretending I liked to go out dancing, some other man had swooped in and carried her off.”

“Matteo Rossi.”

He flinched. “How do you know his name?”

“I'll tell you later.”

He hesitated. “Anyway. I told myself that if this other guy was someone great, someone who really cared about her and made her happy, I would leave it alone. But I knew Matteo, and I knew what he was really like. Unfortunately, your mother was blinded by him for a long time, and even though we tried our hand at a relationship, she ended up choosing him. That's how you came to be—her relationship with Matteo. But when your mom got sick, I was the one she asked to step in. And so I did. Because I loved her.” He nudged me. “And you're kind of growing on me too.”

I groaned again. “Okay, nice story. But you got some of it wrong, and why did you and my grandma tell me you're my father if it isn't true?”

“I can see now that that was wrong, and I'm sorry. I wasn't planning to at first. Your grandmother and I started communicating after Hadley passed, and a few weeks in I realized that your grandmother assumed I was your father. I knew it wasn't true, but I worried that if I told her the truth, she'd change her mind about sending you, and your mother had made me promise to bring you here. I also thought it might be better for you. I thought that if you believed I was your father it would make you more likely to come here and give me a chance.”

“Except I was a total brat.”

“No. Under the circumstances, you were actually pretty great.”

“Liar.”

He smiled. “I guess I just didn't know what else to do. Your grandfather was already struggling, and I didn't know what the situation was with Addie's family. I was worried you wouldn't have anywhere to go. So when your grandmother asked if she could tell you that I'm your father, I said yes.” He shook his head. “I planned to tell you sooner rather than later, but after that night at the pizzeria, I thought I'd let you settle in first. But you don't seem to be much of the settling-in type. I should have known you'd see right through it.”

“You're like twice as tall as me. And you have blond hair. We look nothing alike.”

“True.” He paused. “So now it's my turn. How long have you known?”

“About a day.”

“How did you find out?”

I picked up the journal from the steps and handed it to him. “This.”

“Your journal?”

“No, it's my mom's. It's the journal she kept when she was living here.”

“This is
her
journal? I noticed it looked similar, but I thought it was just a coincidence.” He turned it over in his hands.

“She wrote about everything that happened between her and Matteo. Only for most of it she just called him X, so at first I thought I was reading about you. But then you didn't know about the secret bakery.”

“Wait a minute. The secret bakery? The place Ren asked me about?”

“Yeah. He was trying to surprise me by figuring out where it was.”

“So Ren knows about all this too?”

“Yes. He actually helped me track down Matteo.” I looked away. “We, ah, met him.”

He levitated like half a foot. “You
met
him?”

I kept my gaze on the ground. “Uh-huh.”

“Where?”

“Rome.”

He was looking at me like I'd just told him I was actually half-ostrich. “When did you go to Rome?”

“Yesterday—”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, we took the express train. First Ren picked me up. Then we went to FAAF and I called Francesca—”

“Francesca Bernardi? How did you even know about her?”

“The journal. She told me what Matteo's last name was and we found him online and went to his art gallery and it was . . . well, a disaster.”

His mouth was literally hanging open. “Please tell me you're joking.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I'm not.”

He rubbed his hand across his chin. “Okay. So the two of you tracked down Matteo. Then what? Did he know who you were?”

“He made up this story about my mom being crazy and faking her journal. It was ridiculous. I mean, we look exactly alike and he just kept telling me that he'd never had a relationship with her. We ended up just booking it out of there.”

Howard blew the air out of his mouth. “Your mother would kill me. Here I thought you and Ren were just out eating gelato and going dancing, but you were tracking down your father in another city?”

“Yes. But I won't do that again,” I said hastily. “It was kind of a one-time deal. Unless you're hiding something else from me . . .”