A Year at 32 September Way Page 11

  The crowd let out a low gasp and began to murmur as they witnessed a small movement below them. They heard a quiet groan became a terror-filled scream and then, just as suddenly, the screaming stopped. Eva lifted her head and pushed herself up enough with her hands to be able to see around her. From her vantage point a few inches above the ground, she could see only the back of a rumpled coat that looked black as ink against the red puddle pooling out from under its edges.

  Her mind scrambled to remember the details of the violent scene that had played out before her. Eva remembered seeing Marcello and Carlotta arguing a short distance down the boardwalk. She remembered seeing something shiny come out of Carlotta’s pocket, then remembered the terror she felt when she realized it was a gun.

  “Who was shot?” she wondered. The growing pool of blood was too far away to be hers. It wasn’t her, she realized with momentary relief.

  The details were starting to get jumbled in Eva’s head as she gulped the cold lake air between sobs and tried to clear her head. Who’d been wearing a black coat? Images of Carlotta and Marcello flashed in her head, and she tried to slow them down long enough to remember what each of them was wearing. With her mind’s eye, Eva looked at Marcello again, standing with his back to the lake in his black business coat. Her gaze turned toward the memory of Carlotta in that scene and immediately saw the jet-black hair flying in the wind. She was wearing a black coat, too.

  “Oh, my god,” Eva wailed, “Marcello. Marcello, is that you?” The sirens were so loud now that they rang in her ears. Inching forward through the pool of blood, Eva reached the jacket and grasped it with her hands. With a gentle tug she was able to pull the jacket out of the way enough to see the jet-black hair with the few strands of gray she’d recently teased Marcello about. “Oh god, Marcello. Marcello, say something. Marcello, I’m here. It’s me, Eva. Say something, darling. Don’t go away. Don’t leave me.”

  A police officer knelt down beside her, and Eva could see the paramedics rushing over to Marcello. “He’s not answering me!” she screamed at the officer. “He’s not answering me!”

  “We need to make sure you’re okay, Miss,” the officer said in a calm voice. “Let’s get you to the other ambulance so we can make sure you’re okay.”

  ***

  “I don’t know where she is, Nicolette,” Carlisle explained, “It’s not like her to be late or not call.”

  “Well, we’ll leave a note by her door. You’ve left her several voice messages. There’s nothing else we can do. Except to go out and have a good time. And I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer this time, either,” Nicolette responded.

  Carlisle relented, and the two of them walked away from the front courtyard toward the center of Verona. She was worried about her friend; very worried. Eva was punctual, if nothing else. On the rare occasion she couldn’t make it, she always called and apologized profusely. No, she would never be a no-show. Not unless something was wrong. A small knot started to form in Carlisle’s stomach. It was the same sort of knot she’d had the morning Will and Anna left for the campout in the redwoods and never came back.

  Without even realizing they’d been walking the entire time, Carlisle snapped back to reality just in time to hear Nicolette say, “What do you think? You’re so nervous tonight anyway.”

  “Sure,” Carlisle murmured, having no clue what she’d agreed to.

  “Perfect,” Nicolette chirped happily, “Wait right here; don’t move.”

  Carlisle’s mind drifted back to Eva as she wondered where her friend was and why she wasn’t answering her phone or returning any calls. The knot in her stomach continued to grow, and her head was starting to spin as thoughts of what happened to Will and Anna started intermingling with what she imagined had happened to Eva.

  Little beads of sweat were just beginning to form across Carlisle’s forehead when Nicolette returned. She grabbed Carlisle’s arm and said, “C’mon, girl. Come with me.”

  Anxiety was beginning to rise from the knot in her belly and force its way through her chest. She could barely breathe as Nicolette led her down a narrow side street and into a restaurant bathroom. It was hot in the bathroom, and Carlisle could hear her heart beating in her ears. “I have to get home,” she thought out loud.

  “Nah,” replied Nicolette, “I’ve got just the thing to clear that nervousness out of your head. You won’t have any worries in a few minutes, honey.”

