Love Storm (43 page)

The last day of school found Leo and I packing up our room. We would spend one last night at the school, then everyone would be leaving the following day.

"Where's my second suitcase?" Leo asked me.

"Uh…how am I supposed to know?" I said, distracted with trying to figure out a way to make all my shirts fit in my duffel, because I knew there wouldn't be room for them in my other suitcases. I had tried folding them, rolling them up, laying them flat, squishing them together until they were all wrinkled, but it just seemed impossible to fit that amount of clothes in such a small space. I wondered how I had managed it the first time.

"Fu-aaaaak.
Where
is my frickin'
suitcase
, Zack?" Leo demanded irritably, checking his closet, then crossing the room to check mine. I had learned that when he was angry or tired or feeling some other extreme emotion, his light Southern drawl became more pronounced.

"It's not going to be in my closet," I pointed out with raised eyebrows, running a hand through my dark curls.

"How do I know you didn't decide to jack it just to make me look everywhere for it?" he retorted. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he stopped and we looked at each other.

"Langston," we said in unison.

"That little dip-shit!" Leo exploded. "I'm gonna kill him! I did
not
just spend half a frickin' hour looking for
my
suitcase that he jacked –" He stormed out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

I grinned a little and continued packing. It sure would be a boring summer without Leo and the guys.

I took the opportunity to drag my big suitcase out of my closet. I dug under the formal clothes my mom had insisted I would need (there never was an occasion where I had) and felt that light happy feeling that always came around whenever I looked at the letters Winter had sent me. They were numerous, and took up quite a bit of space just by themselves. Our communications were now more friendly exchanges than anything else, though they weren't lacking in depth. We wrote about anything we could – how life was at the present, old childhood memories, what we would do if we could, dreams and hopes, favorite things and worst pet peeves; the list went on and on. I learned the most random little facts about Winter – she loved white chocolate mocha, wanted a dog but didn't like cats, had enjoyed watching Magic School Bus as a kid, couldn't understand what the hype about Lord of the Rings was, and hated her counselor, Mr. Bower, with a passion. I could have spouted facts about her forever, and I didn't doubt that she could do the same of me. The only good thing about the coming summer was that there would be more time to write to her, and she had promised to write more to me as well.

The next day consisted of one last breakfast at the mess hall, rushed goodbyes to Langston and Darius and Andy and Leo, all of whom had given me phone numbers and addresses where I
would be able to contact them along with promises to get together sometime during the summer if it was possible (somehow I didn't think it was, as we would all be in different corners of the globe), a bus ride to the airport, a flight into Florence, and a taxi ride to my parents' house, which I saw for the first time.

If I thought my house in Branner, California was big, it was
nothing
compared to my parents' house. I swear, when the taxi pulled up in front of the house (if it could even be called that), both the driver and I were speechless. I had to double check the email my father had sent me that I had printed out, to make sure this was the right address. The taxi driver and I got my heavy luggage out of the trunk and he left me there, standing out front and feeling slightly intimidated by the sheer size of the place. It was either quite a large mansion or quite a small castle, I couldn't decide which.

I dragged all my stuff to the front door – it took two trips – and rang the doorbell. A lady in her mid-thirties who I had never seen before answered.

"
Si?
" she said, glancing at me curiously.

"
Questo è la residenza di Signore e Signora Crowne, corregge?
" I asked, just to make sure.

"Yes, of course," the lady responded in English. "You must be Zackary. Come in, come in. Welcome."

"Thank you," I said, scratching my head as I stepped forward. "Sorry if I sound rude, but…who are you?"

"I work here," she smiled at me. "I'm Fiona. I'm your parents' housekeeper. They informed me that you would be arriving this afternoon."

"Uhm, yes," was my highly intelligent answer. "So…are they home?"

"No," she said cheerfully. "They'll be home probably at around six. Come in."

"I have a lot of stuff," I said, gesturing to my luggage behind me and picking up two of them. "Where should I put it?"

"Oh, don't be silly, put that down," Fiona said, waving her hands at it. "I'll get Jason to bring it up to your room." She reached past me to press an intercom button, and said into the speaker, "Jason, can you come to the front door please?" Her voice echoed through the house.

"Who's Jason?" I asked, wrinkling my nose. Who
were
all these people?

"Another member of the house staff," she said in explanation. "Get used to it. There are a lot of us. You didn't think your parents could keep this house well-kept without help, did you?"

"I guess not," I said.

"Would you like anything? A drink, something to eat? Do you need to rest for a while in your room?" Fiona asked me eagerly.

"No, I'm okay, thanks," I said.

"You look like your mother," she said, cocking her head slightly. "She is a very beautiful woman. You are definitely her son. You don't look like your father at all."

'I'm glad I don't,' I thought, but didn't say aloud. "Yeah," I agreed, looking around the foyer. "How big
is
this place?"

"Pretty big," she said. "Would you like a tour? I can arrange to have Giraldo show you around."

I accepted. Giraldo was a man in his fifties who spoke English with a heavy Italian accent. I spoke Italian with him because it seemed easier. He informed me that he was one of the cooks. '
One
of the cooks?' I thought.

As it turned out, "pretty big" was an insufficient phrase to describe the mansion, because it was definitely bigger than that. If I counted right, there were at least twelve bedrooms, many of which had balconies and all of which were bigger than my room back in California, all the bathrooms needed to go with them, a huge game room which looked quite unused that would have been the envy of any of my schoolmates, an enormous garden out back that appeared to have a fish pond and a grove of lemon trees plus a swimming pool and Jacuzzi that joined to one of the three kitchens, a fancy study that I assumed was my father's, and multiple luxurious lounges and living rooms. It took Giraldo and me a full hour and a half to get through the whole house.

