7. A Tough Act
Chapter 7
A Tough Act
T he bus driver kept trying to talk to the woman—the woman, oh, God!—who was a breath away from falling to her death. I didn’t want to creep myself out, but I had been thinking about parachutes and wings on the drive. I felt uneasy about the fall myself, and I usually didn’t have a problem with heights. Cockroaches or rats, yeah, I screamed like a banshee and wished I had a man to take care of them, but heights…not so much.
It was not the first time a thought came to me, a feeling coming over me after it, and the thought ended up happening to someone else . I didn’t understand it. Hated it. Was afraid of the power in it to a certain degree. So, I buried it and tried to ignore it. Except, I couldn’t around Eva. She said people such as us were born for a reason. Were “gifted” for a reason. I didn’t think of what I felt as a gift. It felt overwhelming and tiring, and sometimes I couldn’t turn it off or feel when it was about to happen. For instance, when the thought came into my mind about the parachutes and wings, I thought I was just being clever.
In that moment, a woman hung in the balance between life and death.
“ Signora! ” Donatello, the bus driver, shouted, but it was like he didn’t want to shout too loud in fear of adding any pressure to the atmosphere and weight to the car. He wrung his hands for a second before he patted his pockets, pulled out a handkerchief, and mopped the sweat from his face.
His wide eyes, showing too much white in the darkness, took in the passengers of the bus who had stepped out. A few of them shrugged. A few, like me, stared back at him. I had already thought this through and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what to do next. If we attempted to pull the car back and the tree gave, we all might go with it. I thought the car had been just pointing down, the cliff somehow keeping it halfway on land, but it was a tree upon closer inspection. A wimpy looking tree that clung to the cliffside for support itself.
Maybe since it was my fault, I should have been the first in line to volunteer for the grab and pull plan. Yeah, if it could work, I would have. But I felt it was a foolish plan to begin with and didn’t want to sacrifice my life for it.
Other than getting a tow truck to hook up to the car, pulling it back, I had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Oh, God , I covered my face with my hands. This was all my fault!
The woman on the ledge was probably someone’s wife, mother, daughter. She would cause a gaping hole in their lives. She had to be scared to death! But when I closed my eyes and pushed my own panic aside, I didn’t feel anything from her.
Oh God.
My eyes flew to Donatello, and I set my hand on his arm. It was full of black hair that swirled with sweat. I leaned in close, smelling bitter musk on him, the kind created from fear, and whispered, “Is she already dead?”
He shook his head. “I do not think so,” he whispered back. He tapped his ear. “Listen.”
I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t heard it before, but the woman was humming. And when the tree bent a little, folding outwards from the weight of the car, she started to sing. A gasp collectively went up through the crowd, and her voice grew even louder. She was going up in octaves.
Maybe a coping mechanism? Personally, I wouldn’t be singing out of fear but screaming for help, asking God to please save me. I wasn’t even sure how old she was, but at thirty years old, I wasn’t ready to go yet. I still had so much to see and do, and I had made a vow to my Nonna that I would live a full life. It was my way of honoring all the sacrifices she’d made for me growing up.
Donatello crossed himself and said a prayer. He leaned in close to me this time and whispered, “ Mio Dio , that is Rosaria Caffi!”
“Rosaria Caffi?”
“She is the most notable opera singer in all of Italia ! She is married to…” He groaned, begging God for help again, but this time it seemed more for himself.
Maybe he thought all of Italy was going to blame him for such a loss? I covered my face again, wondering how this all went so wrong. I was supposed to be running from one enemy, and I had possibly just caused an entire country to come after me too. I wasn’t going to allow this man to take the fall—the blame for it. I didn’t act that way. And the life of this talented woman could be over at any second. Maybe I didn’t feel any fear coming from her, but I felt for her. I felt so bad and frightened for her, even if she didn’t seem to be feeling any fear at what lay beneath her. Nothing but a thousand-foot drop into a hungry void.
I didn’t want to startle her, but I didn’t want her to feel alone either. I made sure to make noise as I walked toward the ledge. My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but the closer I came to the car, the better I could see. Her headlights were still on, shedding light on the void around us, but only so far. The darkness was so impenetrable, it seemed almost impossible for light to break through it far enough to see past its reach. I could see her in its glow though. She was stunning. A classic Italian beauty, but it was not a soft beauty .
