18. A Needle in a Haystack
A Needle in a Haystack
Lucy
After Elio swings by the engineering office, we grab lunch at the HQ canteen and then head over to Portovino’s town hall. The same young guy is working the desk, and I know he recognizes me, because when our eyes meet, he grimaces.
But I also know the exact moment he recognizes Elio, because his face transforms from annoyed to flabbergasted in the span of a nanosecond. He does a double take, his blue eyes widening as his mouth parts. Maybe Elio wasn’t that far off about having fans here.
“ Ciao ,” Elio says with a bright smile.
The kid just stands there, transf ixed by Elio.
Elio starts speaking to him in Italian, and the kid finally regains his speech function as they engage in an animated conversation.
I don’t understand a single word, but I do know they’re talking about me, since they both keep stealing glances my way.
I plant my feet on the floor and offer polite smiles.
It’s awkward, but what else am I supposed to do?
“Okay. Grazie mille ,” Elio says, and the kid steps out, probably to talk to his supervisor. “Told you they’d be big fans.” He leans an elbow on the counter.
I shake my head, smiling. “Thanks for working your magic. Do we have access now?”
“Not yet. He’s going to get his boss, but it should be fine.”
We only have to wait a few minutes before the same grouchy man from yesterday steps out of his office.
He peers at the both of us, a hint of surprise on his face.
He and Elio exchange a few words, and suddenly, we’re back to the awkward smiling thing on my end.
The man keeps glancing at me, and I can see the hesitation dancing in his eyes.
He’s actually considering it this time. Elio might just be my superpower in this town.
“ Davvero? ” Elio asks with a look of stupor.
“ Sì, ma fa’ presto. ”
“ Grazie mille, ” he replies before turning to me. “We got it! He’s giving us access.”
My eyes widen as big as the front desk kid’s when he spotted Elio earlier. “For real?”
“Told you.” He flashes a boyi sh grin. “We can use their computer over there to check all the Marchesis in the database,” he says, pointing to a room next door.
“This is amazing.” Without thinking, I throw my arms around him.
The gesture clearly took him by surprise, as he stumbles back a little, but then he wraps his arms around me.
I feel like I’m floating, engulfed in his strong arms, his musky cologne making my head spin.
I don’t want to let go, but I’m also aware we’re in the town hall lobby with two guys ogling us.
Not to mention, I just jumped into Elio’s arms without invitation.
I take a step back, hating that my cheeks are betraying the emotions surging through me. “It’s just—I’m so happy. Thank you for your help.”
He shoves a hand in his jean pocket. “No problem. Let’s get going. They asked that we be quick.”
I follow him into the small archive room, and he takes the reins on the computer, since the software is in Italian. He types the name into the search bar, and we end up with twenty-eight results.
“Wow,” I breathe out. “That’s a lot of Marchesis.”
“Hopefully at least one of them is part of your family.”
Elio prints out the list, and after he snaps a few pictures with both men in the lobby and signs some autographs, we head back out.
“I can’t believe that worked. Thanks again.”
“I already told you, it’s my pleasure. Family is the most important thing. Now, stop thanking me, and let’s get cracking. Where do we start? Top of the list, or is there a name calling to you more than the others?”
I scan the list, then shake my head. “The woman I ran into called me Alessia, but I don’t see that name written here.”
“That’s because she probably doesn’t own any home here. She might be a daughter, especially if she’s around your age.”
“Good point. Let’s start from the top, then. Or maybe we begin with the addresses we can walk to from here?”
After some deliberation, we decide to go that route to avoid backtracking.
We identify ten houses within a thirty-minute walk and start with the closest one.
A half-hour stroll should make me want to cry, especially after those intense workouts, but I am way too invigorated to feel my body right now.
Not to mention, this town is absolutely gorgeous, and I’m not mad we get to do some exploring.
The cobblestone streets are lined with colorful buildings sporting terracotta rooftops, and the heat from the midday sun bakes the narrow alleys, making everything shimmer like precious stones.
The air carries the faint smell of lavender, mingling with the scent of fresh basil and tomatoes from the small trattorias tucked into every corner.
Portovino is quintessentially Italian, with pastel-colored buildings that have seen generations come and go.
Bougainvillea spills over balconies, its vibrant pink flowers contrasting against the bleached stone.
The heat is almost oppressive, but it’s the kind of summer warmth that lingers i n your bones, soothing rather than overwhelming.
Children’s laughter echoes down the street as they chase each other in the open squares, their carefree joy adding a sense of timelessness to the place.
