One Italian Summer(67)

And then the archway is upon us. I bring the tin to my lips. I kiss the top of it. And then as we move through, shadowed by rock, I empty it out the side of the boat. I watch as the dust descends into the water, scattered on the breeze.

She is everywhere, I think. She is all around us.

And then just like that, we are through the archway and the tin is empty. I feel a sinking hollow in my stomach, the recognition of completion. The understanding that she is gone now. She will not be waiting for me at the hotel, and she will not be home in Brentwood. She will not arrive through the front door of my home, unannounced, with produce from the farmers market. She will not leave fifteen second voicemails on my machine. She will not call. She will not hold me anymore, her arms enveloping me in her certainty, her presence. There is so much life ahead to lead without her, and she is gone.

Antonio circles the boat around. He looks to me.

“Yes?” he asks. As if to say Are you done? Is that enough?

“Antonio,” I say. “Where does the thirty-year legend come from?”

Antonio squints at me. “No thirty years,” he says. “Per sempre.”

“For always,” I say.

“Sì,” Antonio says. “For always.”

The motor turns back on. We pull away from the rocks, back to Positano. In a few days, Eric and I will go home. To an old life that is new now. To a future that we do not yet know how to live.

You will learn, I hear her say. Her voice echoes on the wind, the water. I hear it in the quiet corners of me.

I see Positano before us. The sun is fully up now. I can make out every building—the Sirenuse, the Poseidon, Chez Black. This foreign landscape, so familiar to me now.

“You will come back?” Antonio asks me. He interrupts my thoughts. I arch back to look at him.

“Yes,” I say.

He nods.

“They always come back,” he tells me. “It is too beautiful for one and only.”

We are caught up in docking then. Gathering bags, stepping over ropes. The present is relentless. It forces us over and over again to pay attention. It requires all of us. As well it should.

“I see you,” Antonio says, and then he is gone.

I climb the stairs back up to the hotel. I am barely winded when I arrive. My lungs have gotten stronger here. My legs, too.

I smell the smells of breakfast, the sea, coffee. The sounds of bicycles and children.

It is enough.

It is more than enough.

It is everything.





Rebecca Serle <[email protected]> Thu, Apr 16, 2020, 5:34 PM

To: Hotel Poseidon <[email protected] via> Subject: Your Beautiful Hotel Hi Liliana,


I’m not sure if you remember me but I was at your hotel in late July/early August of last year. My name is Rebecca Serle and I came with a friend. We ended up eating at the hotel more nights than we planned, and you and I got to chat a bit. I am in my early thirties and have brown hair. I had so hoped to return to your hotel this summer—particularly because I am setting a book in Positano and wanted to do further research. The book will take place in large part, in fact, at the Hotel Poseidon. But the book takes place in the early ’90s—was your father the manager at the time? Did the hotel look much the same? Any information you could provide would be so helpful.


How are you doing? I’m thinking of Italy, and your slice of paradise in particular. Sending warmest wishes and love.


Rebecca





Hotel Poseidon Positano—PR Manager <[email protected] via>

Wed, Apr 22, 2020, 9:55 AM

To: Rebecca Serle <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Your Beautiful Hotel Ciao Rebecca,


It’s very nice to hear from you!


I hope you are doing well in these difficult times. We are all doing good here in Positano, although we’re looking forward to getting back to “normal” again.


It’s wonderful to hear you’re writing a book set in Positano and here at the Hotel Poseidon!!!


Here’s a short “background” history that may help: The Hotel officially opened in 1955 (65 years ago!), although it had been my grandparents’ Liliana and Bruno’s private villa for a couple of years prior to that.


Their villa (and the hotel at the beginning) included the big living room, which is where the breakfast buffet is set these days, and the rooms below (room n°1, 2, 3, 4, and 5).


Since the opening, they have been working to buy more land all around the existing property and slowly they were able to add more and more pieces around it. The last addition was the pool area (the pool and the terrace where the sunbeds are spread out), and it happened in the 1970s.


The looks of the hotel haven’t changed much ever since. It has been run by my grandmother Liliana and then passed onto her children, Marco and Monica (my uncle and my mother, who are the current owners!).


In short—in the 1990s the hotel was run by Liliana, Marco, and Monica, and yes, it looked pretty much the same as it does now. My father is a photographer and he’s never worked for or at the hotel.


I hope this helps so far! Let me know if you need further information or explaining—I’d be happy to share more.


Hope you’re staying safe and well. I look forward to hearing back from you and of course to read this book when it’s out!