  Carlisle looked down to see the tiny gold spoon her friend was holding, filled with a fine white powder. “Just breathe it in fast,” Nicolette said as she scooped the spoon up to Carlisle’s nostril, plugged the other one and said, “Inhale fast!”

  “Are you crazy?” Carlisle said as she stepped back.

  “Hey, this stuff will make your life here so much better. Trust me,” Nicolette said as she reached out to touch Carlisle’s arm.

  “My god, Nicolette; are you serious? My life is fine here. I don’t need drugs to make it better. Your poor husband.” Carlisle glanced around, unable to believe what was going on around her. One thing was for sure; this nonsense had certainly been enough to snap her back to reality.

  “Does Josh even know you’re out here doing this stuff?” she questioned her neighbor.

  “I have a right to enjoy my life, too,” Nicolette spat back. “I have the right to make the kind of friends I want, and that’s clearly not you!”

  “Clearly not,” Carlisle answered calmly as she pushed past Nicolette and made her way through the streets back to Via Settembre 32. Her thoughts returned to Eva, who had become a true friend. Where was she? What had happened to delay her return to the apartment? Striding back home, she hoped her friend was okay. Eva would never believe what had transpired with Nicolette this evening. Their instincts about the tall, Hollywood-glamorous woman had been right…something odd was indeed going on with her.

  “Poor Josh,” Carlisle muttered to herself. He seemed like such a loving and devoted husband. She wondered how a guy like him had ever wound up with a woman like Nicolette.

  ***

  The early afternoon storm had passed, as Charles hoped it would. An open-air concert in the arena wouldn’t be enjoyable for anyone if the wind was whipping around and the sky was threatening rain. Nor would it set the stage for a first romantic evening together for him and Sofia. Now, as he walked through the shop-lined cobblestone streets toward the old Roman amphitheater, snow began to fall, landing lightly on Charles’ coat before melting away.

  He smiled to himself. A light dusting of snowflakes would lend itself well to the intended mood of the evening. Glancing down at his watch, he noted that he’d be dreadfully early and began to slow his pace. He relived his previous phone conversation with Sofia in his mind as he’d done many times throughout the week.

  “I wonder if I might take you out for a special evening,” he’d said to her as they ran out of small talk.

  “Oh?” Sofia responded with a bit of playful curiosity in her voice. “What kind of special evening?”

  “I’d like it to be a surprise, if that’s okay with you. We could meet in the Piazza Bra, at the small café where we had cappuccino a month or so ago.”

  “Yes, I remember the place. Oh, why not, Charles? I’d enjoy that very much.” They planned their meeting time and place, and then Sofia had to leave abruptly because she was still at the office working late.

  Charles arrived at the café twenty minutes early. There was plenty of time to sit down, enjoy a cappuccino and people-watch for a little as he waited for Sofia. After finding a seat and ordering his drink, Charles found himself daydreaming about Sofia. He couldn’t help but smile. So many wonderful things had happened since his move to Verona. His friendship with Sofia was blossoming, and there was hope for more. He’d met his neighbors and was beginning to form some friendships there. The Italian language was coming more easily to him, and he’d grown more comfortable using it with the local shop owners and vendors in the open-air market.

  All sense of t
ime faded away until Charles noticed a line forming in front of the arena across the street from the café. Sofia hadn’t yet arrived. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly 7:15pm. She wasn’t usually late; a twinge of nervousness formed in the pit of his belly, but he brushed it aside. The show would start in fifteen minutes; something must be holding Sofia up.

  For the next ten minutes, Charles phoned her repeatedly, growing increasingly frustrated and anxious each time it went directly to voicemail. He stepped away from the queue of people and leaned against the cold stone of the arena while looking over the crowd for any sign of Sofia. The butterfly returned to his stomach, this time bringing several more with it.