A few older women are perched on their front steps, chatting in low voices.
Their hands move animatedly as they sip iced coffee, cooling off in the shade of their doors.
“Fifty-four,” Elio says, stopping to gaze up at a yellow townhouse. “It’s this one.”
I nod, and we both march up to the door. I’m about to knock, but I pause my knuckles midair.
“What’s wrong?” Elio asks.
“I don’t know. It’s weird, isn’t it? Knocking on people’s doors, asking if they’re my family.”
He chuckles. “When you say it like that, it’s definitely weird. Just tell them your name and your mom’s name. Explain that she was from here, and you’re looking for people who might know her?”
I smooth out my lightweight top and give a firm nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Just looking for people who knew my mom. Perfectly normal.” I take a deep breath and knock on the door.
A man in his mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair opens the door. “ Buongiorno ?”
Having completely spaced out the fact that the exchange would be in Italian, I freeze.
Fortunately, Elio is quick on his feet and takes over, telling the man—I assume—what we just talked about.
The man frowns, looks at me, then shakes his head.
“ Grazie. Buona giornata ,” Elio says before the man closes the door.
I sigh. “That was a bust, huh?”
“Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I knew it was a long shot, especially on the first try. I wish I could talk to all these Marchesis myself. Sorry I roped you into doing all the work.”
“I really don’t mind. But if you want, I can write down the speech for you. I’m always here for the rest.”
I nod, smiling. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We sit down on a bench, and I hand him a pen so he can write down my introductory words in Italian on the back of the list. He reads the speech to me, and I repeat it.
Once he corrects my pronunciation, we walk to the next house. Unfortunately, this one is another bust. They don’t know any Giulia Marchesi—or anyone who left for the USA. They do, however, know who Elio is and ask for a selfie with him.
The third house is more of the same, but in addition to not knowing Giulia Marchesi, the woman holding her infant is pissed that we woke him up from his nap.
“This is pointless,” I say, my frustration spilling out when she slams the door in our faces.
“We’re disturbing people in their homes, and we're never going to find a lead. My mom left thirty year s ago. No one is going to remember her. I should have thought about this before I made you waste your time.”
“Hey, don’t be like that. It’s only the third house. We have twenty-five more to go, and I intend to visit every single one so we don’t leave any stone unturned. We have to try, at least.”
I stare at him, my heart tightening in a way I wasn’t expecting. How is Elio still so sure? So determined?
“Are you afraid?” he asks, his question surprising me.
“What do you mean?”
“About potentially meeting family members you don’t know? It must be a little scary. Especially since your mom wasn’t on the best of terms with them.”
The truth of his words hits hard, and I swallow, the knot in my throat tightening. I glance down at my new brown wedges, suddenly feeling every inch of their discomfort.
“I guess so. In a way, I’m curious, and I want to know. But I also feel like I might be betraying my mother by digging up the past. She didn’t want me to know my family. What if they’re bad people? What if they hold a grudge against her, and they take it out on me?”
“I get it. I would feel the same. But just like you, I’m way too curious, so I know I’d push through. It’s up to you, though. We can always stop.”
I meet his gaze, then I close my eyes, thinking of all the possible outcomes of this search.
There are some dark ones, but the bright one is everything I’ve ever wanted—having a family.
It’s always just been me and my mom. I loved her more than anything, but I’ve always craved m ore.
When I watch online videos or movies, seeing those incredibly tight families with uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents, I get this empty feeling in my stomach.
Maybe this trip will finally change that.
Besides, it feels too much like fate to give up on it now.
“Let’s keep going.”
“All right,” he says, clasping his hands. “Next up, Via Biscolla.”
We keep ringing doorbells and explaining the situation. But aside from offering the homeowners unique selfie opportunities with Elio, none of our stops help our search. There were two houses where no one answered, so we’ll have to come back later.
Finally, we head to the last address on the list, close to the town center.
It’s a cute light-green townhouse, and the vibe immediately strikes me as friendly.
I ring the doorbell, my heart thudding in my chest as I cross my fingers, praying that this is the one.
But I’ve been doing that for all the doors we’ve knocked on so far, and it hasn’t worked out very well.
The door opens, and a woman appears on the threshold. She’s in her mid-twenties, with shoulder-length brown hair, wide green eyes, and a soft oval face.
Elio draws a gasp, mirroring how I’m feeling. My breath catches in my throat, and a strange fluttering stirs in my chest. That woman—she looks exactly like me.