A Year at 32 September Way Read online

  A Year at 32 September Way

  by Mary Ylisela

  Copyright © 2012 by Mary Ylisela

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Edited by Kathryn Ritcheske

  From the Author of:

  Jumpstart Your Day: 101 Daily Motivations for Freelancers

  Jumpstart Your Day: 40 and Forward

  Dedication

  To loved ones and friends who give me the courage to be an adventurer and make the road of life one worth traveling.

  And to Bella Italia, my muse and my heart’s desire.

  Acknowledgements

  When you pick up a book, you really only see the author’s name, but there are so many behind-the-scenes people who help to make the words in the author’s head a reality on paper. Thank you to my family and friends who listened to my story ideas with enthusiasm and lent me a an ear when I was stressed. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Heartfelt thanks and appreciation go to my editor, Kathryn Ritcheske. Katie, you’re my right arm and my dear friend, and your unwavering belief in my work means more than words can say.

  The characters portrayed in this book are not based upon real people.

  Chapter 1

  Carlisle read the email one last time while nervously nibbling the last bit of nail from her index finger. Her eyes deftly scanned the message for a sign that the decision she was about to make was the right one. As promised, Signor Benedetto had sent her the email two days ago to confirm her apartment lease for one year starting in September. Since then it had sat unopened in her inbox while Carlisle hemmed and hawed about whether or not she should go. That is, until this morning. Moving to Italy for a year was a big step but she’d come to the realization that, at this point in her life, she had nothing left to lose.

  Her eyes glanced over the body of the email once more in between sips of steaming hot coffee. Signor Benedetto outlined the basics of the lease agreement in perfect English, unlike the garbled, hard-to-understand correspondences she’d received from other potential landlords. At the bottom of the email was the address of the apartment she’d live in:

  Via Settembre 32

  Verona, Italia

  Carlisle reached to the upper right hand corner of her desk without taking her eyes off the computer screen and felt the breeze from the small open window gently brush against her skin. It wasn’t raining this morning, unlike most mornings in Seattle, and she drank in the fresh, mossy air from the surrounding forest. She pulled the English-Italian dictionary out from beneath a stack of novels whose plots centered in Italy—all testaments to the adoration she felt for the country, even though she’d never actually been there. Her fingers moved deftly over the pages until she came to the Vs. “Via,” she repeated to herself, “means ‘way.’”

  Again, she flipped through the dictionary to locate the words that started with “S.” “Settembre, Settembre…,” Carlisle murmured quietly with her best attempt at a roll of the “r.” “Settembre,” she found, was Italian for “September.”

  In that moment, it was a done deal. Carlisle was born in the month of September, and her apartment in Italy was located at 32 September Way. In three months, she’d spend her 39th birthday in Italy. She’d found her sign. With a sigh of relief and a smile on her face, Carlisle typed a quick note of confirmation to Signor Benedetto, ending it with “I look forward to spending a year at Via Settembre 32.” Suddenly, life was looking a little bit better.

  As she reached over her desk to put the dictionary back in its place, Carlisle noticed the piece of worn paper sticking out from between the pages of another book. Knowing the words she’d find on it, her right hand remained suspended in mid-air between where she sat and the corner of the desk where the novel lay. After a moment’s hesitation, she gently slipped the folded piece of paper out from between the book’s pages and unfolded it. She needn’t have done so, as she already knew every word by heart. The creases had become a permanent part of the paper, and one edge showed the slightest bit of yellowing. Carlisle unfolded the paper and allowed her eyes to glance over the two words at the top of the page: “Accident Report.”

  “I know what will happen next if I keep reading,” Carlisle thought out loud, “and I won’t go there. I can’t.” She gently folded the paper and replaced it between the pages of the book. Her eyes focused on the tall, thick tree trunks standing like sentinels at the edge of her backyard, and Carlisle willed them to anchor her to the present. Physically shaking off the sadness she could feel welling up inside her, she stood up and pushed away from the desk. “There’s no time for this now; I’ve got a new life to get ready for. The past has got to let me go.”

  ***

  It seemed like forever, but the wait had only been six months. Finally, it would come to an end today. When Nicolette awoke at 9am, she saw the long-awaited text from Josh, “Decision finally made. Meeting at 1pm. Will text or call u later.”

  She took her cup of green tea out to the patio overlooking the vast courtyard that trailed off toward the valley and the mountains behind it. The terra-cotta tiles felt cool against her bare feet. As she went through her morning yoga routine, Nicolette allowed her mind to wander to Paris. Of the three locations Josh had mentioned as possibilities for the next film, Paris was number one on her list, with London and Dusseldorf trailing far behind. In fact, Nicolette was so smitten with the idea of living the Paris life with cafés, shopping and culture that she’d even begun taking an online course in French.

  “The power of positive thinking,” Nicolette repeated as a mantra throughout her yoga routine. She sat in the Lotus position preparing to meditate, then closed her eyes and with every exhale whispered “Paris.”

