The Lost Art of Second Chances (8 page)

Bella knew she shouldn’t. But, if she didn’t seize this moment, this opportunity, she’d never get the chance. Lying in her narrow bed at night, she went over every line of conversation in her head, imagined his smile, his touch, and anticipated seeing him again. She wanted Paolo, in a way she’d never even imagined with Tommaso. She needed Paolo’s lips and hands and kisses, for however long it lasted.

Before meeting Paolo, she’d believed she understood lust on an intellectual level. But experience was a whole new teacher. She hadn’t known that lust, twined with the deep friendship they’d built together over the past few months, would be so explosive.

The deprivations of war had worn on her, in ways she hadn’t fully appreciated until now. She wanted something for herself now. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed herself against him and kissed him again.

So here, at last, was love.

Florence, Italy
Present Day

Jack would arrive in Florence on the Feast of Saint Michael the Archangel. Lucy’s tour group arrived the day before, on a warm, early autumn day, the breeze tinted with the rich, loamy scent of the river. By then, after a week of tramping around Italy, with everyone else in the tour group paired off like they were boarding the Ark, Lucy couldn’t bear to see another church or fountain. After she saw Michelangelo’s David, she figured nothing could top that and struck out to explore the city on her own.

After an early dinner, Lucy wandered contentedly to the Fountain of Neptune, licking her raspberry gelato, studded with roasted almonds and luscious bits of berry. Stained green as Lady Liberty in New York from exposure to the elements for five and a half centuries, Neptune towered above the fountain, surrounded by playful horses and writhing sea nymphs. She smiled at a nearby group of playing schoolchildren before tossing her change from her gelato purchase into the fountain. As the coins clinked into the water, she closed her eyes and tried to think of a wish.

She could wish to find Paolo but that seemed more her grandmother’s wish than her own. She could wish to figure out what to do with the rest of her life but that seemed a big wish. Instead, Jenny’s teasing about finding a lover echoed through her head and she laughed. Yes, she’d wish for the man of her dreams.

When she opened her eyes, Lucy glanced around the square. No eligible suitor presented himself. So far, she’d failed dismally at finding an Italian lover to enjoy a madcap fling with, unless you counted falling in love with Italy itself. Old men and teenage boys filled the square—not an eligible man in sight. With a sigh, she turned to the sunset, entranced as always by the ribbons of pink tinged with gold, gilding the world around her. She looked up to see if she could find a star to wish on but they weren’t appearing yet.

After finishing her treat, she rounded the fountain as a tall man, his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder, strolled casually toward her. The light evening breeze rumpled his glossy dark hair. The setting sun obscured his features though something about his gait reminded her of Jack. When he raised his face to examine the ornately carved decor on the nearby building, she realized it
was
Jack.

“Jack!” Her breath whooshed out in a rush as joy filled her, bright and happy as a balloon. She ran to him. He smiled at her before she flung her arms around him. His warm, strong arms embraced her in return and she caught the scent of sandalwood and lime.
Home.
Happiness filled Lucy like champagne bubbles. “I’m so glad to see you. I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I caught an early flight out.”

“Eager to get started on our quest?”

“Indeed. I’ve found some leads. A few things. Old maps.” Jack smiled down at her and Lucy realized she still stood in the circle of his arms. She unwound her arms from his neck and stepped hastily back. “I’m starved. Do you know a good place for dinner?”

Lucy led him to her favorite tiny hole-in-the wall cafe, not far from her hotel. They settled at a table together and ordered antipasti and drinks. They chattered for a while, catching up on her trip and the happenings at home. The proprietor came out to greet Lucy. They chatted for a bit about the day’s special and how he prepared his mussels. She ordered for them both, pulling out her food journal to make a few notes. Lucy’s meager funds hadn’t stretched too much in the way of souvenirs but she’d found a lovely, honey-colored leather journal and treated herself to it.

“I bought this journal on the second day here. I couldn’t remember all the wonderful foods and recipes I discovered. I think my tour guide was getting annoyed with me wrecking her schedule and asking her to translate as I talked to the restaurant owners at every meal.” She flipped through her journal, showing him her notes. She couldn’t get enough of the amazing food and kept finding new and more wonderful local delicacies to try. “I can’t wait to prepare some of the dishes I’ve learned for the book club. Just the seafood alone . . .”

