Read Online Bliss and the Art of Forever (A Hope Springs Novel) by Alison Kent - Free Book Online
Authors: Alison Kent
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eyes. To drink and breathe and relish the beauty of his Italy.
After she and Artie married, they’d made the trip four times, giving her the chance to meet and grow to love Pops and Zola before they’d passed on. Artie had wanted to visit more often. Instead, he’d put off his wishes while fulfilling hers, taking her to see One Tree Hill in Auckland, New Zealand, and the Royal Palace in Madrid. The Emerald Buddha in Bangkok, Thailand, and Norway’s Urnes Stave Church in Ornes.
The memories made her feel so selfish. She loved Artie’s family, his grandmother, his grandfather, his many cousins and their spouses and children. Time with them would’ve been the greatest gift she could’ve given Artie, but having grown up in such a sheltered environment, she’d wanted to see the world, and Artie had happily given it to her.
After running across the Bible, she’d e-mailed Bianca, Artie’s cousin she’d grown closest to. Their correspondence had become a daily thing. When she’d learned about the floods that had struck Vernazza and Monterosso three years before, Brooklyn had been horrified by her failure to check in with the family sooner. And when she learned about the local church losing nearly everything, she mentioned the Bible to Bianca.
From there, the decision was made for her to bring the Bible with her when she visited in June. The village residents would be overjoyed to have it back in their midst. Talk had then turned to Brooklyn extending her visit, and staying to help Bianca with a new teaching initiative. Thinking now about those early days of planning her trip, the notes she’d jotted while researching housing and transportation . . .
Leaving the files in the hope chest, she headed to the kitchen, where she’d left the bottle of wine she’d opened earlier. Picking up her phone, she glanced at the clock, calculated the time difference, then scrolled through her contact list and hit Talk.
“Pronto?” came the answer less than thirty seconds later.
“Bianca? It’s Brooklyn,” she said, sitting as she reached for her wine. “Did I wake you?”
“Brooklyn! I’m just getting ready to turn in. Come stai? ”
“ Sto Bene! And you?”
“ Bene! Bene! And looking very much forward to seeing you in June. It seems so far away, yet your visit is getting closer all the time. It is hard to believe your trip has been a year in the planning.”
“I’ve been packing some of my belongings to store in my absence. I know several of the vases and figurines I have belonged to Grandmother Zola. Are there any you would like to have returned?”
“Oh, Brooklyn, yes. Grazie. I was just thinking about this the other day. Do you still have the majolica vase? The one with Adam and Eve and the goats and the cherubs?”
“And the creepy faces on the sides beneath the snake handles?” Brooklyn asked, and Bianca laughed.
“They are serpents. Not snakes. It’s Adam and Eve!”
“Yes, I still have it.” It was sitting in the corner of the living room, between two of her bookcases. The thing was gaudy and hideous and nearly three feet tall, but she’d kept it anyway. Because it had belonged to Zola.
“I would love to have that. Actually, Daniela is the one who would love to have it. I think it might be rather valuable and, well, you know Daniela.”
“She’s welcome to it.” And all its dust, Brooklyn mused, cringing. “I’ll go ahead and ship it to you. I’ll be traveling light, so sending it ahead will be more expedient. And please let me know if you think of anything else.”
They talked for another ten minutes, then rang off, their conversation leaving Brooklyn cheered, though still anxious; she had so much left to do, though in actuality, her anxiety was rooted elsewhere—in the two-year anniversary of Artie’s death, when she would visit the family’s vineyard and olive grove in Vernazza, and once there, scatter her late husband’s ashes.
FOUR
Italy. Not the Golden Gate Bridge or the
After she and Artie married, they’d made the trip four times, giving her the chance to meet and grow to love Pops and Zola before they’d passed on. Artie had wanted to visit more often. Instead, he’d put off his wishes while fulfilling hers, taking her to see One Tree Hill in Auckland, New Zealand, and the Royal Palace in Madrid. The Emerald Buddha in Bangkok, Thailand, and Norway’s Urnes Stave Church in Ornes.
The memories made her feel so selfish. She loved Artie’s family, his grandmother, his grandfather, his many cousins and their spouses and children. Time with them would’ve been the greatest gift she could’ve given Artie, but having grown up in such a sheltered environment, she’d wanted to see the world, and Artie had happily given it to her.
After running across the Bible, she’d e-mailed Bianca, Artie’s cousin she’d grown closest to. Their correspondence had become a daily thing. When she’d learned about the floods that had struck Vernazza and Monterosso three years before, Brooklyn had been horrified by her failure to check in with the family sooner. And when she learned about the local church losing nearly everything, she mentioned the Bible to Bianca.
From there, the decision was made for her to bring the Bible with her when she visited in June. The village residents would be overjoyed to have it back in their midst. Talk had then turned to Brooklyn extending her visit, and staying to help Bianca with a new teaching initiative. Thinking now about those early days of planning her trip, the notes she’d jotted while researching housing and transportation . . .
Leaving the files in the hope chest, she headed to the kitchen, where she’d left the bottle of wine she’d opened earlier. Picking up her phone, she glanced at the clock, calculated the time difference, then scrolled through her contact list and hit Talk.
“Pronto?” came the answer less than thirty seconds later.
“Bianca? It’s Brooklyn,” she said, sitting as she reached for her wine. “Did I wake you?”
“Brooklyn! I’m just getting ready to turn in. Come stai? ”
“ Sto Bene! And you?”
“ Bene! Bene! And looking very much forward to seeing you in June. It seems so far away, yet your visit is getting closer all the time. It is hard to believe your trip has been a year in the planning.”
“I’ve been packing some of my belongings to store in my absence. I know several of the vases and figurines I have belonged to Grandmother Zola. Are there any you would like to have returned?”
“Oh, Brooklyn, yes. Grazie. I was just thinking about this the other day. Do you still have the majolica vase? The one with Adam and Eve and the goats and the cherubs?”
“And the creepy faces on the sides beneath the snake handles?” Brooklyn asked, and Bianca laughed.
“They are serpents. Not snakes. It’s Adam and Eve!”
“Yes, I still have it.” It was sitting in the corner of the living room, between two of her bookcases. The thing was gaudy and hideous and nearly three feet tall, but she’d kept it anyway. Because it had belonged to Zola.
“I would love to have that. Actually, Daniela is the one who would love to have it. I think it might be rather valuable and, well, you know Daniela.”
“She’s welcome to it.” And all its dust, Brooklyn mused, cringing. “I’ll go ahead and ship it to you. I’ll be traveling light, so sending it ahead will be more expedient. And please let me know if you think of anything else.”
They talked for another ten minutes, then rang off, their conversation leaving Brooklyn cheered, though still anxious; she had so much left to do, though in actuality, her anxiety was rooted elsewhere—in the two-year anniversary of Artie’s death, when she would visit the family’s vineyard and olive grove in Vernazza, and once there, scatter her late husband’s ashes.
FOUR
Italy. Not the Golden Gate Bridge or the
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