Love & Gelato(9)

Hank didn’t appear to be listening. I sped up and Gloria did too.

“There were a bunch of horny old dogs on that boat, just nasty things, but lucky for me, Hank and I were assigned the same table for dinner. He proposed before the ship had even docked—that’s how sure he was. We got married just two months later. Of course, I’d already moved in, but we really rushed things because we didn’t want to be, you know . . .” She paused, looking at me meaningfully.

“What?” I asked hesitantly.

Her voice fell an octave. “Living in sin.”

I looked desperately around the cemetery. I either needed to find Howard or someplace to vomit. Maybe both.

“First order of business was ripping all the plastic off that furniture. A person’s got to live without their buttocks sticking to the darn sofa. Right, Hank?”

He made a guttural noise.

“This is sort of like a second honeymoon for us. I’ve wanted to visit Italy my whole life, and now here I am. You sure are a lucky duck, living here.”

Quack, quack, I thought.

The road curved and a small building appeared just ahead of us. It was right next to the main entrance and had a giant sign that said, VISITORS CHECK IN HERE. Easy to confuse with VISITORS, FIND THE NEAREST HOUSE AND THEN YELL THROUGH THE WINDOWS.

“I think this is it,” I said.

“Told you,” Hank said to Gloria, breaking his silence.

“You didn’t tell me anything.” Gloria sniffed. “You just followed me around like a lost puppy dog.”

I practically ran for the building’s entrance, but before I could reach for the handle, the door swung open and Howard stepped out. He was wearing shorts and flip-flops, like he planned to catch a flight to Tahiti later.

“Lina. I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“These two came looking for you at the house.”

Gloria stepped forward. “Mr. Mercer? We’re the Jorgansens from Mobile, Alabama. You probably remember my e-mail? We’re the ones who wanted a private, special tour of the cemetery? You see, my husband, Hank, has a real love for World War II history. Tell them, Hank.”

“A real love,” Hank said.

Howard nodded thoughtfully, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, there’s just the one tour, but I’m sure Sonia would be happy to take you. Why don’t you two head inside and she’ll get you started.”

Gloria clapped her hands. “Mr. Mercer, I can hear you’re a Southerner yourself. Where are you from? Tennessee?”

“South Carolina.”

“That’s what I meant. South Carolina. And who is this lovely young woman who came to our aid? Your daughter?”

He paused for a nanosecond. Just long enough for me to notice. “Yes. This is Lina.”

And we just met last night.

Gloria shook her head. “Glory be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a daddy and his daughter look quite so different. But sometimes it’s like that. I got this red hair from my great-aunt on my mother’s side. Sometimes the genes just skip a few generations.”

We both looked at her skeptically. There was absolutely no way Gloria’s red hair had come from anywhere but a box, but you had to admire her commitment.

She squinted at me, then turned to Howard. “Is your wife Italian?” She pronounced it “Eye-Talian.”

“Lina’s mother is American. She looks a lot like her.”

I shot him a grateful look. Present tense keeps things a lot less complicated. But then I remembered his and Sonia’s conversation on the porch, and I turned away, sucking my grateful look right back into my eyeballs.

Gloria put her hands on her hips. “Well, Lina, you just fit right in here, don’t you? Look at those dark eyes and all that gorgeous hair. I’ll bet everyone thinks you’re a local.”

“I’m not a local. I’m just visiting.”

Hank finally found his voice. “Gloria, let’s shake a leg. If we keep chatting like this, we’re going to miss the whole dang-blasted cemetery.”

“All right, all right. No need for strong language. Come on, Hank.” She gave us a conspiratorial look, like her husband was a little brother we were all being forced to hang out with, and then she opened the door. “You two have a good day now. A-river-dur-chee!”

“Wow,” Howard said when the door had closed behind them.

“Yeah.” I folded my arms.

“Sorry about that. People don’t usually go to the house. And they’re usually a little less . . .” He paused, like he thought he could come up with a polite word to describe the Jorgansens. Finally he just shook his head. “Looks like you’re headed out for a run.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. It was such a habit to get dressed this way I hadn’t even thought about it. “I usually go first thing.”

“Like I said, you’re welcome to run through the cemetery, but if you want to get out and explore, just head out those front gates. There’s only one road, so you shouldn’t get lost.”

The visitors’ center door opened again and Gloria poked her head out. “Mr. Mercer? This woman in here says the tour only lasts thirty minutes. I specifically requested two hours or longer.”

“I’ll be right in.” He glanced at me. “Enjoy your run.”