Love & Gelato(49)

Finally he looked up at me with big, soulful eyes, and I sighed. It was like trying to be mad at a baby seal. “Did he tell you where it was?”

“No. That was the weird thing. He said he’d never been to one.”

I squinted at him. “What? And you described it to him?”

“Yeah. I tried to be vague so he wouldn’t know I was talking about his date with your mom, but he acted like he had no idea.”

“So he didn’t remember taking her there?”

He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. It was like he’d never even heard of Florence’s secret bakeries.”

“What? That doesn’t seem like something you’d forget.”

“I know, right?”

“Was he lying?”

“Maybe. But why would he?” He shook his head again. “For the past couple of hours I’ve been trying to come up with a reason why he’d forget about the bakery, but so far I have nothing. No offense, but your parents’ story is kind of sketchy.”

I put my back to one of the columns, then slid to the ground with a thud. “You’re telling me. Why do you think I’m reading the journal?”

He sat down next to me, then leaned in until our arms touched. “I really am sorry, though.”

I exhaled. “It’s okay. And you’re right. Something is weird. I’ve been thinking that all along.”

“Maybe you should ask him about something else from the journal. Like a test.”

“Like The Rape of the Sabine Women?” We looked up at it.

“Yeah. See what he does when you ask him about that.”

“Good idea.” I looked at the ground. Now it was my turn to hesitate. “So . . . I did something I should probably apologize for too.”

“What?”

“Back at Space, Mimi and I kind of got into this . . . argument, and I told her that you were ignoring her calls when we were at Ponte Vecchio.”

His eyes widened. “Cavolo. I’m guessing that’s why she called me a cretino and left?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what a cretino is, but I’m sorry. Thomas told me you’ve liked her for a long time, and I hope I didn’t mess things up.”

“I’ll call her when I get home. It’ll be okay.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

I took a deep breath. “Hey, you know if you can’t hang out with me anymore, I understand. It seems like it’s kind of complicating things for you.”

“No. It’s good complicated.” He pulled out his cell phone. “It’s almost eleven thirty. Back to the cemetery?”

“Yeah. I should get back to the journal.”

“And the man of mystery.”



When I got home Man of Mystery was, inexplicably, taking a pan of muffins out of the oven.

“You’re baking?”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I specialize in late-night kitchen disasters. Also, I thought you might want a snack when you got home, and my blueberry muffins are legendary. And by ‘legendary,’ I mean ‘edible.’ Sit down.”

It was a command. I pulled out a chair and sat.

“So where did you go tonight?”

I hesitated for a second, then plunged in. “Space. It’s a club near the Arno.”

He chuckled. “That place is still around?”

Phew. At least he remembered Space. “Yes. Have you been there?”

“Lots of times. Your mother did too.”

I leaned forward. “So you guys like . . . went together?”

“Many times. Usually on nights we should have been studying. I don’t know what it’s like now, but it used to be the place to go for international students. Lots of Americans.” He transferred a couple of the muffins to a plate, then set it on the table, pulling up a chair.

“Space was kind of grimy. I didn’t like it very much.”

“I never really did either. And I’m not much of a dancer.”

So I had him to thank for my dancing skills.

I took a muffin and broke it open, steam curling up toward my face. Now or never. “So, Howard, I have a question for you. You know a lot about art history, right?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “That’s one thing I know plenty about. You knew I was teaching art history when your mom and I met, right?”

“Right.” I looked down at my muffin again and took a deep breath. “Well, Ren and I went for a drive after Space, and we stopped in this piazza. Piazza della Signoria? Anyway, there was an interesting statue, but we didn’t know the history of it.”

“Hmm.” He stood up and grabbed a butter dish off the counter, then sat down again. “Lots of statues there. Do you know who it was by?”

“No. It was in this open-air gallery. Kind of like a covered patio. You can just walk in.”

“Oh, right. Loggia dei Lanzi. Let’s see . . . there are the Medici lions, and the Cellini . . . What did it look like?”

“It was of two men and a woman.” I held my breath.

“Woman being carried away?”

I nodded.

He smiled. “The Rape of the Sabine Women. That one is actually pretty interesting, because the artist—Giambologna—didn’t even think of it as a real piece. He just made it as an artistic demonstration to show that it was possible to incorporate three figures into one sculpture. He didn’t even bother to give it a name, and then it ended up being the work he’s best known for.”