“Italy agrees with you, Lucy,” Jack said, smiling at her. “You have color in your face and . . . well, you look happy.”

“It’s been the trip of a lifetime, Jack.” She smoothed a hand over her flyaway curls. She’d been unable to achieve her usual blown-dry long bob and let her dark hair curl naturally. “I’ve learned so much. Tell me about your research.”

“Okay, so our first task is to find Ali d’Angelo.”

“I haven’t been able to find it on any maps. My mom said Nonna told her it was within thirty miles of Florence.” Lucy pulled out her iPad and queued up her map. Jack stopped her by putting a hand over hers. Awareness danced up her arm and zinged along her skin.
What was the matter with her? This was just Jack
.
She learned a long time ago that he certainly wasn’t interested in her that way.

“Lucy, I can only stay for a week. I need to get back to work. Dad needs my help,” Jack said. “I took some vacation days but I can’t stay indefinitely.”

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your precious vacation time with your boys?”

“They are at the age when spending time with their dad is a penance. Besides, I’ll have them when Jenny goes off on her honeymoon.”

“Does Jenny know you’re here?”

“I think she’s relieved I’m here. She seemed to think you might need some help.”

“It’s kind of like all those adventure games we played growing up, isn’t it? Only this time, instead of pirates or Robin Hood, it’s my crazy Nonna’s game,” Lucy laughed. “I’m sorry she roped you into it.”

“Don’t be. I loved Nonna like she was my own grandmother.”

“She loved you like you were her own. She always wanted us to marry,” Lucy blurted out.
Where had that come from? Was she flirting? With Jack?

“Would that have been so awful?”

Lucy didn’t answer, studiously studying the map. Lucy had enough to worry about without this attraction to Jack resurfacing. Jack was her friend—her best friend from childhood—and that was all. After drinking two cappuccinos each and sharing a plate of cookies between them, they scrutinized the map for over an hour, trying to pinpoint coordinates from Jack’s online research.

“Ali d’Angelo doesn’t appear on this map. It doesn’t appear on any of the maps I’ve found. I need older ones but they are not available online yet.”

“Maybe that’s the old name for it or something.”

“When I first read Nonna’s letter, I thought we’d just take a cab somewhere and walk around a charming medieval town.”

“Guess not.” Lucy lapsed into silence as she surveyed the map.

“It doesn’t seem she left us much to go on,” Jack said. “Do you remember any stories from when you were little?”

“I just remember her saying it was on a hill.”

“There are a few of those hereabout,” Jack said wryly. “Anything else?”

The cafe owner rubbed his drooping eyes and yawned. Lucy glanced around and realized they were the last ones in the place. As Jack packed up his laptop, the cafe owner hefted himself to his feet and came over to collect their dishes. When Lucy tossed on her sweater, she snagged her top button on her grandmother’s locket, triggering an old memory.
Angel wings . . .

“There was some local legend it was near the place the fallen angels fell to earth. Once, when I was small, we went for a walk in the woods, and I found a feather—probably from a hawk or something. It seemed enormous to me at the time. She told me, in her village, when you found a feather like that, it meant the angels had visited to check the fallen ones were still trapped. She said they left a feather from their wing behind. That’s where the town got the name—Angel’s Wings.”

“Ali d’Angelo,” the proprietor murmured, going perfectly still, holding Jack’s coffee cup in mid-air. Both Lucy and Jack looked up at him.

“You know it?” Jack asked. “We’ve been searching for it all this time.”

“You will not find it on any map.” The proprietor shook his head. “It doesn’t exist any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked before Lucy could speak.

“We do not speak of it. It is one of the—how you say in English—horrors of war. All around the countryside, here in Toscana, villages were destroyed in the blink of an eye. Gone forever.”

“Were they bombed?” Lucy asked.

“Some were.” The man shrugged, picking up the basin of plates.

“My grandmother was from Ali d’Angelo,” Lucy said. “We’re here searching for it.”

