Chapter 12
“Will you stop doing that?” Giada glared at Andrea as he sat on a stool at the bar in her apartment kitchen. He’d been flipping a tiny paper box of Leone hard candies over and over while she looked through some paperwork.
“Sorry,” he said, moving the box off to one side. “Did you find it?”
“It’s in this pile, I know,” said Giada.
She had asked him to come over on the one day the café was closed to review the lease since the owner of the building was hinting at raising her rent again.
Andrea could not understand why the landlord, who was not from Baia Santa, would think it was a good idea to raise the rent so much that their business might struggle at exactly at the moment when it was earning enough revenue to finally pay on time.
“Did she find it?” Vivi popped into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, with her pink hair standing up at all angles.
Andrea shook his head. Vivi leaned her cheek on Giada’s shoulder.
“You’ll find it. And if you don’t, we can open a food truck.
” She laughed and kissed her before turning to pour more coffee.
“It’s here,” she said, again, as Vivi walked into the living room. “I know it is. Wait—maybe it’s at the café.” Giada pressed her hands to her face.
“Listen, I have to go.” Andrea started to get up.
“No, no, wait! It’s only 7:30 in the morning, and you can’t have anything that official to do before nine. I need to ask you a question.”
“Yes, I think Lora’s idea to add iced coffee to the menu was a good one. I told you the Americans are obsessed with it.”
“That’s not the question, though she was right. By the way, they want it in a plastic cup and they want to walk around with it. Did you know this? Bizarre. Anyway, that’s still not the question.” She paused, redirecting. “What is happening between you two?”
Andrea opened his mouth to speak, but his mind went directly to the garden yesterday. He hadn’t been able to focus on one thing since then. Her soft skin, the taste of her lips, his hand running down under her thigh—
“ANDREA!”
“Yes,” he answered, still dazed. Giada was looking at him like he’d been caught trying to sneak out of class.
“As you know, I am helping her, as much as I can, ethically, with getting citizenship. And we’re friends at this point, I think.
” Her tongue licking along his collarbone, her soft moan when he grazed his hands along the side of her breast. “But there’s not much to say.
She’s made it quite clear that she wants to get out of here as soon as possible, and I respect that.
Also, I am busy. You know how busy I am. ”
“You’re making ex-cu-ses,” she sang.
“There’s no future there.”
“Except she’s moving into your house. Very kind of you, by the way. And good that you finally got off your ass to finish the renovation.”
“Again, it’s temporary. Look, there is nothing to talk about because no matter what happens in the next few weeks, she is leaving. I am not. That’s the end.”
“Did you decide, then?” Giada asked, her face softening. “Am I looking at a mayor running for his second term?”
“Can we talk about this another time?” He stood up. “Go find your lease and call me, OK? I’ve got to take her to the bank later this afternoon, but I’ll be around.”
“She’s going to meet Romina?” Giada let out a puff of air. “Good luck with that.”
As Lora approached the Banco Popolare di Liguria, a man on a bicycle passed her and waived at Andrea, who stood waiting for her on the stone steps with a folder in his hand.
He waved back, then caught sight of her and grinned.
The zing in her chest reminded her that she hadn’t seen him since they refiled her documents for citizenship yesterday—after they attacked each other in the garden.
Since Franca had been present and presiding during the whole procedure, they managed only a tight goodbye before he’d turned back into his office and moved on to his next activity.
It was then that she realized that they’d never exchanged phone numbers.
They’d never called each other, never texted, never found each other’s profiles on social media to follow or stalk or scroll through, trying to avoid accidentally hitting “like.” If she needed him, she walked down the steps from her hotel, and he was usually there.
Though “needed him” might be a bit of an exaggeration.
Had to speak to him? Wanted to see him? Need was another thing altogether.
For example, right now, she did need him to help her convince an Italian bank that she had enough funds and income in the US to cover the rent in his house for as many months as necessary without turning into a squatter.
“The only thing I want to tell you is this: Do not be intimidated by Romina,” Andrea said, double-kissing her hello.
“And who is Romina?”