As Fiona had informed me, my parents arrived home at six. When I heard the sound of their car pulling up, I darted upstairs and lost myself in the labyrinth of rooms. Finally I found the bedroom Jason had brought my luggage into, and decided to hang around in there until it was time to eat. Dinner, which was announced by a tinkling bell sound on the intercom, was at eight-thirty and was already on the table when I found my way into the
correct
dining room (there were three), and my parents were already seated.

"You're late," my father snapped as I sat down.

This was the first time he'd seen me in months, and the first thing he says to me is "You're late"?

I scowled at him. "You have three dining rooms. I didn't know which one was the right one."

"This is the one we always dine in," he said, as if I were supposed to know that.

"O
kay
," I said, picking up my fork. "I didn't know."

He shot me an icy glare, which I returned.

Someone cleared their throat across the table and I turned to glance at my mother.

"It's nice to see you again," she said with a warm smile, her golden eyes sparkling with happiness. "Isn't it, Joshua?" She subtly nudged my father.

He just grunted in response.

She gave him a little frown, and turned back to me with that smile still in place. "How was school? Did you like it there?"

I nodded, not quite up to responding, using my food as an excuse to not talk. But, when she looked at me expectantly, I mumbled, "It was good. I liked it. I even made some good friends."

"That's wonderful," my mother said, starting in on her dinner also. "Who are they?"

I held back a sigh and made conversation with her. She
did
seem genuinely happy to see me again, while my father's glare became more and more obvious as dinner progressed.

"What?" I finally said as he and my mom were having their after-dinner coffee. By this point he looked like steam was going to spout from his ears at any moment.

"Nothing," he muttered darkly, fingers twitching on the handle of his cup.

I gave him a strange look and said flatly, "I'm tired. May I be excused?"

"Go get some rest," my mother said kindly. "I'm sure you must be tired from your flight."

"Yes, go get some sleep," my father put in, now smiling slightly, a frosty smile. Somehow I knew I wasn't going to like what was coming next. "Tomorrow you're coming with us to the office."

Chapter 29: Acts of Rebellion

June 12th
Dear Winter,
I thought you said you were going to send me one of your Morp pictures, or at least one of the pictures your mom took when you were in Hawaii. You did say they turned out well, right?
I just finished school yesterday. This is my first morning in Florence at my parents' house. It's
enormous
. You can't take three steps down a hall without getting hopelessly lost. I don't know how the house staff manages it. That's right – there's actually a
house staff
. What is up with that? And the rooms actually have names; some really fancy ones that I can never remember. By the time I learn how to get around here, it'll be September again and it will be back to school for me.
I pissed my dad off even before he saw me. He wanted me to go with him and my mother to their office today, but somehow she convinced him to give me two more days off before we got into all that. So now I have two days to do whatever I want, as long as I stay on the property. I thought at first that school over in Milan was bad, but now I think I'd rather be there, with Leo, Darius, Andy, and Langston, than here, by myself with nothing to do and nowhere to go and no one to be with. Of course it goes without saying that most of all I wish I were in California with you, or that you were here, because I know you'd have fun exploring this huge house. I would have too, but it's no fun at all to snoop around alone.
You know what I'm really craving right now? – A hot dog, with ketchup and mustard and relish. It's funny (and really random), because I never used to like hot dogs all that much, but I've realized that when you can't have something, it suddenly becomes this craving that you can never satisfy. It becomes the most important thing in the world, and…it gives you the emptiest feeling. Damn, I wish the cooks in this house knew how to make a good American hot dog. If I ever get out of this hellhole, the first thing I'm going to do is catch a plane to the nearest American airport and get a hotdog.
The only good thing about this house is that I've found this huge sunroom in the east wing, near the smallest kitchen that opens to the patio by the pool. The sunroom has the nicest Yamaha piano I have ever seen. It's even better than the one I have at home in Branner, and that's really saying something, because my piano at home is
nice
. The one here is one of those concert size pianos, and it's unbelievably long, but it gives you the most amazing sound. I found other instruments in the sunroom too – there are two violins, a viola and cello each, and three guitars, among others. I haven't had time to look that deeply into the rest of the instruments, but I found out today that it's not just an idle rumor that the Italians make the best string instruments.
My mother collects dried flowers. She presses them herself, and makes them into bookmarks, or frames displays of them. After you get used to them, they're actually quite nice to have around. She took the day off work today to stay home with me (I don't know why), and she showed me what she calls "her section" of the library – she puts all her in-the-process-of-being-pressed flowers in the reference section. She actually asked about you, too. Somehow she pried out of me the fact that we're exchanging letters, and she told me to send you this. Enclosed is one of her favorite flowers; I forget the name of it, and I'm pretty sure it's not allowed to send flora from a foreign country into the US, but I doubt the US Postal Service will confiscate this letter and burn it for the safety of our ecosystem. Hope you like the flower.
Other than all that, nothing new has happened. It's really hot over here. I think I'll take a swim later in the afternoon or something. I know this letter is uncharacteristically short, but for once I can't find anything else to write about. I promise I'll send a much longer letter next time; you might even get two in quick succession. Write soon. I hope your summer has started off better than mine.
One more thing – I like the sign off you've been using lately. You don't know how glad I am that you're "affectionately mine".
Sincerely yours,
Zack