Love & Gelato(20)

“Oh, yeah. I noticed the framed Beatles records in your office.” I gulped. Now he was going to think I’d been snooping. Which technically I guess I had been.

He just smiled. “My sister sent those as a gift a few years ago. She has two boys, ten and twelve. They live in Denver and they usually come out every other summer or so.”

Did they know about me?

Howard must have had a similar thought, because there was a moment of silence, and then we both suddenly got superinterested in our menus.

“What do you want to order? I always get a prosciutto pizza, but everything here is good. We could get a few appetizers or—”

“How about just a plain pizza. Cheese.” Simple and quick. I wanted to get back out in Florence. And keep this dinner as short as possible.

“Then you should order the Margherita. It’s pretty basic. Just tomato sauce, mozzarella, and basil.”

“That sounds good.”

“You’re going to love the food here. Pizza here is in a whole different category from the stuff back home.”

I set my menu down. “Why?”

“It’s really thin and you get your own large pizza. And fresh mozzarella . . .” He sighed. “There’s nothing like it.”

He honestly had a dreamy look in his eyes. Did my more-than-a-friend love for food come from him? I hesitated. I guess it would be a good idea to at least sort of get to know him. He was my father after all.

“So . . . where’s ‘back home’?”

“I grew up in a small town in South Carolina called Due West, if you can believe it. It’s about a hundred and fifty miles from Adrienne.”

“Is Due West where you rearranged all the traffic barricades and caused a traffic jam?”

He looked at me in surprise. “Your mom told you?”

“Yeah. She told me lots of stories about you.”

He chuckled. “There wasn’t a lot to do in Due West, and unfortunately, I made the whole town pay for it. What other stories did she tell you?”

“She said you used to play hockey and that even though you’re pretty even-tempered, you used to get in fights on the ice.”

“Proof.” He turned his head and ran his finger across a scar that disappeared under his jawline. “This was one of my last games. I couldn’t seem to keep it under control. What else?”

“You guys went to Rome and the owner of a restaurant thought you were a famous basketball player and you guys got a free meal.”

“I forgot about that! Best lamb I ever had. And all I had to do was take pictures with the kitchen staff.”

Our server came over and took our order, then filled our glasses with fizzy water. I took a big swig and shuddered. Was it just me, or did carbonated water feel like liquid sparklers?

Howard crossed his arms. “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I can’t believe how much you look like Hadley. Did people tell you that all the time?”

“Yeah. People sometimes thought we were sisters.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You even have her hands.” My elbows were resting on the table, one arm crossed over the other, and Howard suddenly jerked forward a couple of inches, like he’d gotten snagged on a fishing hook.

He was staring at my ring.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Um, are you okay?”

“Her ring.” He reached out and almost touched it, his hand hovering an inch above mine. It was an antique, a slim gold band engraved with an intricate scrolling pattern. My mom had worn it until she’d gotten too thin to keep it on. I’d been wearing it ever since.

“Did she tell you I gave her that?”

“No.” I pulled my hand to my lap, my face heating up. Had she told me anything? “Was it like an engagement ring or something?”

“No. Just a present.”

There was another long silence, which I filled with unprecedented interest in the restaurant’s décor. There were signed photographs of what were probably very famous Italian celebrities hanging all around the restaurant, and several aprons had been tacked to the wall. “We All Live in a Yellow Submarine” was playing overhead. My cheeks were boiling like a pot of marinara sauce.

Howard shook his head. “So do you have a boyfriend at home who is missing you?”

“No.”

“Good for you. Plenty of time to break hearts when you’re older.” He hesitated. “This morning I was thinking I should make a call to the international school to see if anyone in your grade is around for the summer. It might be a good way to see if you’re interested in going to the school.”

I made a noncommittal sound, then took a special interest in a nearby photograph of a woman wearing a tiara and a thick sash. Miss Ravioli 2015?

“I wanted to tell you, if you ever need someone to talk to here—someone other than me or Sonia, of course—I have a friend who lives in town. She’s a social worker and she speaks English really well. She told me she’d be happy to meet with you if you ever need, you know . . .”

Great. Another counselor. The one I’d seen at home had pretty much just said mm-hmm, mm-hmm, over and over and asked me, How did that make you feel? until I thought my ears were going to melt. The answer was always “terrible.” I felt terrible without my mom. The counselor had told me that things would slowly start to feel better, but so far she was wrong.