Love & Gelato (5 page)

“He'd just lost his wife, Anna Maria. She was a nice lady, but real particular about how she kept house—one of those who puts plastic on all the furniture? Anyway, my husband, Clint, had passed a few years earlier, so that's why we were both there on the singles cruise. They had great food—just mountains of shrimp and all the ice cream you could eat. You remember that shrimp, Hank?”

Hank didn't appear to be listening. I sped up and Gloria did too.

“There were a bunch of horny old dogs on that boat, just nasty things, but lucky for me, Hank and I were assigned the same table for dinner. He proposed before the ship had even docked—that's how sure he was. We got married just two months later. Of course, I'd already moved in, but we really rushed things because we didn't want to be, you know . . .” She paused, looking at me meaningfully.

“What?” I asked hesitantly.

Her voice fell an octave. “Living in sin.”

I looked desperately around the cemetery. I either needed to find Howard or someplace to vomit. Maybe both.

“First order of business was ripping all the plastic off that furniture. A person's got to live without their buttocks sticking to the darn sofa. Right, Hank?”

He made a guttural noise.

“This is sort of like a second honeymoon for us. I've wanted to visit Italy my whole life, and now here I am. You sure are a lucky duck, living here.”

Quack, quack,
I thought.

The road curved and a small building appeared just ahead of us. It was right next to the main entrance and had a giant sign that said,
VISITORS CHECK IN HERE
. Easy to confuse with
VISITORS, FIND THE NEAREST HOUSE AND THEN YELL THROUGH THE WINDOWS.

“I think this is it,” I said.

“Told you,” Hank said to Gloria, breaking his silence.

“You didn't tell me anything.” Gloria sniffed. “You just followed me around like a lost puppy dog.”

I practically ran for the building's entrance, but before I could reach for the handle, the door swung open and Howard stepped out. He was wearing shorts and flip-flops, like he planned to catch a flight to Tahiti later.

“Lina. I didn't think you'd be awake yet.”

“These two came looking for you at the house.”

Gloria stepped forward. “Mr. Mercer? We're the Jorgansens from Mobile, Alabama. You probably remember my e-mail? We're the ones who wanted a private,
special
tour of the cemetery? You see, my husband, Hank, has a real love for World War II history. Tell them, Hank.”

“A real love,” Hank said.

Howard nodded thoughtfully, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, there's just the one tour, but I'm sure Sonia would be happy to take you. Why don't you two head inside and she'll get you started.”

Gloria clapped her hands. “Mr. Mercer, I can hear you're a Southerner yourself. Where are you from? Tennessee?”

“South Carolina.”

“That's what I meant. South Carolina. And who is this lovely young woman who came to our aid? Your daughter?”

He paused for a nanosecond. Just long enough for me to notice. “Yes. This is Lina.”

And we just met last night.

Gloria shook her head. “Glory be. I don't think I've ever seen a daddy and his daughter look quite so different. But sometimes it's like that. I got this red hair from my great-aunt on my mother's side. Sometimes the genes just skip a few generations.”

We both looked at her skeptically. There was absolutely no way Gloria's red hair had come from anywhere but a box, but you had to admire her commitment.

She squinted at me, then turned to Howard. “Is your wife Italian?” She pronounced it “Eye-Talian.”

“Lina's mother is American. She looks a lot like her.”

I shot him a grateful look. Present tense keeps things a lot less complicated. But then I remembered his and Sonia's conversation on the porch, and I turned away, sucking my grateful look right back into my eyeballs.

Gloria put her hands on her hips. “Well, Lina, you just fit right in here, don't you? Look at those dark eyes and all that gorgeous hair. I'll bet everyone thinks you're a local.”

“I'm not a local. I'm just visiting.”

Hank finally found his voice. “Gloria, let's shake a leg. If we keep chatting like this, we're going to miss the whole dang-blasted cemetery.”

“All right, all
right.
No need for strong language. Come on, Hank.” She gave us a conspiratorial look, like her husband was a little brother we were all being forced to hang out with, and then she opened the door. “You two have a good day now. A-river-dur-chee!”

“Wow,” Howard said when the door had closed behind them.

“Yeah.” I folded my arms.

“Sorry about that. People don't usually go to the house. And they're usually a little less . . .” He paused, like he thought he could come up with a polite word to describe the Jorgansens. Finally he just shook his head. “Looks like you're headed out for a run.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. It was such a habit to get dressed this way I hadn't even thought about it. “I usually go first thing.”

“Like I said, you're welcome to run through the cemetery, but if you want to get out and explore, just head out those front gates. There's only one road, so you shouldn't get lost.”

The visitors' center door opened again and Gloria poked her head out. “Mr. Mercer? This
woman
in here says the tour only lasts thirty minutes. I specifically requested two hours or longer.”

“I'll be right in.” He glanced at me. “Enjoy your run.”

As he walked away I impulsively stepped forward so I could see both our reflections in the glass door. Gloria may be ridiculous, but she hadn't been afraid to point out the obvious. Howard was well over six feet tall with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. I had dark features and had to buy all my clothes in the petites section. But sometimes genes just skip a few generations.

Right?

I jogged out the front gates of the cemetery and crossed through the visitors' parking lot. Right or left? I guess it didn't matter. I just needed to get away from the cemetery for a while.
Left. No, right.

