A Year at 32 September Way Read online

  Josh and Charles went about moving the other crates and boxes and cleaning the room, not wanting to interfere with any private business or family matters. Charles knew Sofia would tell him more later on if there was anything important to add. The three women shuffled a few boxes around until the plastic box was revealed. Carlisle and Eva stepped back to allow Sofia enough room to dig through the box and find the papers. Even though Sofia made it clear she wasn’t mad at them, the two friends felt ashamed of their nosiness.

  “Perhaps it would be a good idea for my father take a look at these papers,” Sofia said thoughtfully.

  ***

  At 7 o’clock in the evening, the sun remained high in the sky…a sure sign that summer was drawing near. The six neighbors gathered around the table in the courtyard to share a meal together after getting everyone moved in. Because it had been a long and physically tiring day, they’d opted to order from the local pizzeria and pick up a few bottles of wine. Conversation and laughter drifted from one end of the table to the other, and there were several toasts made for happiness to those who had moved into a new home.

  Carlisle looked around the table at the friends she’d made over the past nine months. How much her life had changed, and each person sitting there had been a part of that change. She glanced around at everyone, one by one, and knew they’d all experienced a great deal of change, too…some good, some bad. Carlisle thought ahead to their remaining months in Verona. It would go fast, but she hoped it would be an amazing summer for all of them. A few taps of her fork against the wine glass were enough to summon everyone’s attention. “I’d like to make a toast,” Carlisle said as she looked around at her friends. “Here’s to a summer full of happy events and wonderful surprises!”

  “To happy events and wonderful surprises!” the chorus of neighbors repeated under an evening sky awash with the purple, pink and red hues of an early summer sunset.

  ***

  “Papa,” Sofia bent down and whispered in Marcello’s ear, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Can it wait until the morning, my darling?” Marcello answered. “It’s been quite a day, and I’m exhausted.”

  “Of course,” she answered, not wanting to tire her father out. “How about coffee in the morning?”

  The friends all said their goodnights and went off to their apartments for a much-needed sleep. It had been a long day, but they’d come together as friends and neighbors, and their relationships had been strengthened because of it. By Verona standards, the night was still young; but the tenants at 32 September Way were far too tired to enjoy another moment of it.

  Morning came quickly, and Sofia bent over the bed to kiss Charles before heading downstairs to have coffee with her father. “Just sleep, my love. I know you’re tired,” she said to her half-asleep boyfriend. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Eva was heading out the door as Sofia arrived. They exchanged “good mornings,” and the young German woman explained that she was heading out for a walk. “Go on in, Sofia,” she offered. “He’s wide awake and waiting for you.”

  “Good morning, Papa,” Sofia began as she bent down to kiss her father on the cheek. The two exchanged small talk about the previous night’s dinner, and Marcello commented on what a nice group of people they had around them. His daughter agreed that they couldn’t have been luckier, noting that she felt especially lucky to have Charles in her life. Marcello agreed; he’d had plenty of time over the past few months to see how much the man from London loved and cared for his daughter. Any of his previous reservations had been long since forgotten.

  “I want to tell you about some papers I came across in the attic yesterday,” Sofia said quietly. She explained how they’d been found and asked her father not to be angry with Eva or Carlisle. He listened as his daughter told him about some of the things she’d seen and heard while hiding in the rafters of her grandfather’s meeting room at the vineyard. To spare her father his dignity, Sofia made no mention of the beatings she’d seen him take at the hands of her grandfather and older uncles. “I’m telling you all this because it explains some of the pieces I’d never understood before I saw these papers.”

  Sofia pulled a file out of the large messenger bag she’d carried downstairs with her. She spread the papers out on the table where both she and her father could look at them. Glancing from the papers to her father’s expression, she could see that he was seeing the same things she had when she’d first laid eyes on them. Marcello thumbed through a short stack of papers off to the side to see how many years back they were dated.

  “All those years the crops of grapes were destroyed by the weather…or the farmhand shortage had left them unable to cultivate the entire crop…somehow they’d always come out on top financially. I never understood how such bad crops could produce good fortune. Now the reason is clear,” Marcello said as he looked directly at his daughter, “income tax evasion.”

  Sofia and Marcello sat in disbelief. As each moment passed, his surprise changed from disbelief to frustration and finally anger. “You know,” he began, “I don’t care if they ruin themselves and all that’s been worked for at Via del Sol for the past four generations. They’re idiots…all of them! What makes me angry is that they would risk losing the land and the business that belongs partly to you and your brothers. Via del Sol is your inheritance, for the love of god, and they’ve put it all at risk to satisfy their greed!”

  “Papa, relax,” Sofia interrupted, worrying that the stress wasn’t good for him. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

  “I’m upset, rest assured, I am upset,” he answered in a calm but firm voice. “But not with you, and not with Eva or Carlisle.” He sat quietly for a moment and gazed out the window.

  “What will we do, Papa?” Sofia asked.

  “We’ll straighten it out, my darling,” he said as he reached over and caressed his daughter’s cheek to assure her that everything was going to be fine. “That’s what we’ll do.”

