Chapter 17
Though Andrea had scheduled an hour for the meeting, he knew that there was no way he’d be able to wrap things up with the vendors in sixty minutes.
That would never be enough time for everyone to finish smoking their cigarettes, wander over to Giada’s for a quick coffee, and catch up with whatever gossip had eluded them since the winter festival in December.
By the time they all made it inside and started considering the advantages of various locations for the booths around the main piazza, thirty minutes had vanished.
One hour and forty-five minutes past the official start time of the meeting, he had finally found a spot for the police department and their fried pastries; Carola’s interpretation of Monet’s Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies, done completely in fruits and vegetables; Beatrice’s frozen-limoncello stand, which would finally make use of her city-donated ice maker; and the famous and famously fragrant porchetta, which would be trucking in from Tuscany the day before.
It felt like a logistical win. Still, there was one small detail that he was not quite ready to deal with.
Normally, when a mayor was entering the fifth year of their first term, they would announce whether they would be running again during a speech on the second night of the sagra.
It had seemed so far away, so distant in the future, that he didn’t need to think about it.
But here it was, coming up quick, and he was no closer to thinking about what he was going to say at all, let alone committing to another term.
He was already late getting back to Lora, so he’d have to put it off again.
Tomorrow he’d take the time to write some notes.
He’d know what he thought by then, for sure.
As if the universe was laughing at him, Jason Evans called as he was on his way out of city hall.
It was so on the nose, he almost rolled his eyes.
Even though he knew he could not avoid taking the call, he hesitated a couple of seconds watching the screen of his phone light up with a pic of Jason, sunglasses on as he sat at the wheel of an unknown vehicle with aggressively angular leather seats.
“Hey, Jason. How are you, my friend?” He smiled into the phone, hoping it would be evident in his tone.
“Andre! Is this a good time?”
“Sure, absolutely,” he said, perching himself on the stoop of one of the empty town houses near the piazza. A calico kitten jumped down from the windowsill to slide past him out to the street.
“Great, so how are you? You’re really the mayor of your hometown! That must be surreal.”
“Sometimes it feels like it. It’s definitely interesting and not much like my old job,” he said.
“Yeah, I can imagine. Is it a bigger city or…” Jason trailed off.
“No, no, it’s a small town. Really small, actually,” he said, watching Carola and Ottavio continue to talk outside of the hair salon. He needed to get over there to renew Ottavio’s business license this week, he reminded himself. Then maybe he could finally get that haircut.
“Great. Well, I’m sure it still keeps you super busy.
I don’t want to waste your time. Here’s the deal.
Reggie Mortimer Jr. is in rehab. That was the whole ‘disagreement with the board’ issue.
And Reggie Sr. is not about to come out of retirement to take back over on the financial side.
That means we shuffled things around, plus everything is different now that half the team is remote and global.
Basically, everything is being run like it’s one big shop.
The world has gotten smaller, ya know? We ended up cutting back on staff a bit, so we’re way leaner.
And I know what you’re thinking.” He paused.
“You do?”
“Yeah, that we’re all working extra, but that’s not the case.
It’s that we’re working better. I hate that I sound like I’m selling you, but I swear it’s a great deal.
Let me give you the scope. Nine hundred ten thousand for the first year, plus bonuses.
BMW i4 electric because we’re trying to be eco-friendly.
We’ve got a new donation-match program for the charity of your choice and, of course, plenty of opportunities to get back to Italy since we have the office in Milan.
There’s some other stuff you probably don’t care about, but we can leave those details for later. ”
“What’s the timeline?” Andrea asked, shocked at how quickly his vocabulary shifted—and the fact that he wasn’t immediately saying no. He could be off this call in thirty seconds and go back to worrying about vegetable displays. Could he really not work up the courage to be honest?
“Ha. Yesterday. No, I don’t want to put pressure on you.
We’re in a tough spot and that’s our fault, but we can wait.
