One Italian Summer(26)

Soon after, my mother lost her appetite as well. Before that she tried—she still cooked for us, putting on a brave face of enjoying roasted salmon and Broccolini or her famous linguine and clams. But treatment made her nauseous, and eating started to become painful. Hospitals, needles, and the pulse of medication do not pair well with an appetite. She got thinner and thinner, and so did I.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Eric would warn me. He’d pick up pasta or pizza or a Caesar salad—things I liked, things I found palatable—and I’d nibble at them. I stopped opening our refrigerator. Pretzels became a meal.

The thing I never told Eric, because I didn’t know how to say it without inviting in another conversation, because I didn’t know how to tell anyone, is that I had no interest in doing anything that would sustain my life anymore. Food, water, sleep, and exercise are meant for those who are trying to stay alive, who want to thrive. I didn’t.

“Coffee?” Adam asks me. I look across at him. His gray T-shirt is hiked up on his bicep, revealing a tan slice of muscle. How is it possible that just two weeks ago I was in a hospital somewhere, and now I’m sitting across from this man on the Amalfi Coast?

I nod.

He pours for me. The coffee is hot and thick and biting. Nearly deadly. Delicious.

“So what’s on your agenda today?” Adam asks me.

I think about the folded papers upstairs. “I want to explore,” I say. “My— A friend is taking me to this restaurant in the hills at four.”

Adam squints at me. “I thought you were here alone.”

“I am,” I say. “She’s— I met her yesterday. She’s also from California, so we got to talking.”

“That’s great,” he says. “It’s wonderful making friends in foreign places. Am I invited?”

I swallow a mouthful of coffee. “No.”

He cocks his head at me. “Okay then.”

“But I was thinking about exploring a little bit today. Would you want to show me around?” I gesture to the life below our terrace. “Or do you need to spend it trying to con Marco out of his family’s pride and joy?”

He sits back in his chair, threading his hands behind his neck. “Tough, Silver.”

“No one has ever called me that.”

“What, Silver?”

I shake my head. “No, tough.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he says, but he’s grinning at me. “So you want me to play tour guide for you?”

I lift my shoulders in deference. “You said you’ve been coming here forever.”

Adam looks out over the ocean. I see a hint of something in his gaze I can’t quite place, a passing thought that’s gone before I can identify what it is. “Well then, let’s go.”





Chapter Thirteen


After two plates of breakfast, seconds of bacon, and a cinnamon roll to go, I head upstairs to shower and change. The French doors to my room are closed, beating out the morning sun. I take a cold shower—the water feels delicious on my hot skin—and get dressed.

I meet Adam in the lobby twenty minutes later. He’s still in his gray T-shirt and board shorts, but now he’s wearing tennis shoes and a baseball hat that says Kauai on it.

I point up. “Have you been?”

It takes him a second to understand what I’m talking about. “Oh. Kauai. Yes, of course. It would be weird to wear the hat if not, no?”

“I guess.” I don’t mention that Eric has a hat that says Mozambique on it. We’ve never even been to the African continent.

His eyes graze down my body. “You look nice,” he says.

I’ve changed into denim shorts and a white lace top with a blue bikini underneath. Sun hat firmly on. My belly is full, and my legs feel pleasantly wobbly from the hike this morning.

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to be able to walk in those shoes?”

He points down at my feet that are clad in pink plastic Birkenstocks. Besides my Nikes, they’re the most comfortable shoes I brought on this trip.

“They’re Birkenstocks!” I say.

“And that means…?”

“It means let’s go.”

I have my straw cross-body around me, and I tuck a bottle of water from the front desk into it. I haven’t stopped drinking since I got done with the walk. I want more and more and more water.

Adam holds his arm out for me to pass through the door, and I do. Outside, the day is bright and friendly. Tourists and locals alike are in the streets, finishing breakfast at outdoor restaurants and opening shops to begin the day’s work.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Relax,” he says. “We’re going to walk. The best way to explore Positano is to simply wander.”

We start walking down Viale Pasitea. I look at the red and orange buildings we pass. Shops and restaurants and little grocery stands. There are baskets of fresh produce, and mannequins wearing hand-painted dresses. I spot a blue one with silver stitching. There are racks of sewn dolls for children and wraps in every shade of blue the ocean and sky are capable of offering.

“It’s all so beautiful,” I say.

“The stuff to buy or the views?”

“Both. But the views really are incredible. Up high this morning… you could see the whole sweep. It was spectacular. I think Positano might be the most stunning place I’ve ever seen.”