The Lost Art of Second Chances (11 page)

She recognized Babbo’s halting shuffle. She dashed to his bedroom and found his bed empty, his wrinkled sheets washed with silver in the pre-dawn light. She roused her little cousin, Matteo, who lived with her and Babbo after the war claimed his parents. Together they set out to find Babbo. As they walked, Bella pulled her red shawl tighter around her as the dawn seared the mist off the vineyard. Today would be another scorcher. Already, at dawn, the air was still and hot and quiet, too quiet. There were no birds to croon their welcome to the dawn in this war torn wasteland.

“He wakes confused too often now.” Bella scrubbed her palm over her forehead, her fingers pressing against the perpetual furrows she found there. Her father’s mind, like so much else, slipped away in the fog of war.

“The noise of the bombs?”

“There was no bombing last night. He misses my
Mamma
and is confused when she’s not there when he wakes.”

“But . . . your mother has been gone for years.”

“Yes, but, he is an old man. He forgets and his mind retreats to earlier times. When I was a girl, he’d go to the vineyards every morning for his walk. He is doing that again now.”

“It’s not safe.”

She led Matteo to the edge of the vineyard—or what had once been a vineyard before war and neglect ravaged the vines. Babbo stood holding the fence, surveying the devastation beyond. She stepped closer, using the hem of her worn nightgown to wipe the silvery tracks of tears from Babbo’s face. Even in the rosy light of dawn, the wrinkles on his beloved face fell to shadows, grief creating deep furrows in his worn face. His papery, translucent skin felt cold under her palm as she took his arm to lead him home. Somehow, without her noticing, the war made her father an old man.

“Come, Babbo,” Bella said, in a low sing-song voice. They turned together, away from the bright glare of the dawn. She heard a twig snap behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to find Paolo standing at the entrance to the caves, silhouetted against the sun, dressed not in his khaki uniform, but in soft work pants and a shirt as blue as the sky. Bella froze and shook her head. First a ghost and now Paolo. Her vivid imagination played tricks on her. Perhaps her mind was confused that morning. Matteo grinned at her and took Babbo’s hand. “Come on,
zio
, let’s get some breakfast.”

“You see him too?” Bella whispered. Matteo nodded, leading Babbo home. Bella waited until they were out of sight before running to Paolo. He swept her into his arms, crushing him against her, his warmth seeping through her chilled body. They separated, as she stared into his handsome face, joy and wonderment battling through her.

“How are you here?” She cupped his face in her palms, running her hands down his broad, strong shoulders.

“Only for a bit, my beautiful Bella. Just a few hours of leave.” They waltzed back into the shadowy, cool darkness of the cave before he kissed her, deep and possessive. He cupped her breast through the thin night rail, causing her nipple to bud and press against his palm. “Bella, do you think . . . I know the banns have not been read . . . but . . .” Here he stopped to kiss her again before tearing his mouth away. “Would Father Torricelli marry us anyway? Now? Today?”

“We can ask,” Bella smiled at him, happiness bursting through her like the sun through the clouds. “But first, kiss me again.”

Their reunion was as passionate, crazed with need and lust and love and longing, fast and furious. Afterwards, they lay next to each other, on their backs, near the front of the cave, as the fluffy clouds slipped across the morning sky.

“I brought you something, my love. I could not find a ring but perhaps this will do?” She sat up next to him as he clasped a necklace around her neck. “The locket is engraved with angel’s wings. When I saw it, it reminded me of you.”

She leaned over to thank him with a kiss, which soon led to several more. Then he taught her a new way to make love, tugging her astride him in his lap. When they finished, she sat on his lap, cuddled close, happy and content.

“The war will end soon,
mi bellissima
. When it does, we will rebuild Bacio Belladonna, better and stronger than before.”

“My father is slipping away much as the life we lived before is gone.” Bella waved toward the gossamer edge of a fluffy cloud.

“Yes. But the new life we will create together will be just as beautiful, in time.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and stood, offering her his hand. Bella smiled up at him, imprinting the most joyous moment of her life, her handsome Paolo, silhouetted against their vineyard and the wide, Tuscan sky. For the first time, in many, many months, she felt hopeful, joyful, alive and bubbling with the possibilities for the future. She slipped her hand into his broad palm and stood, embracing him, allowing herself to savor the absolute joy bubbling through her.