  Big, fluffy snowflakes fell over the crowd and settled on the ground. Under better circumstances, the piazza would have looked like a holiday picture postcard or a scene from a Dickens novel. But all Charles could see was the way his hand trembled as he clutched the two tickets and glanced down at the slush pooling around his feet.

  “Time to go home, chap,” he’d whispered to himself. “Time to face the truth.” It was clear he’d been stood up. Sofia must have figured out that he wanted to be more than friends and decided not to come. It was understandable. She was a young, beautiful, vibrant woman who could have the pick of the most wonderful men in Europe. How on earth had he ever imagined she might be content with the likes of him?

  Charles trudged slowly down the street with the two tickets still clutched in his trembling grasp. He realized he’d been a fool to think, to hope, she might ever want to have anything more than a friendship with him. He could never allow overconfidence or an inflated sense of self to lead him to make that mistake again.

  The bells in the church tower tolled once to indicate that it was 7:30pm. Somewhere on a nearby street the sound of Christmas carols rose as a small group began singing with enthusiasm. They barely registered in Charles’ mind as he struggled to block out his father’s voice reminding him that his place was with the bank in London and all other things in life must wait. Charles had wanted so much to believe there might be something else for him in life, something more than 14-hour workdays and an empty apartment to come home to. Perhaps he’d been a fool to dream there could be more.

  ***

  “We’re good for tonight,” the production assistant happily reported to Josh.

  “That’s great news,” he replied. “Okay, folks, you can all head home. Enjoy your weekend!” Josh was as happy as the rest of the crew to get an early start on the weekend. He’d been feeling guilty about leaving Nicolette alone for a week at a time. Even though she knew the life of filmmaking well and had reassured him that it was okay for him to be gone each week, Josh felt that the time apart wasn’t such a good idea for them.

  They’d had barely any time to explore Verona together, except on the weekends. Nicolette had started going out on her own and regaled him with stories of all the outings she enjoyed with her two new friends, Carlisle and Eva. Josh was glad his wife was making friends, but he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that she was okay with them spending so much time apart.

  He always offered to take her with him to Tuscany, but she kept turning him down. Nicolette felt it was better to remain in Verona and try to establish a life in their new home. Josh was proud of her and wanted to work harder to establish a life in Italy with her. Who knew? Maybe they’d even consider making Verona their home base in the future.

  The future…that was another thing that weighed heavily on Josh’s mind. As the livery drove back through the rolling hills and past the harvested olive trees and grapevines, he began to think more about it. It was time for them to have children. He’d always wanted to have a family; Nicolette hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic at first, but she eventually got caught up in Josh’s excitement and said she would be ready soon. Nothing had happened yet, but they were trying.

  A smile spread across Josh’s face as the car approached Verona. They’d been running so late on the set the past few weeks that he’d been lucky to get home in the middle of the night. Tonight he could surprise Nicolette and be home in time to take her out for a drink or two and stroll through the city streets before returning to the apartment to spend the night in each other’s arms.

  Chapter 12

  Eva and Sofia had taken turns during the first few weeks following the shooting to ensure someone was at Marcello’s bedside in case he woke up. Other family members came to visit, but the two women who loved him most refused to leave the hospital unless the other one promised to stay. If Marcello opened his eyes, they wanted the face of someone who loved him to be the first thing he saw.

  It was difficult for the two women and Marcello’s family to see the man who’d once been so full of laughter and passion lying lifeless in the hospital bed day after day. He’d lost a lot of blood, and the bullet had lodged in the lower part of his spine. At first, the doctors were unsure he’d make it through the week. Now that he’d made it over that hurdle, the next was to regain consciousness.

  Eva and Sofia talked to Marcello every day. They read him bits and pieces from the daily newspaper and reassured him that someone was there. He was unresponsive to their voices and the doctors’ attempts to elicit a reaction. No one knew what the future would hold for him. Although the bullet had been removed in surgery, the doctors were unsure if he’d ever regain consciousness. If he did awake from the coma, the next question would be whether he’d walk again.