  Initially, she’d been very upset when Josh told her the studio would be relocating them for a year. Josh knew Nicolette wouldn’t be thrilled by the news, so he’d broken it gently over a bottle of rosé from nearby Napa Valley. “One year in Europe, sweetheart,” he’d said. “It’s only one year, and think of the adventure! You’ve always wanted to live in the city, surrounded by culture, hustle and bustle. Now’s our chance to do just that in London, Paris or Dusseldorf.”

  The next afternoon, Nicolette had swapped out her meditation session with some research time on the computer. She’d looked up information on the three cities Josh had mentioned as possibilities and quickly determined that none of them was exactly perfect. All three locations had more rain and gray weather in one season than northern California saw in a whole year. But at least Paris offered the benefits Nicolette sought in the city life. “Paris, it is!” she’d exclaimed to herself. And from that point on, she’d focused all her positive thoughts on life in Paris. Surely it would happen because almost everything went as she planned. Maybe not living in the valley; that had definitely not been in her plans. But almost everything else always went her way.

  One o’clock came and went. Nicolette figured she’d receive Josh’s text message by 3pm, but it never arrived. At 5 she called his cellphone, listening to it ring endlessly with no answer. Finally, after 6, he walked through the front door. “I’ve been trying to reach you!” Nicolette huffed as she strode toward him. She leaned forward to kiss him. “Tell me now, when do we leave for Paris? It’s Paris, right? I just know it is!”

  Nicolette watched her husband shift from one foot to the other while his black leather messenger bag swung from his rig
ht shoulder. He’d been preparing for her reaction the whole way home, knowing there would be no way to make things easier for himself. Finally, he just blurted it out. “There’s been a change of plans, and a different location has been chosen. We leave for Verona, Italy in September. An apartment has been arranged.”

  Nicolette’s jaw dropped as she attempted to speak, but she couldn’t make a sound. Her small, delicate hands moved about as if they could encourage the words to come out. Instead, her jaw just opened and closed without a sound. Josh ran his left hand through his sandy blond hair. “Enjoy the moment while you can, buddy,” he thought, knowing that this was merely the calm before the storm.

  ***

  At the age of 32, Charles felt old beyond his years. On more than one occasion he’d wondered when he’d ever have the chance to live life his own way. Lately, it seemed the thought never left his mind. He’d had a strict upbringing before being sent off to boarding school. While Charles was away at university, his father had arranged for him to begin an internship at one of London’s most prestigious banks. “You’ll be a fine banker, one day, my boy,” his father had told him his entire childhood. Any other career ideas were immediately dismissed, leaving Charles to feel like nothing more than a puppet on a string for his father, the puppeteer.

  For twelve years, Charles had invested long hours into his work and had been rewarded by rapidly climbing the ranks of the London banking world. He was still one of the youngest executive bank managers in London and was well-respected within the business community. Being a banker hadn’t been all bad for Charles, even if it hadn’t been his first choice. He owned a beautifully appointed flat in one of London’s finer neighborhoods, a walk-in closet full of the finest designer suits and shoes, and a mahogany-paneled library filled from floor to ceiling with the books he adored.

  Charles was the first to arrive to the bank every day and often the last to leave. Since there was no one waiting for him at home, he figured he might as well stay. If he were honest with himself, Charles would have to admit that there’d been no one in his life beside his parents for nearly five years. But he was seldom honest with himself because it was too painful. His father had orchestrated nearly every aspect of his life, and the last relationship fiasco had left Charles embarrassed beyond words. He had felt that Emma was the woman for him, but his father had disagreed. After he’d broken off their engagement, Charles escaped the emptiness in his life by immersing himself in work.

  Finally, years of putting in 14-hour days had paid off, and Charles was promoted to executive branch manager. It was during his first meeting with the district manager and other newly hired executive branch managers that Charles learned of the opportunity to take a one-year sabbatical after he’d invested a couple years’ time in his new position. Since beginning his career, he’d barely gone away on vacation for more than two weeks, and those vacations were usually spent with his parents. “It’s a silly thought,” muttered Charles to himself as he dismissed the idea of taking a year-long sabbatical. What would he do for an entire year, and where on earth would he go? But the seed was planted and, from time to time, Charles found himself dreaming about the possibility of leaving London and his lonely, boring life for a full year.

  One Sunday a year after his promotion, on a chilly autumn day, Charles mentioned the possibility of a sabbatical to his parents over mum’s weekly roasted lamb and potato dinner. Ever the meeker one of his parents, Charles’ mum simply looked at her husband and awaited his reaction.

  Stanford Winsdorth calmly placed his fork and knife on the table. At 65 years of age, he was still an imposing man who exuded British upper-crust society with every breath. He cleared his throat and looked across the table at his son. “Charles, my boy, I’m afraid a sabbatical would be a terrible career move for you just yet. You’ll have to wait on that idea.” With that, the elder Winsdorth picked up his fork and knife, and they all resumed eating in silence as if the idea had never been presented. The decision had been made, and Charles’ life would be destined to remain the same.

