A Place in the Sun(71)

I was up in my bedroom with boxes and packing supplies. I had hefty bin bags filled with things I should have tossed ages ago: her toothbrush, hairspray, makeup. Anything that could be reused I stowed away in donation boxes: jewelry, shoes, dresses. My house was filled with her things; I’d realized it long ago, I’d just preferred to live in denial. There was less guilt involved.

Even now, as I let myself mull over Allie’s few unsavory qualities, it didn’t make it any easier to put away her things. I’d loved Allie fiercely and eternally, and I’d lost her.

Now, I was doing the unthinkable: loving someone new.

I had been to rock bottom and grown accustomed to the comfort it provided. Leaving it gave me hope for a future, but also a fear for the unknown. Loving Georgie took courage I hadn’t known I still had, courage that at times seemed like an act of sheer folly.

“Am I dreaming right now or are you packing Allie’s stuff?”

Massimo was standing in the doorway of the room. I’d called him and asked for help, but I’d forgotten about it until he was there, thumbing through a box of Allie’s shoes, wearing a look of disbelief.

“You’re not dreaming,” I said, tossing a marker to him so he had to think fast to catch it. “Label that one, will you? Then tape it and take it down to the others.”

“I passed the boxes downstairs. You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”

I didn’t meet his gaze; I continued working. “What? Getting rid of her things? It’s about time.”

“No. It’s more than that, I can tell.”

I sighed and stared down at the empty box waiting to be filled.

“Yeah. It is.”





THREE DAYS AFTER Gianluca’s birthday, I was hunched over the toilet in the first-floor bathroom getting rid of everything I’d eaten for breakfast that morning—not by choice, mind you. Apparently I was so miserable that even my oatmeal wanted nothing to do with me.

In the days since our hike, I’d felt like utter crap. Tired and queasy. Emotionally and physically drained. Everything ached: my head, my body, and worst of all, my heart. I chalked it up to the stress of living a life I knew might come crashing down around me at any moment. I wasn’t sleeping well, and I felt close to tears at every moment, so emotionally fragile that I knew I couldn’t keep up the charade much longer. I’d walk around the bed and breakfast, trying to focus on a task, but would get distracted, suddenly so overcome with sadness that I couldn’t do it.

Taylor knocked on the bathroom door. “Georgie, are you all right?”

I jerked up and flushed, scared he’d barge in and see the evidence of my sickness.

“I’m fine!” I shouted, feigning cheeriness. “Just cleaning up in here a bit.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re cleaning out your stomach.”

Oh god. I wanted to shout at him to piss off. What was I thinking bringing on a guest at the bed and breakfast? The place was better when it was empty.

I forced myself to stand and wash my hands, splashed water on my face, and patted it dry. By the time I whipped the bathroom door open, Taylor looked genuinely worried.

Nausea hit me in another wave, but I refused to acknowledge it as I brushed past him.

“How are you, Taylor? Hungry? I could put on some tea for you?” My plan was to continue talking so he could never get a word in edgewise. “I think we’ve still got a bit of bacon and eggs. I’ll whip you up something to eat.”

“I’m fine, really.”

I waved him away. “Nonsense. This is a bed and breakfast, right? We can’t have you going hungry!”

I could hear the slight hysteria in my voice, the edge that told him to handle me with caution. I was moments away from crying or throwing up and he had enough sense to keep a wide berth.

“How about a double breakfast tomorrow? I’m heading off for a hike and then I’m reviewing a restaurant in La Spezia later.”

I nearly cried with relief. He’d be gone and I’d have a few hours of peace and quiet.

“Oh, right then! Well, good luck. I’ll see you when you get back then, yeah?”

I was already heading toward my room, waving to him over my shoulder. I locked the door and sat on the edge of my bed, listening to him leave. I reached for the crackers I’d set on my bedside table and nibbled on one, forcing it down.

I needed to talk to someone, anyone. I felt so alone sitting in that quiet bed and breakfast, sad and sick and lonely. I tossed the crackers aside and reached for my mobile. My sister-in-law would know what to do.

Andie answered on the second ring.

“Georgie! That you?”

Like a warm hug, her words broke the dam I’d been struggling to brace for the last few days. I sniffled and cried real sobby tears that were more painful than anything else. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing my family until I was on the phone with Andie, listening to her on the other end of the line, trying to get a word out of me.

“Are you okay? Dear god, are you hurt?”

I managed a weak no.

“Should I call the police? Georgie?”

“No. No, I’m okay.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

It took a few more minutes for me to catch my breath, and then finally I started to speak through soft tears.