The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(85)

She nods, her chin quivering. If there was ever a doubt, it’s gone now. She was loved.

“He kept the place exactly the same—the tiny kitchenette, the scarred wooden floors.”

“Really?” Lucy says. “Because I’m thinking it looks awesome.”

“You should have seen it two months ago,” Elene says, entering the room with a tray of coffee. She places it on a teak coffee table. “We’re selling the building now, so we’ve updated.”

“Come,” Jan says. “I will give you a tour.”

By tour, he means moving from the combined living room/kitchenette, poking our heads into a sleek marble bathroom, and stepping into the small bedroom overlooking the piazza. Immediately, Poppy turns to the door and lifts her head.

“Do you see it?” I ask, standing beside her, helping search the freshly painted wall for Rico’s inscription.

“No,” she says, her voice thick. “But it’s there. It will always be there.”

She steps into the hallway. Without asking permission, she opens a door. A staircase beckons us, presumably to the rooftop deck. She peers up at it before gently closing it again, either too weak or disappointed to climb the dozen steps.

We return to the living room sofa. Jan leans forward and plants his arms on his knees. “So tell me, Poppy, how do you know my granddad?”



* * *





I try to read Jan’s face as Poppy reveals the tale of their love. Is he upset? Angry? Embarrassed? It can’t be easy, hearing that your grandfather had a wife in another life, a woman he loved so deeply that he purchased the place where they once lived, just to feel her nearness.

“So that’s why we’re here,” I say. “Your grandfather and my aunt promised they’d meet on the steps of the Ravello Cathedral on their fifty-ninth anniversary.”

“Incredible,” he says. “This explains a lot.” He rubs the stubble on his face. “My grandfather’s health was failing quickly. We knew he had to get back home to Germany. But he insisted he had to be here on his wedding night, to meet his wife. We thought he was losing his mind. You see, Grandmother Karin had already passed.”

“He married Karin,” Poppy says, mostly to herself. She stares off into the distance, as if trying to digest this information.

“They were married forty-seven years. My father was the eldest of four children. His name is . . .” He looks up, as if surprised. “. . . Paul.”

My throat swells. Had Rico named his son after his love, Paolina?

Poppy reaches into her purse and pulls out a stack of letters, at least a dozen of them, bound with a ribbon. They are addressed to Krause Autoreparatur, Radebeul, Germany.

“These were returned to me,” she said. “Eventually, I stopped writing.”

She hands them to Jan, and I catch sight of a handwritten note on the top envelope. Do not write no more. Please.

Jan turns them over in his hand and examines the note. “My grandmother’s handwriting.” He shakes his head. “Aunt Joh received all the mail at the shop. I suspect she gave these to her future sister-in-law, rather than to her brother. You see, both women were desperate to keep my grandfather in Radebeul.” He stares down at the letters. “Please understand, she was not a bad woman, my grandmother Karin. She was a fine mother and wife. She and my grandfather seemed . . . compatible. Before the wall came down, people did not expect joy.”

“When did he pass?” Poppy whispers.

Jan looks at her quizzically.

“She wonders when your grandfather died,” I say.

“He is still alive, as far as I know. My father arrived last week to take him home to Germany, but Grandfather wasn’t strong enough to travel. He was admitted to L’Ospedale Leonardo—the hospital in Salerno. The doctors diagnosed him with a blood infection.”

“He’s alive?” Poppy says, her voice wavering.

“He’s alive!” I repeat, rising. “We need to see him.”

“I am afraid it would be a disappointment. My grandfather is completely . . . what is the word . . . unresponsive. Father says he no longer eats. He hasn’t uttered a word since he left Ravello.”

“I must see him,” Poppy says.

“But you are leaving today, sì?” Jan shakes his head. “Salerno is an hour to the east; Naples International is three hours northwest.”

From her place on the sofa, she rises. “I will not leave mein Ehemann. Not this time.” Her voice is strong and fierce. She’s never looked prouder or more certain.

Before Italy, I would have hidden behind a thousand excuses, for fear of Nonna’s wrath. Poppy’s too sick. Rico won’t even know she’s there. Nonna expects me back at work. But today, I don’t hesitate. I lace my fingers with hers. “I’m staying, too.”

She squeezes my hand and turns to Lucy. “I know you must get back to that new job of yours.”

“And miss all the fun?” Lucy cracks a smile. “Nice try, Pops, but this chick’s going nowhere.”



* * *





Ninety minutes later, we five—Jan and Elene, Aunt Poppy and Lucy and I—race down the sterile corridor of L’Ospedale Leonardo. My heart thumps wildly as I push Poppy in a borrowed wheelchair. She’s applying lipstick as we move. Please let Rico live long enough to share a final good-bye.