And then, the earth trembled beneath her feet. She lifted her head from Paolo’s shoulder, as the rumble of jeeps and trucks reached them. Puzzled, she leaned back to see his face.

“Did you bring more . . .?”

Tuscany, Italy
Present Day

“Look, Jack! A rainbow,” Lucy blurted, pointing at the colorful arc peeking through the clouds above the withering vineyards. “Nonna knows we’re here.”

“What happened to my cynical Lucy?” Jack laughed as he pulled into a tiny petrol station. “I’m afraid we’re lost again. Be right back.”

“Maybe I’m changing,” she whispered, as the door slammed shut. They’d spent days searching records, talking to locals, but no one knew of a Paolo LaRosa from Ali d’Angelo. Whatever happened at the town, afterwards, the townsfolk scattered to the winds and never rebuilt. Many people remembered the Rossis and their daughters, Belladonna and Ava. But no LaRosas. No Paolos.

Jack shook hands with the petrol station attendant and waved before climbing back in the car with Lucy. “Any luck?”

“All I know is I’m supposed to turn right at the next fork in the road.”

Lucy ran her hands through her hair and tugged. “Why is this so damn hard?”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out.” Jack leaned over for a quick peck on the lips, a casual gesture of affection more suited to a long married couple. As he put the tiny rented Fiat into reverse, Lucy pressed her fingers over her lips. They’d fallen into comfortable companionship, highlighted by long nights of intense passion together. She would miss him back home. Jack patted her knee and she pushed thoughts about the future away. She needed to learn to live in the moment. “Why don’t you relax a bit? Listen to some music or something? We’ve a ways to go to check out this next lead.”

“I feel like we’re pushing against this immovable boulder. Why didn’t Nonna just leave clear instructions?”

“Not how quests work, my darling.” Lucy leaned her head back on the seat, as the gorgeous countryside flashed past. Some clue dangled, just beyond her conscious mind, maddeningly out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue. They cruised through a tiny town. A group of children dangled and swung from the monkey bars, as nearby an old stooped gardener with a wide brimmed hat, tucked bulbs into a window box to bloom next spring. The children laughed and played, oblivious to his hard work, that he’d once had a life and thoughts and dreams of his own. Just as she’d been with Nonna.

“Why didn’t Nonna tell me this when she was alive? Whatever this is?” Lucy burst out, ripping the earbuds out of her ears. “I could have asked her questions, even brought her here.”

“I think that’s why she didn’t,” Jack said, twining his fingers with hers.

“All my life, I wished Nonna was my mother. She was my best friend . . . .I could tell her anything and now . . . now she’s gone . . . and she left me this task that I can’t seem to complete for her.” Lucy closed her eyes, wiping at the moisture there.

“Hey, we’ll figure this out. Nonna loved you.” Jack pressed his lips to the back of her hand before prying his hand free to drive the car. He swung off to the side of the road, overlooking a burbling stream and a picturesque stone bridge. “Let’s take a break. Some lunch will help.”

After they ate, Jack crunched an apple while she walked down to the stream to rinse her hands. She carried a stone back to show him. She leaned over, brushing a kiss over Jack’s lips, enjoying the sweet taste of apple as she explored his mouth. He cupped the back of her head, kissing her breathless. Lucy smiled at him, enjoying the pretty day and the simple pleasure of being together. She sat next to him and held out the rock.

“Look, it’s shaped like a turtle.”

“I don’t see a turtle. Just an oval rock.” Jack smiled. “You’re so creative, Luce. Always have been. Remember all those crazy tales you’d come up with when we were kids?”

“I found one I’d written out a while ago, complete with terrible illustrations. It involved a dragon guarding a pyramid and he could only communicate with speech bubbles.”

“Sounds like one of the boys’ comic books.” Jack smiled. “Maybe you could be a writer?”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t think so. I always liked cooking and crafting and . . . well, those things are hard to make a career out of, you know?”

“I get it. I should have bucked the old man and gotten my history degrees. But . . .”

“You went to law school to have something to fall back on?” Jack barked out a laugh and nodded. Lucy continued, “Besides, your grandfather and your dad would both have killed you if you didn’t join Hamilton & Hamilton.”

