The Lost Art of Second Chances (16 page)

Tuscany, Italy
Present Day

The morning after Jack left, Lucy rose early. She hadn’t slept and felt old—as ancient as the stone walls sprinkled through Tuscany. She got out of bed, all her bones and joints aching like she suffered from the flu, and swung her new red shawl over her shoulders. Dawn sent peach and rose ribbons over the eastern horizon, illuminating the morning mist writhing like ghosts along the ground. She walked though the tiny courtyard at her
pensione
, admiring the way the sun glinted off the silver in the morning mist giving the world a timeless effect. She could be a medieval maiden walking toward morning prayers or an ancient crone in a future dawn. Here she felt unmoored and uncertain.

She and Jack fulfilled Belladonna’s final wish and satisfied this crazy quest. She’d found Paolo, got to meet her grandfather and family, returned her their lost art to its rightful home.

Now she needed to go home and face the rest of her life. Her stomach swooped as she thought of her new blog, her excitement and trepidation in equal measure. Could she really do it? Could she attract readers? Lucy considered all the chestnut recipes she’d learned yesterday. She wanted to try and felt far more excited than she’d been in a long time about anything.

Well, anything except Jack.

She resolved not to think about Jack any more. She’d ended their affair last night and looking back wouldn’t help. Instead, she needed to face her future. She strode through the winding streets until she walked next to a fenced vineyard as the mist ebbed and the sun pushed farther into the sky. In the distance, she saw the outline of the hill she thought was Ali d’Angelo and thought of her grandparents. While they’d had that kind of all-consuming love, it didn’t last. Their love had not had the chance to snuff out like a candle-the way her love with Andrew had— but instead, seemed to burn all the brighter due to their long separation.

Here, in this magic land of forever loves, she and Jack found each other, free from their usual roles. Back home, she feared their passion would suffocate under the weight of their shared past and their everyday lives. Lucy didn’t think she could bear the slow strangulation of another love.

The silvery, spiky frost edged the leaves of the grape vines. Winter was coming. Even now, a chill edged under the breeze. At forty, she was still in the summer of her life gray sprinkled through her hair, more every day. Eventually, winter would come for her too. She didn’t want to regret it when it did.

She walked back to the village, stopping to get a pastry and coffee at the trattoria. Mario wasn’t there so she took her meager breakfast outside to enjoy in the morning sun. She tried not to glance around the square, reminded so strongly of Jack, as she sat at the black wrought iron table, a canvas umbrella flapping above her. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the pain. When their affair began, they’d agreed to limit it to only for their time in Italy. It wasn’t her fault Jack now wanted so much more.

He wasn’t the only one that wanted more. But, if Belladonna and Paolo’s story had taught her anything, it was that you can’t always get what you want, no matter how desperately you might long for it.

“Cousin Lucia.” Mario dropped into the chair opposite her. She stared at his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. Surprised, she tried to recall him drinking from the night before and wondered at his pallor. A hangover, perhaps?

“
Buongiorno
, Mario,” Lucy said cheerfully and he peeked through his fingers at her.

“You have not heard the news?”

“Jack left,” Lucy said, sipping coffee to loosen the tightness of unshed tears in her throat “But that’s okay . . .”

“No, not about Jack. My Nonna died last night.” Mario wept, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, his shoulders shaking in heaving sobs.

“Maria?” Lucy gasped, astounded. Mario nodded but Lucy was already on her feet, heading up the main street toward Paolo’s home. When she received no answer at the door, she walked in. Paolo sat at the kitchen table, vacantly staring out the window, while several women bustled about in the kitchen. When he caught sight of Lucy, he waved the women away.

“Nonno Paolo, I am so sorry,” Lucy said as she sat down across from him, taking his hand. “What happened?”

“She died in her sleep. The doctor says it was her heart. It just stopped.” Paolo put his head in his hand and wept.

Lucy changed her ticket to attend Maria’s funeral, but she chose to depart the day after Maria was laid to rest. Time to go home and face the rest of her life. She missed Applebury. After the service and trek to the small cemetery, Lucy sat with Donatella in the kitchen, sipping coffee, half listening to the girl blather on about boys and school. Her chatter comforted Lucy and reminded her of Juliet. Paolo came in to the kitchen and said something to Donatella in Italian and the girl gave her a brief smile and left.

