Chapter 43
Capri
Hayes
“It’s not every day one of the world’s richest men gets married,” Brady says as we continue our climb.
I reach my arm out to help him up the next few levels of the Phoenician Steps.
His palm is slick with sweat as he tentatively clasps his fingers around mine.
The ancient stone crumbles under his foot.
“Hasn’t he been married like five times?” I say. “It may not be every day, but it seems to be every few years at least.” I squeeze my bicep to lift him up and over the last step. “Good work,” I grunt, and slap him on the back.
A cluster of olive trees growing on a plateau create a shady tunnel for us to rest. “Let me get you some water and then we can grab some content.” Brady has been a trooper as we’ve explored the island.
We’ve hiked along dusty trails and down to private beaches, but I saved this view so we could catch the sunlight on the water.
He’s panting when he sits on the rock next to me.
“These steps are torture. Now I have another thing to hold against the Phoenicians.”
I open the lid of the water bottle for him and watch the way his lips caress the spout. A line of sweat trickles down his cheek. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss his soaking forehead.
“Hey, what? I’m all sweaty.”
He lowers his chin and I gently raise it up. “I don’t care.” I kiss him again in the same spot. This time my mouth is more open so I can taste him. “Wait.” I stop kissing. “What was the first thing you have against the Phoenicians?”
“The alphabet. They had a twenty-two-character alphabet in like the twelfth century BC. The English alphabet is based on it.” He holds up the water bottle and drinks.
“So?” I ask, not sure what connection he’s making.
“I’m a terrible speller. I have never once spelled probably right without having it auto-correct. I don’t know how I’m going to be any good as a kindergarten teacher. Most of the kids will spell better than I do.”
His voice quivers on the word kindergarten just enough so that I notice and I can see the tension in his shoulders.
There’s been more self-doubt creeping into his conversation since our first day in Capri.
Two days ago, he pretended he couldn’t figure out the tip at lunch and yesterday he said he read the map of the gardens of the villa we were touring upside down.
He had the tip exactly right and the map was an enigma.
But what I can’t help thinking about is how he’s been acting this way since he said his mother stopped by. There has to be a connection.
“I’ve only seen the studio apartment in Boston online but it’s not far from North Boston University and the School of Education is right next to the hospital.
” Maybe changing the subject will help him see how great the future is going to be.
I keep the tone light, casual. His shoulders come down from his ears.
I get the tripod and start extending the legs while stealing glances.
I can’t get enough of how the sunshine makes his curls look even more golden.
We turn to face the cliff we’ve been leaning against. It rises straight above us, a wall that almost touches the sky.
I make sure to get Anacapri in the background with its sun-washed buildings and roads that wind between patches of vibrant green and blue.
I take off my jacket to make sure I’m showing off my tan and my muscles. Anything to help Brady earn the money he needs for independence. Brady doesn’t have to do anything. He’s adorable as he is. I brush the curls off his face, not for the aesthetics, but because I want to touch them.
“We could have lunch,” Brady says, pushing his lips together.
“We just ate,” I say, twisting the tripod to make sure I have the right angle.
“No, at North Boston. I mean if I get into grad school at all.”
“You will,” I say. “I know you will.”
“Maybe,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “But it would be nice to have lunch during the day.”
“Sure, sometimes,” I say. I want to be honest. “Medical school is not like undergrad. The grind is twenty-four-seven.” I want to be sure Brady understands that.
“Oh, right.” He’s thinking. “Wait. Didn’t Maria Wong get a job in Boston? You remember her from Clarkson? From New Mexico. Data Science major.” Brady looks off to the side. “I’m realizing I won’t know anyone in Boston. Not really.”
“You’ll know me,” I say, hoping that will be enough for him. “And, Brady Gibson,” my voice changes to a pretend high school motivational speaker. “I’ve yet to meet someone you cannot charm. You’ll have more friends by the end of orientation than I’ve had my whole life.”
I finally have the camera ready and snap a few shots of us smiling with stunning Capri behind us never needing any filters or adjustments.
I kiss him on the cheek for the camera. I want to make sure I get the right shot, so I do it again, and then he kisses me with one eye on the camera and then again, but closer to my mouth.
I see the camera has gone back to sleep mode and I kiss him again. But this time for real. I hold his face in my hand. My mouth moves over his cheek. I’m trying to kiss away whatever worry is lurking under the surface.
I know he’s nervous about having to talk to his family and take such a big step.
I’ve been preparing for medical school my entire life, but this is all new to Brady.
I hold him in my arms tightly and look back at the path we just traveled.
We’ve hiked a long way up. But then I look the other way to see where the trail leads.
We still have a way to go, and there are many steps to climb.