“My grandfather—most definitely. But my dad . . . he might have understood. A couple months ago, I went to get something out of his file cabinet and found all these legal pads, with handwritten pages for a legal thriller on it. Maybe he didn’t want to be a lawyer any more than I did.”

“What would you do instead?”

“I do
pro bono
work at Sunset Manor and . . . I love to listen to their stories. I keep thinking I should write them down. Like an oral history project. My friends Don and Owen fought in Korea but no one’s thought to record their stories.”

“You could do that, Jack.” He shrugged. They tidied their picnic. Before they climbed back in the car, Lucy pulled Jack against her, winding her arms around his neck. She cupped the back of his head and pulled him down for a deep kiss. Jack tasted of apples and the fizzy lemonade he’d drank for lunch. He slipped his warm hand down her back, pulling her tight against him. A passing car honked at them and they jumped apart like guilty teenagers. How would she ever give Jack up when they went home to their normal lives?

Ali d’Angelo, Italy
1944

For the rest of her life, whenever she thought of that day, remembered those blissful stolen moments in the caves with Paolo, Bella always felt she should have known better. Such bliss always tempts fate. Joy that complete and total could never be sustained. The heavy hand of fate finally arrived at Ali d’Angelo that day.

Standing together, in the shadowy dark of the caves, the heavy rumble of laden trucks vibrated through Paolo and Bella as they wound their way up the mountain road, shaking the ground as they climbed toward the little village in the clouds. For four long years now, they’d all seen the ugly, squat jeeps and military convoys trundling down roads and heard the buzzing airplanes overhead. No one other than Paolo’s squadron ever entered Ali d’Angelo.

With only a brief, quick kiss, Paolo dashed toward the village square. Bella paused to grab trousers and a shirt from the hodgepodge of clothing stored in the caves for when the villagers took shelter from the pounding Allied bombs. She hastily donned rough chestnut colored trousers and a too big white button-down shirt. She grabbed her bug-out bag, figuring she’d put her shoes on later before following Paolo toward the center of the village, her still bare feet slipping on the dirt road. Bella ran for the square, assuming Paolo’s men brought more treasures to stash away in the caverns or perhaps the military maps failed and gotten a friendly convoy lost.

A scarlet flag, with its horrible black spider swirl, flapped on the back of a jeep. Her stomach cramped and her lungs tightened as she skidded to a stop.
Nazis? Here, in Ali d’Angelo?

For over a year, as the Germans retreated, the countryside became a war zone. She’d heard tales, whispered by the old women left in the town of horrors and atrocities committed under that scarlet banner. No doubt, Babbo and Matteo would already be captured. Thankfully, Paolo wasn’t in uniform but still . . .

Bella turned and ran for the hills, into the woods, desperate to avoid capture. She struggled to think of some way to free Paolo, Babbo, and Matteo. She couldn’t go towards the caves and lead the Germans to their secret cache. Instead, she dashed into the forest, her heart thumping against her chest, twigs and pinecones catching at her bare feet and ankles as she sucked the cedar scented air into her burning lungs. Having lived there her entire life, she disappeared easily. She didn’t think any of the soliders noticed her.

When she felt certain she was not being followed, she climbed to the tiny grove where Tommaso proposed to her. That long ago day seemed a century ago. She lay on her belly, hidden by the thick cedar trees, cushioned by their fallen leaves, and surrounded by the comforting scent. After her pounding heart slowed and she could no longer hear her pursuers, she crept through the leaves on her belly through the soft ground until she could spy on the square.

The relentless German troops went house to house, corralling everyone left in the village into the square. The Germans laughed and chatted together, in their odd language that always sounded to Bella like barking. They forced everyone to sit waiting in the square, cross-legged in the hot sun all day. The Germans paced around the village, helping themselves to the meager food supplies and lounging around the splashing fountain in the center of the square.

Her wizened father, young Matteo at his side, huddled against the wall of the church. Farther down the line, Paolo sat, his back against the church, his sky blue shirt drawing her eye. Thank God, he wore civilian clothing. She shuddered to think what the Germans would have done if they realized they had an American soldier in their midst. The men sat on one side, the women and young children on the other.
Why hadn’t they run, crept deeper in the caves to hide amongst the treasures, or into the woods?