“My great-granddaughter is at the age when she’s like a bird—always sure everyone wants to hear her song.”

“Juliet, my daughter, is like that.” Lucy smiled and then blinked when she realized Juliet was also Paolo’s great-granddaughter. Maybe next year she’d bring Juliet back to see her ancestral home.

“I am glad you are here, Lucia. I thank you for bringing me news of Belladonna.” Paolo smiled. “Her letter to me meant a great deal to an old man. And to have the missing diNovo restored to us. Our magnificent treasure returned. What a gift this has been. Now, where is your young Jack?”

“He had to leave. Business,” Lucy lied.

“I see. A lovers’ quarrel then,” Paolo said, reminding her of Belladonna.

“He asked me to marry him,” Lucy confessed.

“This is wonderful news!”

“I said no.”

“No?” Paolo stared at her, his gray eyes wide. “You do not love your Jack?”

“I was married. My husband, Andrew, died.”

“You are afraid of this happening again? Like a curse?”

“No, not precisely. My marriage, it was stale. Dying. I think I wasn’t very good at being married.”

“But that was marriage to your Andrew. Marriage to Jack might be different. Did you know Belladonna thought so?”

“Thought what?” Lucy asked, confused.

“In the letter she wrote me. She apologized for never having the courage to return to me even though she loved me her whole life. She also asked me to give you a message, when the time is right. I think that time is now. Belladonna said you should have the courage to follow your heart, to live again, and to love Jack.”

“She said Jack?” At Paolo’s nod, she continued, “But things are so complicated.”

“Life is messy. It is never easy. Don’t miss out just because things are complicated.”

“Nonno, I think . . . I think I messed it up.”

“That boy loves you like I loved Belladonna. I shared a life with Maria. She was a good woman and a good wife. I think this is how it was for your Andrew, yes? You loved him but it was nothing compared to the bonfire of the love you feel for Jack, yes? That type of love you only get once. You should not risk it, my
nipote
. Jack will forgive whatever it is you fear.”

Applebury, Massachusetts
Summer 1963

“When she goes off to college, I won’t miss hearing those Beach Guys every hour of the day,” Tony grumbled good naturedly as he changed for bed, tossing his black socks toward the hamper and missing as he did every damn night. The strains of
Surfin’ USA
poured from Susan’s room, loud even through the closed door.

“Beach
Boys
,” Bella corrected. “I like them. They’re peppy. She’s going to wear out that record though.”

“I can only hope.”

Already dressed for bed, Bella sat at her dressing table, absently rubbing lavender scented cream into her hands. She’d struggled to act normally all day, to act as though the kindly postal carrier had not delivered an emotional bombshell today. She stared at the letter on the table, though she’d already memorized it. Vittorio had returned to Italy to visit his family only to discover that his brother-in-law was a fellow survivor of Ali d’Angelo.

Incredibly, his brother-in-law was Paolo LaRosa. Paolo married the dumpling, Maria Innocenti. They had six children.
Paolo. Maria. Six children
. Her heart hammered and tripped in her chest and her hands shook as she reached to open it, to read again the stunning news. Maybe she could make herself believe it. Her Paolo. Married to the dumpling, Maria. How? She tried to focus on the happy news. Somehow, by some miracle, Paolo survived the massacre and the burning church. Bella closed her eyes against the memories of a blazing Ali d’Angelo.

“You okay? Got a headache?” Tony asked as he slid beneath the sheets.

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him and picked up her hairbrush. “Be over in a minute.”

Always exhausted from running the store, Tony’s snores soon drowned the peppy music. She glanced up at the
Madonna of the Orange Blossoms
painting on her wall and begged for divine guidance. She picked up her pressed rose rosary, a Mother’s Day gift from Susan, and fingered the beads as she stared at the painting, willing herself to be as serene as the Virgin Mother.

In the past eighteen years, she’d become an American matron and raised a wholly modern American daughter. She spoke English instead of the lyrical Italian of her youth. When she’d been desperate and alone, she married a stranger to secure her future. Mother Mary must have been watching out for her that day because Tony proved to be a kind man, a good provider, a devoted father. Bella would even go so far as to say she loved him . . .