  ***

  Carlisle sat down at her favorite table at the small café. The café owner, Franco, had gone to southern Italy for a vacation before the rush of summer tourists arrived, but he’d trained his staff well, and they knew exactly what Carlisle liked. Her seat was barely warm before a steaming cup of cappuccino and a warm brioche arrived at her table courtesy of the owner’s son. “Good morning, Signorina Carlisle,” he greeted her, “only you and one other customer orders the brioche with crème in the middle. So easy to remember—everyone else wants marmalade!” He scurried away to take care of the Italian couple who’d just sat down at a table a few feet away.

  Settling in to her routine of people-watching, Carlisle soon found herself so lost in thought that she didn’t even hear the familiar voice say “hello” the first time. Daydreams of Verona in the Middle Ages were cut short as she returned to reality and looked around.

  To her surprise, her neighbor stood beside her table. “Josh! I can’t believe it!” she said. “Would you sit down and join me in a cappuccino or coffee?”

  Josh was happy to have a little company. He normally enjoyed peace and quiet on Sundays before returning to work in Tuscany, but he’d enjoyed his neighbors’ company so much the day before that he’d felt a bit alone upon waking up. “I’d love to join you,” he smiled, waving to the café owner’s son, who smiled and waved back before disappearing into the café.

  The two neighbors recounted the events of the previous day, and Carlisle asked Josh how he liked his new apartment. “Maybe it’s good for me to be in a different space, one that doesn’t make me think of Nicolette at every turn.”

  “Ah, yes,” Carlisle said, understanding exactly what he meant about painful memories. “A change of scenery can do wonders. I’m glad you had a good first night in your new apartment, Josh, and I hope the remainder of your time in Verona will continue to bring you happy days.”

  Franco’s son scurried around the corner and brought Josh a cup of cappuccino and a bri
oche identical to the half-eaten one sitting on Carlisle’s plate. “See,” the young Italian man said to Carlisle, “I told you only one other customer eats the brioche with crème filling, and here he is.” He gestured toward Josh with a smile on his face, and then hurried back into the café at his usual frenzied pace.

  “Well, I’ll be,” commented Carlisle, “apparently, you and I are the oddballs.” The two chuckled and, during their conversation, discovered they’d both been frequenting the café for a while.

  “I haven’t been here in a while, what with staying in Siena some weekends,” explained Josh, “but this cafe was one of my earliest discoveries in Verona, and being here kind of feels like sitting at the table of a good neighbor.”

  They enjoyed their last sips of cappuccino and swept the leftover brioche crumbs onto the cobblestones beneath the table for the local birds to enjoy. “I was planning to rediscover some of my favorite places in Verona this morning,” said Carlisle as they both stood to leave. “The weather is far too beautiful to go right home. You’re probably busy arranging your new apartment, but you’re welcome to come along.”

  “Actually, I was awake early this morning and my apartment is in order,” responded Josh. “I’ve got nothing planned except an early bedtime before returning to Siena tomorrow. A stroll around Verona with a good friend sounds like a terrific Sunday to me.”

  Chapter 19

  Marcello sat by the open kitchen window, staring out at nothing in particular. “You’re lost in thought again,” Eva joked with him. He’d slowly started back with work, spending half of his day working from home and the remainder driving to appointments. At this point, six hours was about all he could handle, but it was better than nothing and helped him feel like he had a purpose again.

  Once home, without the distraction of work, it was hard for Marcello to stop thinking about his conversation with Sofia and the discovery that Carlotta’s family had been cheating the government for years. They’d paid some of the taxes due from the wine business at Via del Sol, but two sets of records for each year showed they had gained mightily through income tax evasion. Even though Marcello would have never wished to gain from such activities, it made him angrier still to know that the money gained from their greedy behavior had never even been offered to him or his children.

  Since the night he and his daughter looked over the papers, Marcello had gone back and forth on how to handle the situation. He could turn his father-in-law and elder brothers-in-law in to the police, but then the vineyard might be seized, and no one would benefit. No, he’d decided there were better ways to deal with the situation to keep Via del Sol alive as a thriving business so it could provide wealth for the children who would eventually inherit it. To that end, Marcello had called Carlotta’s father and scheduled a meeting with him at the very restaurant in Bardolino where Marcello had dined before Carlotta shot him.

  The sanitarium—Carlotta’s home—was tucked high away in the hills beyond the lakeside town of Garda. It was not a place Marcello intended to visit, but he’d kept tabs on his wife’s progress. There’d been no need for a trial or a big public brouhaha; Marcello didn’t wish to have attention focused on his disability and, out of respect for his children’s mother, wished no bad publicity on her family either. Carlotta had been deemed unfit to stand trial and would spend the remainder of her years at the psychiatric hospital. Sofia and her brothers visited Carlotta every other week but made no mention of the visits to their father. They’d all been aware that their parents had been living separate lives for years. Now the final thread had been cut, and they knew it was best for all to try not to reconnect it.

  ***

  A gentle breeze blew through the window, fluttering the pages of the leather-bound planner. Charles picked up the heart-shaped stone Sofia had found during one of their walks on the beach and placed it on the open page as a paperweight. “June 10th,” declared the new page, void of its master’s scribblings, and waiting to find out the comings and goings of the new day.

