Chapter Eleven Cammie #2
I glance down at the red pendant hanging from my neck like I’d completely forgotten it was there. It was tucked under my sweatshirt last night, or else I have no doubt it would’ve been part of her fake-stern, post-curfew interrogation act.
“Oh. Yeah, it is.”
Mom smirks. “You buy it for yourself ?”
I keep my expression neutral. “No, I didn’t.”
“Interesting.”
“Is it?” I turn to study the wall with Demeter and Persephone.
Mom just hums again, turning to stand at my side. We take in the painting in silence for a few moments before she says, “I got one of those from a guy I dated back in the day.”
My breath catches, and I hear Paolo’s voice in my head, telling me he bought a cornicello necklace for the first girl he ever loved. Was it Mom? Were they together long enough for that?
It’s my turn to hum noncommittally. I consider my words carefully before replying, “Interesting. Whatever happened to him?”
Looking her way, I don’t see any outward sign that the question makes her nervous or uncomfortable. She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and her mouth forms a little pout. “I’m not really sure,” she says.
I honestly can’t tell if that’s the whole truth or not. I want to press for more, but she usually shuts down when I ask about her old relationships. And I’m worried about accidentally revealing something I’m not supposed to know if I veer too close to talking about Paolo.
Quickly searching my mind for a subject change, I remember something I wanted to run by her.
“Oh, I keep forgetting. You know that Dr. Russo, who welcomed us to the first night’s dinner?” Mom nods, curiosity in her eyes. “I ran into him a few days ago and he mentioned that he used to work with you and Dr. Danny here. Was he living in Villa Russo at that point, or what?”
Mom turns and begins walking toward the next room in the complex maze of Villa di Bronzo, shaking her head. She leaves space for me to fall into step beside her.
“No, John Mark—I mean Gianmarco, but back then, we knew him as Johnny—is the grandson of the Russos, who owned and resided at the family villa at that time. Gianmarco’s father married an American woman, so little Johnny was born and raised in Ohio—contrary to what his accent might lead you to believe.
” She winks, then takes a quick look around as if to ensure no one else is nearby.
“He was visiting his grandparents on a ‘gap year’ from his grad studies when we discovered Villa di Bronzo, but from the get-go, he was way more difficult to work with than his sweet grandparents, who actually owned the property. He wanted to have a hand in every little thing happening on the dig, none of which he was qualified to do, and tried to buddy up to the archaeologists like he was equally responsible for unearthing Villa di Bronzo. Then, when he asked me out and I turned him down multiple times, well”—she grimaces—“it was like he retaliated by making our working relationship miserable.”
My nose scrunches with distaste. “He asked you out? He looks so much older than you.”
Mom chuckles and kicks a pebble across the dirt with one of her boots. “He’s a handful of years older than me, but aging hits us all differently, I guess. It wasn’t inappropriate. I just wasn’t interested, and he couldn’t accept that.”
We come to one of a few atriums in the villa, where there’s a ledge about knee height that Mom turns to sit on. I sit beside her and when I look straight ahead, I almost choke on my own spit.
“Is that…?” I start hesitantly.
Mom nods as we both peer up at the fresco, which depicts two men smoking out of an indisputably phallic pipe. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle my inner twelve-year-old’s snickers.
“It sure is.” She sighs. “The world’s always been obsessed with penises. Ancient Romans were just a little more direct about showing it.”
I continue to gape, both at the wall and at my mother, who I don’t think I’ve heard utter the name of that particular organ since I got the sex talk.
She tilts her head. “From the little time I’ve spent with them, I haven’t decided if this field school group can handle seeing this room yet. Only some groups earn Penis Painting Privileges.”
I let out an uncomfortable aaaahhh and clap my hands over my ears melodramatically. “Did I do something to earn this? It feels more like punishment than privilege.”
Mom’s belly laugh echoes through every ancient nook and cranny of the villa.
“Speaking of field school,” she goes on once she’s composed herself, and I’m so relieved she didn’t go with “speaking of penises.” “I should probably grab some lunch before I give a lecture to the group this afternoon. Thanks for giving me the morning. Or giving it to the film crew and me, I suppose, but it’s way more fun doing this with you around. ”
“Of course,” I say with a breeziness I don’t exactly feel. “It was fun.”
She eyes me speculatively as we stand. “Everything’s good with you, yeah?”
I nod, maybe too quickly. “Yep! I’m having a good time here so far.”
She reaches out and brushes my hair back behind my shoulder where it’s fallen forward on one side. “I’m glad to hear it, Cam. Just don’t be a stranger, okay?”
As we start back out of the villa the way we came in, I nod decisively. “You got it. I won’t follow Hades to the underworld, either, even if I’ve heard great things about their pomegranate seeds.”