But Paolo. Her Paolo, alive and well and . . .

What had she shared with Paolo other than a few nights of passion in a world tortured by war? And an enthusiasm for art? And a daughter?

Susan started college in a few short weeks. Paolo knew nothing of his eldest child. Honoring Tony’s sole request, she’d never told Susan the truth of her parentage. Tony was a wonderful father, though they’d never been blessed with more children. There’d been a time, over ten years ago now, that Bella thought she might finally give Tony another child. But, God had not seen fit to bless them further. Even though Tony was not Susan’s biological father, she was much like him. Sometimes Bella saw Paolo peeking through, in her smile or her eyes or the tilt of her head and the shape of her mouth. But, mostly, she was Tony’s daughter. Always Tony’s girl.

Bella wanted nothing more than to drive to Logan and buy a ticket home to reunite with her long-lost love. But, Paolo had a family. His youngest child was not yet three. How could he run away with her? The streetlamp highlighted the silver strands in Tony’s hair as he slept. How could she leave him now? After the life they’d built and the daughter they’d raised together.

Now, at just over forty, Bella needed to put away the foolish dreams of her youth. True love does not, in fact, conquer all and there are circumstances that couldn’t be overcome. Sometimes honor was more important than love.

A car backfired outside and Tony sat up in bed, startled. Even now, all these many years after the war, loud noises still troubled him. She climbed into the bed next to him and he snuggled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. Bella stretched, luxuriating in his warmth against her chilled body.

“I was thinking today. We never did get to go on that honeymoon.”

“We’ve been talking about for years.” Bella smiled at him.

“Now that Susie-cakes is going off to college, how about we go to Italy? You can teach me all about art.”

Italy
. The temptation nearly undid her. If she went to Italy . . . what? What would happen? Nothing but a middle aged woman chasing her lost love. Bella shook her head. “Let’s go to Alaska instead.”

“But you’ve never wanted to go to Alaska.”

“But you have.” She clasped hands with him and guided his strong hand to her breast. She settled it on there, over her nightgown, distracting him. And if she spent the next few moments imagining Paolo, well, Tony would never be the wiser. He might even be grateful.

Applebury, Massachusetts
Present Day

“What the hell happened over there? Jack’s acting like a bear with a sore tooth . . .” Jenny greeted her at Logan as Lucy struggled into her tiny car with her luggage.

“Thanks for picking me up.” Lucy hugged her, securing her sunglasses over her face. “All set for your big day?”

“Don’t try to distract me.” Jenny must have seen something in her expression, in the set of her mouth, and she relented. “Can you believe it’s this weekend?”

She flung the Mini Cooper into traffic, and Lucy struggled to adjust to the noisy bustle of modern life as Jenny chattered about the wedding all the way home. In just over an hour, they made it back to her apartment, Lucy managing the luggage while Jenny hauled Frankie’s cat carrier upstairs. They clomped up the steps. Inside, the apartment smelled musty and unused, the same canned tuna beige as before, depressing in the dim light. Though the apartment had provided a safe place to land when she’d tumbled out of her safe, staid life in suburbia, Lucy knew it no longer fit her now. Inside the door, Jenny knelt and let Frankie out of the carrier but only managed to get a quick pat in before he dashed for the safety of his favorite under the bed hiding spot. Jenny helped her pull the luggage inside and dropped it in the tiny foyer.

“I have souvenirs for everyone but no idea where I packed what.”

Jenny waved that away and commented, “Barb and I stocked some bread and milk for you.”

“You are such wonderful friends.” Lucy walked into the tiny galley kitchen, with its pristine white counters and cabinets. She patted the cellophane covered sandwich loaf with its garish primary color logo. Her eyes filled as she remembered tearing rustic bread with Maria for
panzanella
.

“Luce, what is it?”

“I was thinking of Maria.”

“Your grandfather’s wife?”

“Everything over there is just . . . authentic. In a way that things can’t be here. It’s simpler. I ate some of the most incredible food of my life there. I made
panzanella
with Maria. It’s just day old bread, tomatoes, basil, some olive oil. Simple, rustic. But still transcendent.”