If you want to come out for a few days and try things on for size, you can do that too.
I can’t promise you that Mortimer isn’t going to try to romance you like it’s Valentine’s Day, but at least you can get a better idea of what’s been switched up. ”
“I’m going to have to make some decisions pretty soon over here as well, so the timing is actually good,” he said as the kitten ran by his feet again. “I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.” Man, he was a coward. Just tell him.
“Can I take that as you not saying no?”
“You can take that as I always appreciated your friendship, Jason.”
“Well, that’s some mayoral shit right there,” said Jason, laughing. “OK, OK. Just call me if you have any questions.”
Andrea ended the call disgusted with himself, but shoved it aside. Tomorrow, he promised himself. He would figure it all out tomorrow.
Lora had been intermittently circling the cardboard box since Andrea left.
She was conflicted about opening it and instead had been staring at it like it was going to grow arms and climb up on the counter to mix itself a Negroni.
It was ridiculous to be worried about a silly box.
It probably had nothing in it but old electricity bills and—well, she couldn’t think of anything else Ivo might have kept.
For most of her life, she’d had a hard time thinking about Ivo at all.
Standing closer, she flicked it with her finger, then leaned away.
Then she grunted at her own ridiculousness and went upstairs to do a bit of writing before Andrea came back.
“I think I’m building this up too much in my head. Tell me to stop,” Lora said as soon as she opened the door for him.
“Stop.” He walked in and pulled his phone out, shut the ringer off, and placed it face down on the wide windowsill next to a basil plant.
“Are you hiding?” she asked. He never silenced his phone. Ever.
“No, but you might be.” He pointed at the box. “You didn’t even look?”
She shook her head. “I never asked you this, but do you remember him?” she asked, looking up at him.
“I remember only that his place was called Silver Sea Ranch, in English, which sounded weird at the time, until I heard people used to say he was an American cowboy. I remember going there for a birthday party when I was really little and then again when I was seven or so. I’ve seen pictures of him, so I know what he looks like, but I never saw him myself. ”
“What kind of reputation did he have?”
“I think it depends on who you ask, but I can’t speculate. You know there are plenty of people in this town who can answer those questions much better than I can. It’s too bad you don’t have a box of his personal effects to start with—” He tossed his head toward the table.
“OK, OK.” She stepped over to the table and drew her finger under one of the cardboard flaps to pull it open.
A large, old-school photo album sat on top of all of the contents.
She set it to the side before pulling out a nylon case, embroidered with SONY, that was tucked into a corner of the box.
Unzipping it, she pulled out a pristine camcorder with all its original cables that seemed to be so new that the stickers were still on it.
There were a few belt buckles that looked to be real silver inlaid with gold letters and turquoise stars.
She picked up each one, reading the words etched into the ornate design: “‘Teton County Rodeo First Place Team Roping.’ ‘Santa Rosa State Fair Bull Riding Champ.’ Do you think these are real?”
“You mean do I think that Ivo was a champion roper? Maybe. I believe that more than the guy just really liked flashy buckles.”
As predicted, there was a stack of papers that looked to be unopened mail.
Andrea looked through and confirmed that it was mostly old utility bills, notices from the national health insurance that he was eligible for this or that test, and one speeding ticket.
Looking down into the bottom of the box, she saw a coil of leather straps.
She pulled them out, noticing that one was tied off with a ring dangling from it.
It was a Native American style in heavy silver with a hawk-head design wrapped across the top of the band, inlaid with turquoise.
She untied the strap and pulled the ring off to examine it.
It was well-worn, with hairline scratches along the silver.
She ran her finger over the smooth inlay of the stones before placing it on the table next to everything else. At this point, the box was empty.
“Where do you want to start?” Andrea asked, pulling out two of the chairs at the table.
“Photos,” she said, sitting. “I’m being impolite. Do you want something to drink? Eat?”
“If I do, I’ll help myself,” he said, placing the album in front of her.