The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(71)

“Luce, do you know that I’m thrilled for you? I mean, really, truly thrilled. Sofia is one cool woman. And so are you.”

“Thanks. I’m a little freaked if you want to know the truth. Carol and Vinnie will have three strokes apiece when they find out.”

“They’ll come around. Your parents will see what I see. You’re Lucy again, the real Lucy.”

She breaks into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m proud of you. All love takes courage. Your kind of love takes a special kind of valiancy.”

“Valiancy? That’s good, right?”

“Really good.”

She turns to the window. “You know, for years now I’ve tried to ignore what felt natural. And it’s not that I suddenly decided to become a dick dodger. I didn’t set out to fall for a chick. It’s more like I just stopped resisting.”

We travel in silence another mile before Lucy speaks again, her voice soft. “I suppose I should welcome you to the Laid and Played Club.”

Is she poking fun at me? My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

“It’s not exactly a club you’d want to join,” she continues. “But I’m guessing at one time or another, most people are initiated.”

I wait until a truck passes before I peek at her. Her eyes hold a tenderness I’ve never seen. I let out a sigh. “I was so stupid.”

“You were inexperienced. You didn’t know the rules. You’ll learn. And if it makes you feel better, I’ve been laid and played, too.”

“That Jack guy,” I say—a statement, not a question.

She nods. “And about a million and twenty-seven other douche bags.”

My laugh gets captured in a groan. “Oh, Luce, what am I going to do? Where am I supposed to put all these feelings?” I shake my head. “I know what you’re thinking: I’m being dramatic. I only knew him for three days.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “It’s all about connection. When you have it, and then it’s ripped away, you feel like your lungs cannot fill, like you’re emptied of every atom of joy. You can’t breathe, let alone eat or sleep. And you’re certain, absolutely sure-as-shit certain, that you will never be the same again.”

I sneak a glance at her. “But eventually you are, right?”

She shakes her head. “No, Em. You are never the same.”

I groan. Dread fills me, and I imagine a lifetime of misery.

She pats my knee. “You become better. A hell of a lot better.”



* * *





Five hours later, just when I’m finally starting to relax behind the wheel, we reach the province of Salerno. To the west, I glimpse the silhouette of Naples. Only fifty-nine kilometers until we reach Ravello. Almost instantly, the landscape changes. Gone is the long stretch of Highway A1, replaced by narrow passages with harrowing switchback curves carved along the cliff’s edge.

The vehicle groans as we climb the jagged mountain. Lucy sits up straight, her face taut.

“You’ve got this,” she tells me. But she’s clutching the dash in front of her as if clinging to the rocky ledge. My hands sweat. I gasp when I catch sight of the foamy Gulf of Salerno beyond the jagged cliff.

“Damn!” I cry, fighting a wave of dizziness.

“Don’t look down,” she says.

My heart thunders in my chest. “I hate this!”

“On the bright side,” Lucy says, “if we crash, we’ll take out Gabe’s precious SUV.”

My eyes strain to focus on the road in front of me. I hold my breath as we navigate around another hairpin curve. I let up on the gas when we come upon a tour bus. It’s following an RV, and we slow to a crawl. Behind me, a line of cars begins to build. I glance in the rearview mirror. The driver behind me is right on my tail. He’s ducking in and out of the lane, obviously anxious to pass me . . . and the bus . . . and the RV.

“Relax,” Lucy says. “Ignore all those cars you’re holding up.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t pass.”

The car behind me honks. Lucy whips around and holds up her middle finger.

“Stop. You’ll encourage road rage.”

The driver lays on his horn again. It’s too dangerous for him to pass me, along with the bus and RV. He wants me to lead the way. “Damn it!”

We round a curve, and straight pavement stretches before us.

“Go!” Lucy says. “Pass these snails! Now!”

“What? No!”

From the long line of cars behind us, a chorus of horns begins—plural. My chest squeezes. It’s up to me to move the traffic. My entire body trembles. I put on my blinker and, with utmost caution and trepidation, enter the passing lane.

“Move it!” Lucy shouts.

I step on the accelerator and the car lunges. I’m almost past the bus when a curve appears in the distance.

“Oh, God!” I cry. The engine groans, downshifting on the mountain’s incline. I start to wedge between the bus and the RV, but there’s not enough space.

“Let me in,” I shout, at the same time Lucy cries, “Go for it!”

I press my foot on the gas. I have no choice but to try to overtake the RV as well. Sweat breaks out under my arms.