The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(68)

Daria’s gaze shifts from Sofia to Lucy, and back again, before she finally takes Sofia’s hand.

Lucy aims a thumb at our aunt. “And of course you know Aunt Poppy.”

Poppy steps forward, cupping Daria’s cheeks in her hands. “My dear girl. It’s so lovely to see you.”

My sister literally recoils. I want to grab her by the arm and tell her to behave. “Thanks,” she says coolly, adjusting her backpack.

“You’ve arrived just in time for Ravello,” Poppy continues, seemingly unfazed.

“Yes!” I say. “Perfect timing. Ravello is the capstone of our trip. Wait until you hear Poppy’s story. We’ll fill you in on the way.”

“We’ll be there by sunset,” Poppy adds. “Depending on how fast Luciana drives.”

Lucy rears back. “I’m not driving. I don’t even have a license. Em will drive.”

My heart begins to pound. I feel Daria’s eyes on me. She’s got a sly grin on her face.

“So you’re driving, Emmie?”

My sister knows I don’t drive, and she knows why. I clasp my shaking hands. “No,” I whisper.

Sofia studies us, as if trying to understand the dynamics between these strange American sisters. “I would drive you myself, but I need to get back to the boys. Besides, I am terrified of the cliffs.”

Poppy bats a hand. “Not to worry. I will drive.”

If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable. Poppy can barely walk. And the label on her pill vial prohibits her from driving.

There’s only one obvious solution.

“What about you, Dar?”

Her head snaps to attention.

“Will you drive us?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” I clasp my hands in prayer. “Please, Dar, I’m begging you. Say you’ll drive us to Ravello?”

She checks her watch, then turns to Lucy and Sofia and, finally, Poppy. She heaves a sigh.

“Which way to the car?”



* * *





The parking lot is a frenzy of panicked travelers, clamoring for taxis, shouting who came first and who needs to go to the back of the line. Sofia shudders and hands Daria the keys. “I am sorry to leave you,” she tells us, “but I must get back to my little men.”

“We’ll drive you back to the inn,” Lucy says.

“No. Gabriele will pick me up down the block, where it is not so busy. You must get on the road. It’s a six-hour drive to Ravello.”

She hugs me first, and then bids Poppy a tearful good-bye. It seems to take all of Poppy’s strength to reach into her purse and fish out her bag of pennies. She places one in Sofia’s hand.

“For luck,” she says. “Now, go spread your sunshine in this world.”

Sofia kisses each of Poppy’s cheeks. “I will.”

Her eyes are misty when she turns to Lucy. “See you in November.” She tucks a stray hair behind Lucy’s ear. “Be safe.”

Lucy nods. “Grazie,” she says, her voice thick. “Grazie.”

Sofia walks away, then turns around. “Ciao! Be careful. The bends in the roads can be treacherous.”



* * *





While Daria punches an address into Gabe’s GPS, Lucy and I settle Aunt Poppy into the backseat. She winces and rubs her temples. We buckle her seat belt and wrap our coats around her. Despite the balmy weather, she’s shivering. My aunt should be tucked in a warm bed, maybe even a hospital bed. But no. We’ve come all this way for one reason. We cannot give up now.

“Try to rest,” I tell her. She leans her head on the window and closes her eyes.

Daria maneuvers through the city streets of Florence with confidence, obeying the directions displayed on the GPS. I sit up front with her, following along on my finally useful map. She exits SS67 at Viale Francesco Redi and heads north. According to my map, she should have stayed on SS67. I open my mouth to tell her, but close it. Daria doesn’t like to be second-guessed. She’s come all this way. She’s here, in Italy. We’re going to spend the next two days together.

“Thanks again,” I say. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. It’s unreal. For starters, you must have spent a fortune to get here.”

“Nonna paid.”

“Nonna?” I laugh. “I would have thought Nonna would consider this trip a colossale waste of money.”

“Nope.”

“But you took time off work, just for this. And time away from the girls, and Donnie.”

“Forget it.”

“No. Seriously, I really, really appreciate it.” I pivot, so that I’m facing her profile. “I know we’re not as close as we once were, Dar. But deep inside, I’ve always known you’ve had my back. This just proves—”

“Stop, Em. Just . . . stop, please.”

“Okay. Sorry.” I sit back, stung. We ride in silence for another mile before I realize I’ve got my finger on my scar. I clasp my hands and gaze out the window, watching a plane take off. Then another. Ahead, I see the sign for the Aeroporto di Firenze—Peretola. I check my map.

“Dar, I think we might be going the wrong way.”