She was the opposite of me, even if only a shade darker as far as coloring.
Her lines were harsh and almost…cruel. That didn’t mean she was. I was sure soft looking people could be cruel, too, almost deceptive in that their features hid the treachery in a pillow’s embrace. But that was my first impression of her physical appearance. It was hard to tell her age. Her face showed no signs of weathering, and her hair was pulled back. Black silk with no silver.
Even in this situation, she was not disheveled.
“ Signora, ” I whispered, coming as close to the back of the car and the edge of the cliff as both allowed.
The car was red, fast, and a convertible—an expensive Ferrari. A rosary made of what reminded me of canary diamonds was swinging from the mirror. On her dashboard was a ruby rose decoration. I could smell spicy perfume in the air. It fit her and what I knew of her. She had a brand no one could deny was Rosaria Caffi as soon as they looked at her. I would have pegged her for an opera singer without Donatello telling me so.
Speaking of Donatello, he crept with me, mimicking my steps, making them loud enough for her to hear. But I felt something in him then. Distrust of me. It was as if he was monitoring my behavior for a reason. Like maybe I might kick her car right over the edge of the cliffside.
Hmm, that was odd, but not the point at that second.
Focus, Ari!
“ Signora ,” I whispered again.
I was staring at her reflection through the rearview mirror. Her eyes lowered and she met mine through the glass. I almost took a step back, but Donatello was at my back, like he was ready to grab me before I made a move on the car. He was so close that I could feel his breath wash over my shoulder. But the woman, the most notable opera singer in Italy… Her eyes were a vivid jade, but so cutting, I wondered how many people had been reduced by them, caught up in their unforgiving harshness.
Not the time nor place to judge, Ari .
I cleared my throat and began with what I thought she would like to hear. “Help is on the way. Donatello, the bus driver, was able to use his radio to phone the accident in.”
She laughed at me.
Laughed.
Not in a crazed way, like the stress was getting to her, but in a mocking way.
“Poetic justice as its best. One look at you, and the unattached ones will all fall in love. Perhaps even some of the attached ones.” She sighed, and it sounded heavy. “Because they will be here before the… help. ” She was whispering, but the intonation of her voice, the power in it, sent goosebumps scattering on my arms as if a cold wind had passed.
She had lucked out in that regard. Instead of the whipping wind I imagined this high up, we had only been touched by a few gentle breezes. It wouldn’t be those that caused the fall; it would be the tree giving at the stress of the weight.
Taking a step to the side, I glanced at Donatello. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He kept staring at the back of Rosaria’s head. Guess I was on my own with this one. I would just have to sidestep the things she said that I didn’t understand. After all, if I wouldn’t have had that nightmare, she wouldn’t be depending on an old rickety tree to keep her afloat.
I took a few seconds to think about what I’d want in this situation. Maybe a chance to tell someone that I loved them? That person was gone for me. My Nonna. But even so, I would still echo the love, tell whoever was standing by to bury me with her in our tomb in New Orleans. I had nothing to leave behind. I had decided not to buy a house with the money I made from the publishing deal and instead used it to take care of my grandmother, make sure she had all she needed during the time she had left. So, my mom wouldn’t be entitled to anything. My dad was gone.
“Um, Rosaria, is there…anyone I can call for you? Your husband?” Donatello had mentioned that she had one of those. “Wo uld you like me to say anything to anyone?” I didn’t want to outright say, just in case you fall and never speak to the ones you love again , because that was just…panic inducing.
Her eyes bore into mine as if I had personally affronted her. Maybe she knew I’d had the dream and caused the bus to swerve? I didn’t think that was it for some reason. The reason she disliked me went much deeper than that. I felt it. It chilled me to my bones.
“Stay away from my husband, you daughter of a whore. Do not even think of calling him. If you do…” She made a slicing motion around her throat.
The tree cracked, the car, pointing directly down to the ground like a bullet or sled, started to become lost in it. Her hands tightened around the wheel before she released them, lifting her arms up.
It was the oddest thing. She did it like she was about to take a ride on a roller coaster or something. And her hands…had the accident caused her to bleed? It seemed as if she had dyed them red, but I knew it was blood. The lines of her hands were stark compared to the bloody color.