“She’s the bank manager and a well-known rompiscatole. If she makes faces or seems like she is doing everything possible to make this difficult, don’t panic. We will get this done one way or another. Make sure you have your paperwork in order. That way, we’ll be able to answer questions quickly.”
“OK. I have everything on my laptop here.” She patted the side of her tote bag. “Gosh, you make it sound like we are going into battle.”
“Because we are,” he said, arching a brow. “Just follow my lead.”
He’d told her to not be intimidated by Romina, but he’d said nothing about the security door leading into the bank.
Only one person at a time was allowed to step into what looked like a giant glass tube before they were sealed off inside the tiny compartment.
It was meant to contain a criminal fully if they tried to leave the bank in a hurry, but had the effect of making everyone feel like they were suffocating inside a human-sized syringe for an excruciating five seconds.
Exactly at the moment she thought she might start hyperventilating, the tube curved open to the interior of the bank and she stepped inside.
It was dark with mahogany walls and stone floors.
A gigantic oil painting depicting an anguished-looking Triton rising out of the sea on a chariot pulled by roiling seahorses dominated the top half of the two-story room, and everything was lit with a giant, three-tier brass chandelier.
Andrea walked in behind her and went right over to speak to a young man sitting at a kiosk.
He nodded and walked down a hall to their left.
“Are all banks this imposing in Italy?” she whispered. “I don’t know whether to make a deposit or confess my sins.”
“That’s the point,” he whispered back.
“Sindaco.” The man reappeared, beckoning them down the hall. “Seguitemi.”
They stepped into Romina’s office, another dark space with a giant desk, brass lamp, and forest-green leather chairs. The art in her office was only slightly more cheerful: a forlorn sailboat in the middle of a bay, a cluster of gruesome clouds gathering on the horizon behind it.
“Sindaco.” She stood and nodded, shaking Andrea’s hand. He introduced her to Lora, and although she hid it well, she seemed surprised to see another person at the meeting. “Allora, ditemi. Come posso esservi di aiuto?”
“She’s asking how she can help us. I’m going to explain everything, OK?”
Lora nodded, and he launched into rapid speech, most of which Lora could not understand.
However, she was proud of her ability to pick out a few easy words like “affitto” for “rent,” “banca” for “bank,” “conto” for “account,” and, of course, “cittadinanza” for “citizenship.” Romina listened, her fingers intertwined on her desk, a polite expression on her face.
She looked like a very elegant cobra in a Fendi blouse.
“Come si chiama lei?” she asked Andrea.
“Loretta Giordano. é la figlia di Ivo,” he replied.
“Ivo?” Romina’s eyes widened and her gaze snapped to Lora.
“Sì, Ivo,” Andrea said. Lora nodded along.
“Perdonatemi,” she said, the color draining from her face. She stood, motioning for them to stay seated, and walked out of the room.
“What’s going on?” whispered Lora after a pause.
“I have no idea,” he whispered back. “She asked me your name and I told her. She didn’t know you were Ivo’s daughter, of course.”
“Is this normal?” she hissed.
“The last time I was here, she put a block on my savings account because I still owed fifty-five cents interest from when I was ten. Anything could be normal,” he hissed back.
“Signora Giordano,” she said, returning to the office. She placed a thick leather ledger on her desk and sat slowly. She turned to Andrea and spoke several sentences that finished with the word “passaporto.”
“She said that due to the sensitive nature of the financial details, she would like to be sure that you are Ivo’s kid. If you can show her your passport—” Andrea explained.
“Absolutely,” said Lora, digging into her bag. She handed the passport to Romina, showed her the back page that indicated that she was also known as Loretta Elaine Giordano, then turned back to Andrea. “What is going on?” He shrugged.
“Grazie,” said Romina. She took a deep breath, opened the ledger, and placed both palms on top of it before beginning to explain.
Lora gave up trying to understand a few words and, instead, tried to read gestures.
The conversation went on and on, Romina using her hands to wave to some unknown location every time she said the word “là.” Lora knew that word meant “over there”; she just didn’t know over where.
