Read Online Italy to Die For by Loretta Giacoletto - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loretta Giacoletto
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agonize over a few lost days.”
“Thanks, Sis. I knew you’d understand.”
“Absolutely, n ow, here’s what I want you to do. First, turn in the Fiat. Then take the train to Milan and from there, an express to Malpensa. I’ll meet you at that hotel near the airport.”
“What part of my pain are you not feeling? The nearest car rental office is located in Genoa. It’s over a hundred miles from here, an hour and a half drive for the Italians, for me a minimum of two and a half hours. I’m not up to the challenge.” My next words came out before I had a chance to ponder them. “In fact, I may have to postpone my flight home.”
“You what? ”
“You heard me.”
“Wait a minute, do I detect a certain lilt to your voice, in spite of this terrible pain you claim to be enduring. You’ve met someone, haven’t you.”
This time it was Margo who sounded like our mother; and my turn to sound like Margo. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only left Florence two days ago.”
“Where are you now, I hope at the villa in La Spezia.”
“Not exactly.”
“El , you’re either there or you’re not.”
“Actually, I’m staying in Monterosso, at the apartment of Lorenzo Gentili.”
“Who the hell is Lorenzo Gentili?”
“The host of our villa at La Spezia, the man you stood up for … what’s-his-name: Giorgio.”
“And now you’re thinking about extending your vacation? What about your job?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a school librarian, Margo. School is out for the summer, which means I am too.”
“ More like out of your mind. Mom’s not going to like this, not one bit.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something to tell her. Now, really, I’ve got to hang up. My hip is killing me.”
Chapter 13
More Humiliation
How could my own sister have treated me so shabbily after all I’ve done for her over the years, especially those following her failure as a namby-pamby novice with those Ursuline nuns. Not that I ever thought she’d been blessed with a religious calling but who is nowadays when picking and choosing from so many career opportunities. Worldly distractions, as El said on entering the convent and probably her reason for leaving, one I certainly understood although we’d never discussed the exact details of her departure. Working as a middle school librarian suited her personality much better—the contradiction of a childlike yet studious quality our mother found so appealing. On the other hand, those twelve-year-olds she served could be incredibly cruel, I guess. Or maybe honest, yes, more like honest to the point of cruelty … at times but not always, at least that’s how I remember my own candid interventions with her when I was no more than twelve. Was it my fault she couldn’t take a bit of honest criticism? That she didn’t believe me when I said her face would eventually catch up with her nose. And that I kicked some guy in the balls when he called her Ellie with the two-ton belly.
As for Italy, this was El’s idea not mine. But had it been mine, I’d have insisted we make the trip with a group of upscale singles, whatever it took to loosen her up and to let me be me. No way was I going to let her hold me back though. Nor was I about to hold her back. In fact, I all but cheered when this macho guy in Rome had pinched her ass instead of mine. Come to think of it, I didn’t tell her about my late-night encounter with that same guy—in the alley of a centuries-old building, what a hoot. At least it was a hoot at the time, although on further reflection I must confess to feeling somewhat slutty.
As for Giorgio, I have absolut ely no regrets, especially the magic of those times when we connected—body and soul and everything in-between. If only he hadn’t been so attached to his mama … if only she hadn’t ….
What the hell, no way would I allow a mere bump in the road ruin what remained of my Italian holiday.
Chapter 14
Tourist
“Thanks, Sis. I knew you’d understand.”
“Absolutely, n ow, here’s what I want you to do. First, turn in the Fiat. Then take the train to Milan and from there, an express to Malpensa. I’ll meet you at that hotel near the airport.”
“What part of my pain are you not feeling? The nearest car rental office is located in Genoa. It’s over a hundred miles from here, an hour and a half drive for the Italians, for me a minimum of two and a half hours. I’m not up to the challenge.” My next words came out before I had a chance to ponder them. “In fact, I may have to postpone my flight home.”
“You what? ”
“You heard me.”
“Wait a minute, do I detect a certain lilt to your voice, in spite of this terrible pain you claim to be enduring. You’ve met someone, haven’t you.”
This time it was Margo who sounded like our mother; and my turn to sound like Margo. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only left Florence two days ago.”
“Where are you now, I hope at the villa in La Spezia.”
“Not exactly.”
“El , you’re either there or you’re not.”
“Actually, I’m staying in Monterosso, at the apartment of Lorenzo Gentili.”
“Who the hell is Lorenzo Gentili?”
“The host of our villa at La Spezia, the man you stood up for … what’s-his-name: Giorgio.”
“And now you’re thinking about extending your vacation? What about your job?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a school librarian, Margo. School is out for the summer, which means I am too.”
“ More like out of your mind. Mom’s not going to like this, not one bit.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something to tell her. Now, really, I’ve got to hang up. My hip is killing me.”
Chapter 13
More Humiliation
How could my own sister have treated me so shabbily after all I’ve done for her over the years, especially those following her failure as a namby-pamby novice with those Ursuline nuns. Not that I ever thought she’d been blessed with a religious calling but who is nowadays when picking and choosing from so many career opportunities. Worldly distractions, as El said on entering the convent and probably her reason for leaving, one I certainly understood although we’d never discussed the exact details of her departure. Working as a middle school librarian suited her personality much better—the contradiction of a childlike yet studious quality our mother found so appealing. On the other hand, those twelve-year-olds she served could be incredibly cruel, I guess. Or maybe honest, yes, more like honest to the point of cruelty … at times but not always, at least that’s how I remember my own candid interventions with her when I was no more than twelve. Was it my fault she couldn’t take a bit of honest criticism? That she didn’t believe me when I said her face would eventually catch up with her nose. And that I kicked some guy in the balls when he called her Ellie with the two-ton belly.
As for Italy, this was El’s idea not mine. But had it been mine, I’d have insisted we make the trip with a group of upscale singles, whatever it took to loosen her up and to let me be me. No way was I going to let her hold me back though. Nor was I about to hold her back. In fact, I all but cheered when this macho guy in Rome had pinched her ass instead of mine. Come to think of it, I didn’t tell her about my late-night encounter with that same guy—in the alley of a centuries-old building, what a hoot. At least it was a hoot at the time, although on further reflection I must confess to feeling somewhat slutty.
As for Giorgio, I have absolut ely no regrets, especially the magic of those times when we connected—body and soul and everything in-between. If only he hadn’t been so attached to his mama … if only she hadn’t ….
What the hell, no way would I allow a mere bump in the road ruin what remained of my Italian holiday.
Chapter 14
Tourist
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