Out of nowhere, still staring at me, she started screaming, “This is my moment! The great finale! And another one, another spinning fucking top, is stealing it from me .” She made a frustrated noise that sounded like a wounded animal attempting to eat its own cuffed leg off. “ That family will pay, not receive another weak consolation prize. Leave, girl! Or all that you love I will haunt for eternity! I swear it!”
Even though Donatello had been stoic up until this point, he glanced at me when her rage reached his ears. It was the kind of rage that would point straight into the eardrums and try to explode them with its intensity.
“It must be the stress,” Donatello whispered, shaking his head. Sweat ran down his face, and he didn’t bother wiping it up.
Yeah, it could have been the stress, but there was more to this, and she was directing the wrath of it at me. I refused to distress her, since I was to blame for putting her in this spot, so I took backward steps until I was back with the crowd again. I could still hear her cursing me, threatening me, raging at me like I had stolen something valuable from her and refused to return it. She switched from Italian to English then back to Italian again.
A woman in the crowd leaned toward me and whispered, “Rosaria Caffi has an evil temper. Not everyone knows this, but my cugina , who cleans the, ah, teatro in Napoli, met her once. She was fired after.” She made a slicing motion against her throat. “My cugina did not clean her space properly, or so the Caffi claimed. There was dust left on her counter, and the songbird did not like it.”
I allowed this woman to believe this was the reason Rosaria Caffi was screaming obscenities at me, but truthfully, I had done something to this woman that I didn’t even know about. What I knew about, the nightmare and what had followed, was not the reason, even though it should have been. I had insulted her worse than if I had killed her.
This woman was an effing tough act.
A trembling that started in my bones and made it to the surface shook me as precious seconds ticked. I crossed my arms over my chest, like the position could keep the quivering inside. The crowd started to grow thicker as both lanes had been closed due to the accident. Flares had been set out, giving the darkness a dangerous red hue. It was in that warning light that a man in a custom-made suit stood to the side, staring at me. There was no doubt he was Italian. He was beyond good looking, and even though it was hard to place his age, he was probably in his late forties to early fifties. He had a scar on his face. His inky hair was slicked back into a bun that rested at the nape of his neck. I wasn’t sure if he was studying me because Rosaria was still shouting at me or what.
If this was my stalker, the person out to kill me…he had me trapped. I had nowhere to run. My best option, and perhaps the mo st humane one for me, was to hop in the car with Rosaria and send us both crashing to the ground.
My eyes flew to the scene when the tree cracked again.
A few seconds later, it made almost a roaring sound when it finally snapped. It was as if it was trying its best to keep the weight but had succumbed to it. This woman and her car were too heavy to carry. The entire crowd, except for maybe the man in the suit, gasped, and a second later, the car was gone. But Rosaria’s voice echoed behind it, daughter of a whoooo ?—
She took her last breath to insult me.
She almost sang the jibe.
The crowd rushed to where she had just been. Most of the tree was gone, too, except for the stump. It was almost impossible, though, to see anything over the side of the hill or mountain. Even a bright red Ferrari.
Donatello started to sob. He sobbed into his hands as if his heart had perished with her. I felt an immense sense of grief, too, at the loss of life, especially because I would have to live with what I’d done to cause it to happen. But since this thought was only inside of my head, I thought it freely: I felt immense relief that she was gone, as if she had shackled me somehow. It was the same way I would feel when the killer after me was either gone or locked up. Being shackled to fear was no way to live. But I would never forget Rosaria Caffi.
She said she would haunt me. I believed her.
We would forever be connected through my first moments in Italy and her last.
I had collected a stalker back home and a ghost in this new one.
What a winner I was turning out to be in life.
Police, or whatever was the equivalent of them in Italy, finally arrived on the scene. I wasn’t sure what Rosaria was talking about when she said they would arrive before the help , but she was wrong. No one had come before the police to help. Still, I was glad the authorities had arrived. The man in the suit was still loitering around. When he walked up to me as I stood close to the cliffside, I walked closer to the street.
He followed.
He came face to face with me, grinning. Up close, he was even more stunning than he was when he was lost in the darkness. But even the darkness couldn’t cloak how generally fine he was. “You have killed the wicked witch of Italy, ah?” he said in Italian-accented English, then winked at me. “I will alert the village.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to defend myself, but before I could find a response, he was already gone. The darkness cloaked him as if he were a part of it.