Love & Gelato(59)

May 31

This morning I showed Petrucione some of the photos I’ve taken at the cemetery. There’s one spot in the northwest corner that gives a perfect view of the grounds, and I’ve been taking pictures there at different times of day. It’s amazing to see the change in light and color as the day progresses.

I guess it makes sense, but living in a cemetery has me thinking often about death. There’s an order here that doesn’t exist in real life, and I find it strangely comforting. Maybe that’s the beauty of death. Nothing is messy anymore. Everything is sealed up and final.



Sealed up and final.

“Ugh,” I said aloud. She was so wrong about that. How could anything be final when you left people behind and didn’t even tell them your secrets?

“What’s up?” Ren asked. “Anything new?”

“She moved in with Howard at the cemetery. But they’re just friends. She had to have been pregnant by then.” I shook my head. “Matteo has to be the one.”

“Can I catch up?”

I handed him the journal, then leaned back, watching the scenery fly past our window. We were driving through a postcard of green countryside and rolling hills, and it was so pretty and picturesque I wanted to scream.

Why had she told me this way?





Chapter 19




BY THE TIME THE TRAIN came to a stop I had enough adrenaline running through me to power a small island. Not that any of the other passengers cared. They were taking their sweet time gathering up their magazines and laptops, and I stood blocked in the aisle, jiggling nervously.

Ren nudged me with his shoulder. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I have to.”

He nodded. “When we get out let’s head straight for the curb. If we beat the rush we can get a cab and be there in like ten minutes.”

Ten minutes.

Finally the line started moving and Ren and I hurried off the train. The station had a high ceiling and was even more crowded than the one in Florence.

“Which way?” I asked.

He turned around in a circle. “I think . . . that way. Yeah.”

“You up for running again?”

“Let’s do it.”

He grabbed my hand and we sprinted toward the exit, dodging people like they were pitfalls in a video game. Ten minutes. Ten minutes. My life was about to change. Again. What happened to normal, boring days?

There were a bunch of cabs waiting out on the street next to the taxi stand, and Ren and I jumped into the first one available. Our cabdriver had a thick mustache and a cologne problem.

Ren read him the address.

“Dieci minuti,” the cabdriver answered.

“Ten minutes,” Ren translated.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He was still holding my hand.



Word to the wise. Unless you have no choice—like maybe you’re being chased by a pack of rabid spider monkeys, or you’ve run away to a foreign city to track down your mysterious father—never, ever get into a cab in Rome. Ever.

“Ren, I think this guy is going to kill us,” I whispered.

“Why? Because we almost just got into our second head-on collision? Or because he keeps trying to pick fights with other drivers?”

“Dove hai imparato a guidare?” our driver yelled at another driver. He leaned out the window and made a gesture that I’d never seen but definitely got the gist of.

“I think my life is flashing before my eyes,” I said.

“How is it?”

“Exciting.”

“Mine too. Although I have to admit, it got way more exciting five days ago when you ran up to me on the hill.”

“I didn’t run up to you. I was actually trying to avoid you.”

“Really? Why?”

“I thought it would be awkward. And then it was.”

He grinned. “And look at us now. Spending our last few minutes on earth together.”

The driver swerved over to a curb, then threw the car into park before coming to a complete stop. Ren and I flew into the seats in front of us.

“Ow!” I rubbed my face. “Do I have a nose anymore?”

“A flat one,” said Ren. He was crunched up on the floor like a balled-up piece of paper.

“Siamo arrivati,” the cabdriver said pleasantly. He glanced at us in the rearview mirror, then pointed to his meter. “Diciassette euro.”

I dug some money out of my purse and passed it forward, and then we climbed out onto the sidewalk. The second I closed the door, the cab screeched back into traffic, causing about four other cars to slam on their brakes and contribute to what was basically a grand orchestra of honking.

“That guy shouldn’t be allowed to drive.”

“Pretty standard. He’s actually one of the better cabdrivers I’ve had. Look, there’s the gallery.”

I whirled around. We were standing in front of a gray stone building with gold lettering on the door: ROSSI GALLERIA E SCUOLA DI FOTOGRAFIA

ROSSI GALLERY AND PHOTOGRAPHY SCHOOL

Rossi. Lina Rossi. Was that actually my name? Crap. It had an Italian R. I wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it.

“Come on.” Before my nerves could get the better of me, I marched over to the door and pressed the buzzer.