A Year at 32 September Way (24 page)

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 deep 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.

How could she possibly leave this place…the first place where she’d felt completely alive? Yet, what good reason could she come up with for choosing to stay? A little more than two months was all she had to figure it out. Carlisle knew the time would whiz by like lightning, just like the previous nine and a half months had. She intended to come for one year, focus on her writing and then return to Seattle. It was such a simple plan. So why was it suddenly becoming so difficult to carry out?

***

Eva and Marcello sat on the boardwalk, not far from where he’d been shot. After careful contemplation and many discussions between them, the young woman from Germany had decided to give her boyfriend one last chance. She’d made it clear that she had no qualms about leaving if things didn’t work out, and she told Marcello that he could either commit to their relationship or forget it. Through the months of his recovery, they’d grown apart and then had come back together. Now, sitting in
Bardolino
, they’d come full circle. Only this time, Eva knew she was no longer willing to settle for less, and Marcello knew he would do everything to make her feel that staying was the right decision.

The two kissed goodbye and parted ways so Marcello could go to his meeting. When he arrived, a bottle of wine was already chilling on the table he’d reserved for himself and his father-in-law. He knew Eva was worried about him returning to the scene of the shooting, but Marcello had put on a brave face even though he had qualms about it himself. As it turned out, they were all for naught.
Bardolino
in June was a sight to see, and Marcello was glad for the few minutes on the boardwalk to drink in the fresh lake air. How ironic it was to realize that he’d missed the place he’d once dreaded so much.
Bardolino
was Carlotta’s home; he’d lived there with her, and they’d raised their family while working the vineyard. Verona and Venice had always been home to Marcello. Now, sitting by Lake Garda for the first time in seven months, he realized how much it had become a part of him, too.

Carlotta’s father, Vincenzo, approached the table and shook Marcello’s hand. It was the first time since the shooting the two men had sat together. Vincenzo had never come to visit Marcello in the hospital or rehabilitation center, choosing instead to use the time to visit his daughter. Marcello held no grudges against his father-in-law. Although they’d been closer many years ago, he would hardly define their relationship as ever having been truly close. In the past few years, circumstances within the business and his marriage to Carlotta had driven the two men even further apart. Sitting in his wheelchair, drinking wine and making small talk with his father-in-law, Marcello felt certain that the blow he was about to deliver would be powerful enough to pound the last nail into the coffin of their relationship.

They made small talk throughout their meal of spaghetti with mussels and marinara sauce. Neither man mentioned Carlotta or the wine business, nor did Vincenzo ask Marcello how he was doing. To Marcello, that was further support for the decision he’d made after discovering the decades of tax evasion that had made Carlotta’s family rich. He reached into his briefcase during a pause in the conversation and spread photocopies of the papers out on the table. Savoring the moment, Marcello sipped his after-dinner espresso and watched as Vincenzo reacted.

The silence seemed to go on forever until Vincenzo regained his composure and his arrogant attitude. “My family developed and nurtured the grapevines in this area for more than one hundred years. Our contribution to this town is known far and wide, and it will take far more than a few pieces of paper to change our stature here.” Vincenzo took a sip of his espresso and then turned to face his son-in-law, expecting him to back down the way he always had before. He’d come to this meeting to kick Marcello out of the family business once and for all. The family planned to celebrate that night; a pig was being roasted, and the wine was already chilling. A few signatures on the papers in his briefcase would finalize everything for Vincenzo and his family.

But Marcello faced his father-in-law squarely, feeling taller in his wheelchair than he had standing on his own two feet. In previous meetings, the endings were always predictable, but things would be different this time around. Marcello had rehearsed the words he was about to say so many times that he barely had to think about them. Nevertheless, he’d focus on delivering them to savor the impact this meeting would have on his pride, his future and the future of his family.