  For now, these possible prognoses were too horrific for either young woman to accept. They both loved Marcello deeply, and his role in their lives was as vital and necessary as the air they breathed. In their efforts to coax Marcello back to life, they found themselves bonding with each other as well.

  “My father will be so happy to see that we’ve become friends,” Sofia always said as she and Eva hugged hello or goodbye during the last week. Eva didn’t have the heart to tell Sofia that she knew Marcello didn’t love her, or that she was just there to see him through this and would leave for Germany as soon as he was out of the woods. Sofia had gone through such a terrible time the first week, living through the horror of what had occurred between her parents and then finding out about her father’s affair with Eva. At first Marcello’s daughter had been angry and would barely say a word to Eva except to exchange timetables with the young woman to ensure someone would be there with her father. But, as the story of Carlotta unfolded and Sofia witnessed the love Eva had for her father, she begun to soften and found herself able to forgive.

  Her mother was likely to spend the rest of her life in a psychiatric hospital. After she was arrested in her home the night of the shooting and taken to the local jail, the attending physician had recommended an immediate transfer to the psychiatric ward. Once there, it was determined that she’d experienced some sort of a psychotic break and had been out of her mind when she pulled the trigger and shot Marcello. It was all too much for Sofia to bear. As one week blurred into another, Eva ended up being the rock that gave Sofia the strength to get through.

  Christmas came and went unnoticed in the stark, industrial-white hospital room while the other tenants of Via Settembre 32 learned what had happened, why Eva had been gone for so long and why Sofia hadn’t been coming around to see Charles. One at a time, they all came by to see how Marcello was doing and let Sofia and Eva know they were there for them. It was hard for the others to celebrate their first holiday season in Verona after seeing their friends’ pain, but the two women assured Carlisle, the Reardons and Charles that Marcello would want them to celebrate and enjoy their first Italian Christmas.

  Chapter 13

  January’s shortened daylight hours and gray, rainy weather led Charles to spend more time indoors. He’d decided to start the new year off by devoting more time to learning the Italian language. Thrice-weekly sessions with his language teacher were supplemented by plenty of study time at home or in the nearby library. When he needed a break, Charles spent hours wander
ing the rooms of nearby museums to learn more about Verona.

  He’d been saddened and horrified to learn about Sofia’s family tragedy, but at least he knew she hadn’t stood him up. Each week he stopped by the hospital to see how Marcello was doing and ask how she was holding up. He made it clear he was there for her, but he also gave Sofia the space and time she needed to focus on her father’s recovery.

  Charles was thankful the bank had offered Sofia an extended leave of absence so she could remain in Verona with her father. After Carlisle told him what happened and informed him that Sofia had been by Marcello’s side day and night, Charles had quickly gotten over his hurt and sprang into action to make sure the bank knew how important it was that Sofia be able to stay on in Verona without losing her job. They’d wholeheartedly agreed, and he was glad to have a bit of good news to deliver to her.

  As the last week of January began to unfold, the Englishman’s worries about his beautiful Italian friend grew. The strain and stress of watching over Marcello, wondering if and to what extent he would recover was showing on Sofia’s face. Finally, with Eva’s help, he was able to coax her away for dinner once each week so she could see other faces and places and could receive a bit of the kindness and care she’d been showering upon her father.

  At 4:30, the sun had already set for the evening. The gentle January rains slowed long enough for Charles and Sofia to make their way to a small restaurant down the street from the hospital where the owners were famous for their homemade noodles and their secret family recipe for marinara sauce. They were both famished and even Sofia, who normally ate like a bird, managed to polish off her entire plate of spaghetti.

  The waiter brought a tray to the table bearing the after-dinner fare that was traditional in the area. Two small china cups boasting steaming hot espresso were flanked by two shot glasses filled two-thirds of the way with limoncello. In front of the drinks lay a small china plate filled to the edges with an assortment of Italian cookies and small pastries. Taking a bite out of crescent-shaped almond cookie dusted lightly with powdered sugar, Sofia looked toward Charles and laid her hand upon his.