Love & Gelato(33)

Finally we turned a corner and saw a group of people gathered around a brightly lit doorway. It was a secret bakery—one of a few. Basically, commercial bakers work through the night to produce pastries for restaurants, and even though it’s illegal, they’ll give you a freshly baked pastry for a few euro. Only a few insiders know about it, but those who do, well . . . let’s just say they’re in danger of becoming nocturnal.

Everyone in line was acting really quiet and nervous, and when it was our turn, X bought a chocolate-filled cornetta, a glazed croissant, and two stuffed cannoli. Then we sat down on a curb and devoured all of it. When I got home Francesca, Finn, and Simone were sprawled out on our tiny couches and they all teased me about what kind of night shots I’d gotten. I wish I could tell them.



Wow.

First of all, sign me up for a trip to the secret bakery. I didn’t even know what a cornetta or cannoli was, and I was still practically salivating all over the pages. But most important, what was the deal with all this secrecy?

I flipped back through the entries. Did schools really have policies on students not dating assistant teachers? I could see it being a rule for actual professors, but research students? And my mom had been smitten. How was it possible that someone this crazy about their boyfriend had ended up walking out and keeping their child a secret for sixteen years?

I marked my place in the journal, then walked over to the window. It was a gorgeous night. Clouds were drifting past the moon like ghost ships, and now that Howard’s friends had cleared out, everything was still and quiet.

Suddenly a blur of movement caught my eye and I froze. What was that? I leaned out the window, my heart hammering against my rib cage. A white figure was moving toward the house. It looked like a person, but it was moving way too fast, like a . . . I squinted. Was that Howard? On a long board?

“What are you doing?” I whispered. He kicked off hard and went sailing past the driveway, like a seal gliding out to sea. Like it was something he did all the time.

I had to figure this guy out.





Chapter 11




“LINA, YOU AWAKE? PHONE’S FOR you.” Howard knocked on my open bedroom door, and I shoved the journal under the bed. I’d been rereading the entries from the night before. And stalling. Because, yes, I wanted to know what had happened. But I also wanted to prolong the happy part. Sort of like the time I stopped Titanic halfway through and made Addie watch the first part over again.

“Who is it?”

“Ren. I’ve got to get you your own phone. You just hang on to my cell phone for now. I’ll use the landline.”

“Thanks.” I got up and walked over to him. He looked wide-awake and very un-X-like. No evidence of his ghostly night riding. Or sketchy dating practices.

He handed me the phone. “Will you please tell Ren that he doesn’t need to be afraid of me? He just set a world record for using ‘sir’ the most times in a single conversation.”

“I can, but it probably won’t do any good. You really messed with him that first time you talked.”

“I had good reason.” He smiled. “See you a little later? I should be off work around five.”

“Okay.” I put the phone to my ear and Howard stepped out into the hallway. Ciao, mysterious X.

“Hi, Ren.”

“Ciao, Lina. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

I leaned casually out the door and watched Howard walk down the stairs. He’d made out with my mom in a public park? Totally not the kind of thing you should have to know about your parents. And what had been so special about the way he’d said her name that first time they’d connected at Space? It sounded like a cheesy scene from one of those soap operas Addie’s mom pretended not to watch.

“You there?” Ren asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m kind of distracted.” I closed my bedroom door, then sat on my bed.

“So he wasn’t mad?”

“No. He was having a party, and I don’t think he even noticed we were late.”

“Fortunato. Have you gone running yet?”

“No. I was just about to. Want to come?”

“Already on my way. Meet me at the cemetery gates.”

I changed, then ran out to meet him. Ren was wearing a bright orange T-shirt and was jogging in place like an old man. As usual his hair was in his eyes and he looked sort of warm and glowy from the run over.

“How is this not American-looking?” I asked, plucking at his shirt.

“It’s not American-looking when it’s on an Italian.”

“Half-Italian,” I corrected.

“Half is enough. Trust me.” We started up the road.

“So your mom won a LensCulture Award,” he said.

I looked at him. “How’d you know?”

“There’s this thing called the Internet. It’s really helpful.”

“Oh yeah, I vaguely remember that from back before I lived in Italy.” I’d tried to FaceTime Addie about ten times that morning to update her on the night’s reading, but so far I’d just gotten this annoying NO SERVIZIO message over and over. At least now I could use Howard’s phone whenever I wanted.

“I found a bunch of articles on her. You didn’t tell me she was a big deal.”