The road that ran past the memorial was only two lanes, and I stuck to the strip of grass along the side, picking up my pace until I was almost at a sprint. I could usually outrun disturbing thoughts, but this one was pretty hard to shake.
Why don't I look anything like Howard?

It was probably just one of those things—I mean, lots of people look nothing like their parents. Addie was the token blonde of her family, and there was this guy I'd grown up with who was taller than both his parents by the sixth grade. But still. Shouldn't Howard and I look at least a
little
bit alike?

I kept my eyes glued to the ground.
You'll adjust in no time. He's really a nice man.
That from my grandmother, who as far as I knew had never even met Howard. At least not in person.

An enormous blue bus went whooshing past, sending a blast of hot air into my face, and when I looked up, I gasped.
What the
 . . . ? Was I running through a scene from an Olive Garden menu? It was so
idyllic
. The road was lined with trees and curved gently past rustic-looking houses and buildings painted in soft, buttery colors. Patchwork hills stretched out into the distance and there were honest-to-goodness vineyards behind half the houses. So
this
was the Italy people were always talking about. No wonder people were always losing their minds over it.

Another vehicle came roaring up behind me, honking loudly and jolting me from my Italian moment. I sprang away from the road and turned to look back. It was a small red car that looked like it was really, really trying to come across as more expensive than it was and as it neared me it slowed down. The driver and his passenger both had dark hair and were in their early twenties. When we made eye contact, the driver grinned and started honking again.

“Calm
down
. It's not like I'm in your way,” I said under my breath. The driver slammed on his brakes, like he'd somehow managed to hear me, then came to a stop right in the middle of the road. Another guy, maybe a year or two older, rolled down the window of the backseat, a big grin on his face.

“Ciao, bella! Cosa fai stasera?”

I shook my head and started running again, but the driver just pulled ahead a few yards, coming to a stop on my side of the road.

Great.
After four years of running I knew all about this breed of guy. I don't know who told them that “out running alone” was code for “please pick me up,” but I'd learned that telling them you weren't interested wasn't enough. They just thought you were playing hard to get.

I crossed to the other side of the road and turned toward the cemetery, taking a second to tighten my shoelaces. Then I inhaled deeply, hearing an imaginary starting pistol in my mind.
Go!

There was a shout of surprise from the car. “
Dove vai
?”

I didn't even look back. If properly motivated I could pretty much outrun anyone—even Italian men in cheap red cars. I'd scale a fence if I had to.

By the time I got back to the cemetery the guys had passed me twice more and then given up, and I'm pretty sure even my eyelids were sweating. Howard and Sonia were standing with their backs to the gate, but they both turned quickly when they heard me. Probably because I sounded like an asthmatic werewolf.

“You weren't gone long. Are you okay?” Howard asked.

“I . . . got . . . chased.”

“By who?”

“A car . . . full of guys.”

“They were probably just smitten,” Sonia said.

“Wait a minute. A car full of guys
chased
you? What did they look like?” His jaw tightened and he looked toward the road like he was considering charging out there with a baseball bat or something.

It kind of made up for the
She's so quiet
comment.

I shook my head, finally catching my breath. “It wasn't really a big deal. I'll just stay inside the cemetery next time.”

“Or you could run behind the cemetery,” Sonia said. “There's a gate that leads out behind the grounds. Those hills would probably give you a great workout, and it's beautiful back there. And there'd be no cars to chase you.”

Howard still had steam curling out of his nostrils, so I changed the subject. “Where are the Jorgansens?”

Sonia grinned. “There was a bit of a . . . conflict. They opted for the self-guided tour.” She pointed across the cemetery to where Gloria was marching Hank past a row of headstones. “Your dad was just telling me he wants to take you into Florence for dinner tonight.”

Howard nodded, his face finally decompressing. “I was thinking we could walk around the Duomo and then get some pizza.”

Was I supposed to know what that was? I shifted from one foot to the other. If I said yes, I'd be agreeing to what was sure to be an awkward dinner alone with Howard. But if I said no, I'd probably be stuck here in the exact same scenario. At least this way I'd get to see the city. And the Duomo. Whatever that was. “All right.”

“Great.” His voice was enthusiastic, like I'd just told him I really
really
wanted to go. “It will give us a chance to talk. About things.”

I stiffened. Shouldn't I be allowed some sort of grace period before I had to deal with whatever big explanation Howard had in store for me? Just being here was already putting me into overload.

I turned to wipe the sweat off my forehead, hoping they wouldn't see how upset I was. “I'm going back to the house.”

I started to walk away, but Sonia hurried after me. “Would you mind stopping by my place on your way? I have something that belonged to your mother, and I'd really love to give it to you.”

I stepped sideways, putting an extra six inches between us. “Sorry, but I really need to take a shower. Maybe some other time?”

“Oh.”  The space between her eyebrows creased. “Sure. Just let me know when you have a minute. Actually, I could just—”

“Thanks a lot. See you around.”

I broke into a jog, Sonia's gaze heavy on my back. I didn't want to be rude, but I also
really
didn't want whatever it was she had for me. People were always giving me things that belonged to my mother—especially photographs—and I never knew what to do with them. They were like souvenirs of my previous life.

I looked out over the cemetery and sighed. It's not like I needed any more reminders that things had changed.