  Charles set his coffee mug down on the table and glanced out the window. Sofia had left for work an hour earlier, and he missed her already. His mind leapt further ahead on the calendar to the day he’d begun to dread: August 31st. The thought of how he would feel when it was time to leave in two months was unfathomable.

  Sofia was firmly planted in Verona once again since her transfer to the bank had gone through. Charles understood the importance of being near her father and would never ask her to leave him. But he could hardly just quit his job and toil around Verona for the remainder of his life. Banking was what he did; money and finances were what he knew. In London, he was guaranteed a well-paying job and a high position. If he chose to remain in Verona, nothing was for sure. Nothing except for the love he shared with Sofia, which, over time, had become everything to him.

  It seemed there was so much to think about and so little time to get it all sorted out. They’d talked about the future a bit, but the conversations always ended with “We have a few more months to enjoy together before we see what the future brings.” Charles had never been one to live life without an agenda. Even on sabbatical he’d maintained his day planner each and every day, knowing the comfort he’d feel from seeing the day unfold before it even began. The idea of heading into the remaining two and a half months with no plan for their future was unthinkable. Charles scratched his head and wondered why he’d allowed such nonsense to go on. He knew what he wanted, and it was time to make it happen.

  ***

  Josh slid the last of the papers into his briefcase and looked around the trailer once more to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything before returning to Verona for the weekend. He turned off the desk light, grabbed his duffle bag and briefcase, and headed toward the door. A familiar beeping noise sounded from the shelf next to his desk, letting him know a document was getting ready to come through the fax machine.

  It had been a long week, and they’d spent far too much time ironing out one particular scene. His driver Anthony was waiting, and Josh was more than ready to go home. But his gut told him to wait for the fax. After setting his bags on the couch, Josh walked over just in time to see the letterhead come through the fax machine. He recognized the California area code on the sender’s number and assumed it must be a fax from the main studio office in Los Angeles.

  “I’ll be a couple minutes longer,” Josh hollered out the door to the driver, and Anthony nodded his head. As Josh returned to the fax machine, he could see the fax was not from the studio office after all because the familiar logo was missing. “What on earth is this?” Josh wondered out loud as he caught the corner of the paper before it fell to the floor. The address in the upper left-hand corner was all he needed to read to know what the rest of the fax was about:

  Crothers and Stiles, LLC

  Divorce & Family Law Matters

  1386 Buena Vista Drive

  Los Angeles, CA 90010

  Barely four months had passed since Nicolette had left. He’d heard from her only a handful of times, and it had always been about money. Somewhere deep inside, Josh had held out the tiniest shred of hope that they might somehow work things out when he returned to California in September. But the paper in his hand made it clear that she wasn’t interested in that. The divorce would be made simple and convenient for Josh, Nicolette’s attorney outlined in the letter, so it could be taken care of without him even having to leave Italy. “What’s the rush?” Josh wondered out loud as he scanned the rest of the letter. She wanted the apartment in Los Angeles and, if he chose to sell the Napa Valley house, half of the proceeds from it.

  “Why is she in such a hurry to take care of something we could easily take care of in September? Why won’t she consider trying again?” Josh asked himself. And then it occurred to him. Perhaps she’d already found someone else and was ready to move on. Getting a divorce and dividing the properties was her way of tidying up loose ends. It was also the final twist of the knife that was still plunged de
ep in Josh’s heart.

  ***

  “At the rate you’re going, you’ll be finished with your novel just in time to come back and celebrate in Seattle,” commented Carlisle’s agent. It was meant as a compliment, and Carlisle appreciated her agent’s enthusiasm. But the thought of returning to Seattle made her heart sink, regardless of any celebrations that might await her there.

  A great deal had happened since Carlisle had arrived in Verona the previous September. She’d been running from the memories of her husband and daughter for seven years and came to Verona to escape. In the end, the City of Love helped her face those painful memories and begin to heal. Since then, she’d developed a new zest for life, and she’d come to love Verona as if it had always been her home. The concept of leaving was too sad to give more than a moment’s thought, but Carlisle knew the time was drawing near when she’d have to make a decision.

  In all honesty, there really was no reason for her to remain in Italy. She could write the next novel in Seattle just as easily as she could write it in Verona or any other place in the world. And there was the matter of the house…paying bills in two countries was expensive and sometimes stressful. Carlisle hung up the phone and glanced out the window at the red clay tile rooftops that stretched for miles beyond the apartment building. True, there was no reason for her to remain in Verona. Except for the fact that, in her heart, she knew it was where she belonged.

  All her life, no matter where she was, she’d never felt she like she belonged. No single residence, town or area made her feel as if she were home. Until Verona. In the mornings, throughout the afternoons, in the evenings and late into the nights, Carlisle walked the cobblestone streets and had memorized every stone. The sun-kissed painted buildings in the Piazza delle Erbe greeted her in the mornings, and the street performers near the arena were so familiar with her face that it wasn’t possible to walk by without half a dozen “bongiournos” following after her.