  But winter slowly gave way to springtime in London and, once in a while, the idea of another life wormed its way back into Charles’ mind. On the first Monday of springtime, Charles arrived earlier than usual at the office. A new assistant had been hired, and he was to meet her at 8 o’clock sharp. Sofia was a young Italian woman who’d attended university in London. Bright, ambitious and a quick learner, she soon learned to anticipate Charles’ every need. Although Charles was strictly business, he listened with interest when Sofia occasionally talked about Italy. She’d been born and raised there and returned home one weekend each month to see her family and satisfy her need for the vibrancy of the city she loved—Verona. “You should go sometime,” she suggested to Charles one Monday morning as she regaled him with stories of her latest trip home. “You could use a little Verona in your life.”

  It was quite a bold statement for anyone to make to someone as serious and business-like as Charles. Somehow, Sofia was the only person who could get away with making it. In the months he’d worked with her, Charles had come to respect Sofia and value her work ethic. He also noticed her passion and excitement for life and felt curious about it. What was it that made her feel that way, and could he possibly ever have that same enthusiasm toward life?

  “No, I couldn’t. It would be a terrible career move for me right now,” scoffed Charles as he echoed the decision his father had made for him a year earlier. “What on earth would I do in Verona, anyway?”

  “You would live, Charles. You would simply live,” replied Sofia.

  A few months later, Charles’ one-year sabbatical was approved and, with Sofia’s help, he’d found a nice apartment not far from the center of Verona. With three months to go before his move in September, Charles had still not informed his parents of the decision to take the sabbatical after all. “I’ll tell Father next Sunday over dinner,” he told himself each week. But one Sunday after another went by, and Charles would find himself still trying to muster up the courage to share his news. The closer he got to September, the tighter the proverbial noose felt around his neck. “It’s time for me to leave,” Charles said to himself. “This isn’t living.”

  ***

  Eva lifted one pale pink rose from the vase and lifted it to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy fragrance, allowing its sweet scent to transport her from the surrounding grayness of Dusseldorf back to the sunshine and warmth of Italy. It was there she’d been given the same roses for the first time by her sweetheart. “Red roses are too common for you,” he’d whispered. With eyes still closed, Eva allowed herself to linger in the memory and his arms just a little bit longer.

  A beeping noise from across the room drew Eva back to the present. She opened her eyes and strode toward the bedside table where her cellphone alarm told her it was time to go. University was finished for the year, and Eva had proudly collected her finance degree. But, as was customary in her family, she was taking a year off between finishing university and entering the business world.

  Her siblings and other relatives on the Kretschmann side had all left Germany and headed to New York or Florida for a year. Eva planned to follow suit and had already found a few apartments she liked in New York City. But that was before she’d spent last summer in Italy and met Marcello. Since then, everything had changed.

  They say true love has a way of grabbing ahold of your heart the minute you come face to face with it. Eva had always been fickle with the boys back home, but there was no chance for that with Marcello. From the first moment, he’d been everything her past boyfriends had never been…warm, open and emotionally expressive, and he’d made her feel like the woman she always knew she could be. Even the first glass of wine with him felt like a romantic adventure. Marcello drew out the best in her and, with him, she never felt as if she had to hold back.

  Three months in Bardolino had gone by fast, and soon Eva had to return to Dusseldorf to resume her studies. On her la
st night in Italy, Marcello had wined and dined her at the best restaurant in a nearby town. Between sips of the delicious locally made rosé wine, he had slipped Eva a small jewelry box containing a thin gold chain with a pink topaz rose dangling from the end of it. “For my sweet rose,” Marcello had whispered as his lips brushed hers.

  Eva reached up and fingered the necklace that hung around her neck as she drove to her appointment in Dusseldorf. That last night in Italy, Marcello had adorned her bed with pink rose petals and made love to her the way she knew only he could. It was hard to say goodbye the next day, but they consoled themselves knowing that there would be frequent visits.

  During the past year, Eva had returned to Italy every six to eight weeks to spend a weekend with Marcello. On her most recent visit in April, he had told her about a new business venture his family was getting into. As one of the perks, he had a small apartment at his disposal and wondered if Eva would like to come and live in it for a year. “We will see how it goes, my sweet rose,” Marcello had said to her in his sexy Italian accent. “Maybe after a year you will decide you want to be with someone younger.”

  Eva had immediately shushed him; their age difference had never been an issue for her. Perhaps Eva’s father might not approve of his daughter being involved with a man who was two years his senior, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d accepted Marcello’s offer and looked forward to spending an entire year closer to him. Her parents weren’t thrilled about their daughter going to Italy, but they’d have been even less thrilled if they’d known a man was the reason for her change of plans. The youngest of the Kretschmann children had always been strong-willed, yearning for adventure. At least Italy was less than a two-hour flight away; if something happened, they’d be there for their daughter in no time.