“I have no intention or desire to change your family’s stature here in
Bardolino
. Your contributions here will always be remembered and appreciated. And I’m certain the same will hold true in your new home in southern Italy…the one you’ll be retiring to very soon,” Marcello explained as he pulled nineteen file folders out of his briefcase, each one representing a year of income tax evasion.  He watched his father-in-law’s demeanor change. Yet Marcello displayed no emotion, choosing to remain calm, firm and cool to the end. He removed a final file from the briefcase and placed it on top of the stack.

“The papers drawn up here explain that you’ve chosen to retire to the south for health reasons and will be taking your sons, all of them except the youngest, Louis, with you to start a smaller business there. The notarized documents outline the transfer of ownership of Via del Sol to Carlotta’s three children, with their father and your son Louis running the business.” Marcello placed a pen on top of the file folder and, without another word, pushed it toward Vincenzo. Things had come full circle and, for the first time since the previous December, Marcello swelled with pride and the knowledge that he was once again taking matters into his own hands.

***

Sofia finished telling Charles about her day at work, knowing he’d barely heard a word. She paused for a moment to get a scoop of the cold pasta and shrimp salad Charles had made for dinner. It was clear something was consuming her British boyfriend’s mind, as he’d been quiet all evening, the way he always was when pondering something troublesome.

“I see the cat’s got your tongue this evening,” she said, prodding him back to the present.

“I’m sorry, darling,” came Charles’ response. “Just lost in thought, is all.”

“Would you care to talk about it?” she pried, knowing that doing so usually helped him to talk things through. “Perhaps it would help to do so.”

“Hmm,” Charles responded thoughtfully as he rose from the table to clear the dinner dishes. Sofia joined him and began to fill the sink with hot water and a froth of soapy bubbles. They stood side-by-side as they always did after dinner, Sofia washing and rinsing, Charles drying and putting away. She knew he would talk as soon as he’d sorted out his thoughts; there was no need to prod him further. Then Charles stopped, set the damp dish towel down and turned to face Sofia. “My darling, standing over a sink full of dirty dishes is hardly the place for this conversation, but it cannot wait a moment longer.” Charles placed his hands on Sofia’s shoulders and gently turned her to face him. “The thought of leaving you behind in two and a half months with no plans for the future is simply too much for me to bear. I have never been a man to fly by the seat of my pants, and I shan’t become one now. Not when it comes to the most important person in my life.”

Droplets of soapy water slid down Sofia’s hands toward her fingers before dripping to the floor. She looked up into Charles’ eyes and heard the passion rise in his voice the way it always did when he spoke of something meaningful. Oh, how she loved this man and
treasured having him in her life. She smiled at him and then was caught by surprise as he grabbed her wet hands and dropped to one knee.

“Sofia Maria Carmen Benedetto, I love you like I never thought it was possible to love another. I cannot remember my life before you, but I have no desire to return to it. The clock on the mantle will continue ticking, signifying the passing of each second as the next two and one-half months fly by. But I cannot take another step toward September 1
st
without knowing that you’ll still be in my life after that day.” He kissed her damp hands and looked back up toward the smiling face he loved so dearly. “Sofia, will you be my bride?”

Sofia’s hands broke free from Charles’ and flew up to cover her mouth in time to stifle a tiny gasp. Tears of joy filled her eyes, and a wide smile spread across her face. She reached down and tugged on his hands, beckoning him to stand up. “I would be so honored to be your bride,” she whispered in his ear before he turned her head toward his and kissed her passionately. Slowly they moved in unison out of the kitchen, through the living area and toward the bed, never allowing their lips to part for more than a split second.

Chapter 20

Little did he know it, but Charles had approached Marcello at the right time. Although the two had developed the beginnings of a good relationship, the elder man was still very protective of his daughter and normally grilled Charles whenever the young couple made plans. When the Englishman knocked on the door of the first-floor apartment that morning, he’d fully expected to get the third degree and experience some resistance before Marcello would give him permission to marry Sofia. Even though it was a formality, Marcello’s blessing was important to Sofia and Charles.