Andrea only responded “Aha,” “OK,” and “Mmm,” which didn’t leave her much to go on.
Finally Romina finished, opened her palm toward Lora, and said, “Spiegaglielo.”
“She asked me to explain to you that apparently”—he paused, clearing his throat—“Ivo, or rather they as managers of his estate, had been wiring money to a bank account that they believed to be yours for years.”
Lora’s stomach dropped. She could feel Romina looking at her, but couldn’t seem to stop her mouth from opening into a useless, empty O shape.
“In Florida?” Lora asked, her voice almost a croak.
“Sì, Florida,” confirmed Romina.
“Keep going,” Lora said, though she could see that Andrea’s forehead was creased like a roman shade.
“At some point, the bank rejected the transfers, saying that account didn’t exist anymore.
From what I understand, there was some kind of glitch.
Back then, they were using fax to do everything, and I guess there were a few clerical errors.
So, no one ever knew the payments weren’t being received, and no one ever stopped the payments.
They all bounced back, of course, but the bank has a record of every payment up until they switched to a digital system and were able to realize the mistake.
In situations like this, the designated recipient of the funds is considered to be still in receipt of those funds.
It’s a system set up to avoid anyone not getting what is due them because of some technological problem.
That means that you are still owed that money and now that you are here, you can have it. ”
“I didn’t come here for money,” Lora said, sitting up taller in her seat. “Please tell her that I am only here to confirm the rental agreement and the rest is not of interest.”
“She knows that. She knows you had no idea that there was money here for you. This is an extraordinary circumstance,” he said, leaning closer to Lora. His voice got quiet. “She’s actually kind of embarrassed because nothing like this has ever happened before.”
Lora pulled out her laptop and opened it to the PDF she’d compiled of her bank statements for the last two years. She didn’t make a ton of money, but it was more than enough to cover the token rent of one euro per month that Andrea was charging. She turned the computer around to face Romina.
“These are my bank statements,” she said, pointing at the screen. She set the computer on Romina’s desk, an action that was met with raised eyebrows and a questioning look. “Does she need me to print these out because I obviously don’t have a printer.”
“Non e necessario,” said Romina, waving her hands to encourage Lora to remove the offending item from the divine surface of her desk.
“She says you don’t need that,” Andrea said.
“Why not? It’s what she asked for.” She knew her face was pink. She could feel the heat building from her throat and a sting on the inside of her nose. She did not want to cry. She did not.
Romina explained something to Andrea including the words for “account,” “contract,” and “father.” Andrea was going back and forth with her, but she clearly dominated the conversation.
Lora willed her to finish quickly. She had no idea what Romina was saying, but if she would get it out of her mouth faster, Lora could exit this room and exit this building and exit this damned town if she wanted to.
“She says—and let me confirm that she is not joking for one second about any of this—she says that the bank is legally obligated to transfer the funds to you. There is nothing you can do about that. After that point, you can do whatever you want, including give it all away. But then I asked her if the account could serve as a kind of escrow that would also confirm the rental agreement and she said yes. You don’t have to use the money.
It will sit there and you can go about your life like it never existed.
It’s only that you will have had a little help to get this approval. ”
“I want to do it on my own,” Lora said, her voice sounding so small.
It was too late. She looked down, feeling the hot tears come, and searched in her bag for something to wipe her face.
A puff of tissues broke Lora’s peripheral vision as Romina half stood, extending a box across the desk.
Lora could not look up at her but nodded her thanks as she pulled two tissues out and tried to wipe her face.
“I understand, but I want to emphasize how difficult it normally is to get approval like this when all of your income and accounts are abroad. We were going to try really hard and hope for some good luck here today. The good luck showed up, just not how you wanted it to. In this case, it’s going to have to be OK to not do it on your own. ”
“Secondo me tuo padre ti amava. Molto.” Romina shook her head and shrugged like she’d spoken an irrefutable truth.
“What did she say?” Lora asked, still refusing to look up. She knew it was something about her father again. Andrea drew in a breath. She could practically feel how much he didn’t want to be the one to say the words to her.
“She thinks Ivo loved you very much.”