8. Solenne #2
Delfina’s hands still on the soil. “I’ve worked in this house for forty years.
I’ve seen people come and go. I’ve watched her stop inviting someone to dinner, then insist they were the ones who didn’t want to come.
By the time anyone asked, they had gone.
” She shakes her head. “It’s not my place to say more.
But you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last unless something changes. ”
I wait, but she doesn’t continue. This is as much as she’s willing to give me, this acknowledgment that I’m not imagining things, that the pattern I’ve been living is real.
“Thank you for telling me about the phone call.”
“You don’t have to ask Marco if it puts you in a difficult position,” I tell her.
Delfina presses the loosened soil down around the plant. “I’m asking my nephew to give you a ride. I can still do that.”
I leave her to her gardening and walk back toward the house, my mind already turning to the evening ahead.
***
Summer sits on my bed, watching me get ready with the intense fascination of a four-year-old observing adult rituals.
“Why are you putting on the blue dress?”
“Because we’re going somewhere special tonight.” I step into the navy silk and reach for the zipper. “Can you help me with this?”
She scrambles across the bed and tugs at the zipper with determined concentration. It takes her three tries to get it all the way up, but she beams with pride when it’s done.
“There. I helped.”
“You did. Thank you.” I turn to look at myself in the mirror. The navy dress is simple and elegant, the color bringing out the warmth in my skin rather than washing it away. This is who I am. I can move in it, sit in it, lift my daughter without asking someone to loosen a fastening.
“Are we going to a party?”
“Sort of. There’s music and lights and dancing in the town square. Would you like to see?”
Summer’s eyes go wide. “With real music?”
“Real music. And probably fireworks later.”
“Can Bunny come?”
“Bunny can definitely come.” I sit down at the vanity and start on my makeup, keeping it simple. “Do you want to pick out what you’re going to wear?”
Summer slides off the bed and heads for the connecting door to her room. I hear her opening drawers, the sound of clothes being considered and rejected. After a few minutes she returns carrying a yellow sundress with embroidered flowers along the hem.
“This one. Because it’s happy.”
“That’s a good choice. Do you need help putting it on?”
“I can do it.” She disappears back into her room, and I hear the sounds of a four-year-old wrestling with buttons and straps. Eventually she emerges, the dress slightly crooked but on, her feet bare.
“Shoes,” I remind her.
“Can I wear my sparkly ones?”
“The sparkly ones might hurt your feet if we’re walking a lot. What about your white sandals?”
She considers this with the gravity the decision deserves, then nods and goes to find them. I finish my makeup and check the time. Costanza and Ginevra left twenty minutes ago. Delfina’s nephew should be waiting by the garden gate.
I open the closet to get my handbag, and my eyes catch the edge of the overnight bag, still hidden behind the winter coats where I left it six days ago. My hand stops on a coat sleeve. I leave the bag where it is. Tonight I need to get to the square. I intend to come back here afterward.
I close the closet door and pick up my small evening bag instead. Phone, lipstick, a few bills. That’s all I need.
Summer returns with her sandals on the wrong feet. I kneel to fix them, buckling the tiny straps properly.
“There. Now you’re ready.”
“Is Daddy going to be there?”
“Yes, baby. Daddy will be there.”
“Will he dance with me?”
“I’m sure he will if you ask him.”
I put her cream cardigan over her shoulders and let her fasten the top button. She bounces on her toes, excited now, the prospect of music and lights and her father all combining into something wonderful. I wish I could feel the same uncomplicated joy.
We make our way downstairs quietly, avoiding the main rooms. Delfina is waiting by the side entrance, a door that leads out through the kitchen garden to the back of the property.
“Marco is waiting with the car,” she says. “He has Summer’s seat installed already.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Delfina bends to check Summer’s cardigan. “I’ll leave something for her to eat when you get back. She’ll forget all about supper once the music starts.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know when we’re on our way back.”
Summer holds up Bunny for Delfina to kiss goodbye. I wait while she obliges, then take my daughter’s hand and step outside.
The evening air is soft and warm, the last light of day painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. Summer skips beside me down the gravel path, Bunny bouncing in her other hand.
“Why are we going this way?”
“It’s a shortcut.”
“Is it a secret shortcut?”
“A little bit secret, yes.”
She accepts this with the easy trust of childhood. We round the corner of the garden wall, and I see Marco’s car waiting beside the garden gate, a modest sedan with the promised car seat visible in the back.
Marco is a few years younger than me, with Delfina’s kind eyes and an easy smile. He opens the back door and helps me settle Summer into her seat, making sure the straps are secure.
“My aunt says you need to get to the piazza before the family arrives.”
“If possible, yes.”
“We should make it. The formal entrance isn’t until sunset, and we have maybe twenty minutes of light left.” He closes Summer’s door and moves to the driver’s side. “I’ll wait for you in the side street by the pharmacy. Take as long as you need.”
I climb into the passenger seat and fasten my belt. Through the window, I can see Villa Belmare rising on its cliff, the windows catching the last of the sun. I’ve lived there for six months. I’ve tried to make it home.
Tonight I’ll find out if there’s any place for me in my husband’s world, or if the frame has been arranged around everyone but me.
“Ready?” Marco asks.
“Ready.”
The car pulls away from the villa, and the road curves down toward town. Summer presses her face to the window, watching the scenery pass.
“Mama? Will there be ice cream?”
“Probably. It’s a festival.”
“Bunny wants chocolate.”
“We’ll see what they have.”
The road winds through olive groves and past stone walls covered in flowering vines. In the distance, I can hear the first strains of music drifting up from the town square. Lights are beginning to flicker on as the day fades, strings of bulbs decorating the streets for the celebration.
Summer starts humming along to a tune only she can hear, kicking her feet against her seat in rhythm. I watch the town grow closer, the church spire rising above the rooftops, the piazza somewhere just beyond.
I check that Summer’s cardigan hasn’t slipped out from under the belt, then turn back toward the windscreen. Beyond it, the lights grow brighter with every bend in the road.
“You can drop us before the square,” I tell Marco. “We’ll walk the last part.”
He nods and slows behind the other cars heading into town. Summer leans forward as far as her seat allows, trying to see where the music is coming from.
Costanza has already told my husband where I belong tonight.
He can tell me himself.