“There is nothing to find,
bellisima
. A road runs through where it used to be and the rest is all in ruins.” He cleared the dishes away and headed toward the back kitchen area.

“Can we go there? Can we walk amongst the ruins?” Jack called. The owner shrugged and kept his back to them. “How can we do that?”

“You would need to find a guide, someone who knows where the ruins are,” the owner said, still with his back to them.

“It wasn’t that long ago, surely there are people who know where . . .” Jack began and the owner whirled back around, his dishes clattering in the empty cafe.

“You do not wish to go to Ali d’Angelo.”

“Listen . . .” Lucy recognized Jack’s lawyer voice and she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“Did you lose someone there, at Ali d’Angelo?” she asked quietly. The owner’s jaw worked, causing a muscle in his cheek to jump.

“My grandfather and uncle died at Ali d’Angelo when I was a baby. My grandmother and mother would never speak of it.”

“I am Belladonna Rossi’s granddaughter. She sent me,” Lucy said and the owner glanced up, surprise lighting his eyes.

“My mother spoke of the Rossi family, the owners of the vineyards.” Lucy nodded.

He sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “I am Vincenzo Santini.”

“Can you take us there?” Jack broke in and the old man shook his head.

“No, I cannot. But I will ask my grandson to take you, if you are sure you wish to go.” Both Lucy and Jack nodded. “Be here tomorrow morning. Now, I am closing so . . .”

Lucy and Jack departed, unwilling to press their luck any further. As they walked out into the Tuscan night, she realized she’d never asked Jack where he was staying.

“I’m staying at the same hotel as you are. Jenny told me where to book.” He smiled as they walked the short distance to the hotel together, enjoying the balmy night breeze and the velvety sky strewn with stars.

“I wonder why he was so closed mouth about Ali d’Angelo,” Jack mused.

“I guess we’ll find out more tomorrow.”

“I could research more online tonight,” Jack offered.

“You’re good at internet stuff, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.” Jack shrugged. “It’s easier than the way I learned to do legal research. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Hands in his pockets, he strolled down the hallway and out of sight, leaving Lucy to wish she’d asked him inside instead.

Ali d’Angelo, Italy
1944

Over the months of Paolo’s infrequent visits, the crawlspace under the church and the caves beyond gradually filled with higgledy-piggledy piles everywhere, a sultan’s treasure, a cave of wonders. Priceless art stacked like so much rubble. Through her long and difficult days, keeping body and soul together not only for herself but also for her increasingly frail father, knowledge of the secret treasure trove concealed beneath the church and in their vineyard caves, once so full of wine, buoyed Bella’s spirits. Somehow, in the end, they would emerge victorious from the hellish nightmare of war and the treasures of Italy would see the sunshine again.

She still wore the pearl ring Tommaso gave her but even if Tommaso ever emerged from the fog of war he’d disappeared into, she’d never marry him. One rainy Tuesday in late March, a dull, gray spring day that proved that winter still possessed the upper hand, Paolo came back, alone, after an absence of endless weeks.

When she received his summons, she hurried up to the church. He greeted her, taking her hands in his. She squeezed his fingers, thrilling from the warm touch of his hand and stepped back, away from the watchful eyes of the woman who hung Father’s laundry on a line behind the small rectory. To the rest of the village, she still belonged to Tommaso.

“Why are you wearing black, Bella? Did your father . . .” Bella shook her head. Her sister, Ava, killed when her ambulance flipped into a ditch. First
Mamma
and now her only sister . . . She hadn’t much liked Ava but she loved her and wished her back, if only to share the increasing burden of their vacant shell of a father. “My sister.”

She took his hand in hers and guided him into the chilly, bare church. There weren’t even any flowers yet to decorate the dreary altar and vestibule. Hand in hand, they slipped down into the dark storehouse, flipping on a single flashlight when they reached the bottom. Bella stepped away from the stairs and turned into Paolo’s embrace. He cupped her face and kissed her, his strong hands stroking down her back to her waist, pulling her close. With Paolo, Bella felt real, awake and alive, free of the nightmare dreamscape that her world had become.

“Bella,
amore mia
. My mission . . . I’m being sent . . .” Here he kissed her deeply again before wrenching away. “I’m needed elsewhere.”