Chapter 14 Let’s Try This Again #2
Her first instinct was to politely decline, but her pathetic heart betrayed her. “No one rushes to work around here. Why not.”
They found an easy rhythm, wandering west under the porticoes out of the old town. The streets grew wider; modern architecture appeared. He needed no prodding as he opened up about his issues with retirement, then circled back to Bianca.
“What is it you did to upset her?” Sandy asked.
“Isn’t that the question. Now or when she was growing up? You could say I’m a workaholic, which is obviously why retirement isn’t working out. I wasn’t around as much as I should have been, especially as she got into her teens. And it hurt my ex and Bianca. She’s still blaming me for the divorce.”
Sandy let him keep going.
“There’s more to it than that, though. I can’t help but slip in some fatherly advice every once in a while, and it never lands well.
No matter what I do, I screw up. She can’t stand that I’m the kind of guy who can’t sit around.
I’ve been cleaning up her place, getting her organized, touching up some paint, that kind of thing.
Stuff that needs to be done. As much as I don’t like her being so far away, I want her to be happy.
And doing all that stuff is the best way I know to show her I love her. ”
What a kind man. Back when Sandy’s love radar was on, she should have been looking for kindness. Husbands #1 and #2 seemed to only excel at it during their apologies.
“If you need to expend some of that energy,” she said, “we can always use you at the bookstore. My handyman is currently ignoring my texts.”
“Happy to help any time.”
“She’ll see it, George. I don’t even know you, but I can feel how much you care about her. Maybe watch your mouth, hold back some of that ‘fatherly advice,’ but don’t stop loving her. It’ll break through.”
It was almost refreshing to speak with someone so candidly. She even shared some of her own battered past when he prodded. She didn’t get into specifics, but she spoke some truths, a cathartic release.
As they wandered down Via del Pratello, Sandy said, “This is my favorite place to walk. The best street art in the city. A bunch of hole-in-the-wall food joints. Prices are climbing, but it’s still one of the less expensive areas.
Lots of students. And I guess it’s that youth that brings it alive.
A lot of Bologna feels like you’re seeing it from behind velvet ropes.
Here, you’re right in the madness of it, the truth of the Bolognese spirit. ”
George didn’t respond but let his eyes wander, and she could tell that he was trying to see it.
The street was less polished than those of the old town, the shades of yellow, pink, and red buildings showing their age.
Paint peeled off the shutters. Some of the wooden beams that held up the porticoes looked like they might be getting close to the end of their life.
But between the off-the-beaten-path haunts, the to-die-for takeaway pasta places, the graffiti that rivaled any art in the museums, and the lively nightlife, there was a tangible and vibrant energy here that could make anyone feel like they’d stumbled upon heaven.
Even Sandy.
Twelve or so years in, this town still took her breath away. It would be hard to leave, but a new start had been on her mind lately. She’d been teasing a move to Lisbon, where she could escape some of her ghosts.
She pointed at a restaurant she and the jazz musician used to frequent. “Il Rovescio makes some of the most exciting bio food in the city.”
“Bio?”
“Organic. Their food will make you cry, it’s so good.”
“I’ve never had a food make me cry before.”
“Hang around Bologna long enough, it’ll happen.”
She watched him take in the graffiti that covered doorways and climbed up the columns of the porticoes—bright colors that bounced off the stucco.
She could sense his wheels spinning, one foot here in the present, the other stuck in the quicksand of his relationship with Bianca.
Though she hated that he was suffering, it was nice to see a man care so deeply.
Back on Via Giulia, George turned to face her. “Thanks for listening. I did most of the talking. Sorry about that.”
Sandy felt a twinge of something dangerous. An attraction. “Sometimes we need an ear. Hang in there. She knows you love her. No more advice, though.”
“Unless she asks for it,” he said.
“She won’t.”
They both laughed.
Sandy turned and headed into work. She could feel him watching her go. Maybe in another life they could have had something.
Inside, Harold stood at the counter with a stack of books. Moira was ringing him up. “Well, look at this,” she said with genuine surprise, eyeing Harold up and down.
His hair was cut high and tight, combed back with a product that had a slight glisten to it.
His designer sunglasses were pushed up above his forehead.
He wore skinny white trousers with a matching blazer and shiny loafers without socks.
A blue shirt with a pronounced collar fit tightly on his skinny frame.
“Giovanni took care of you, didn’t he?” Sandy said.
“Took all my money, and yes, took care of me. Thank you.” He’d allowed a British accent to slip into his words. She’d noticed it last time. How puzzling. But maybe it was working.
“That Alice won’t know what to do,” she said. “What are you buying there?”
She looked past him to the stack. Moira set her hand on it. “I’m sending him home with some art history, an Alda Merini poetry book, Italian for Dummies, and then a few novels: R. F. Kuang, Elena Ferrante, Kazuo Ishiguro.”
Sandy patted his shoulder. “You have your work cut out for you.”
“I’m eager to get started.”
She saw so much of Jack in this young man, more so every time she set eyes on him. “She better be worth it, Harold.”
“What’s anything without love?”
“Oh, God.” She frowned. He might be a lost cause.
He looked like she’d pushed him off a cliff.
Oh, what the hell. The poor boy needed help. “Firstly,” she started, “right now, you need to start acting as if you’ve moved on, because no girl worth her salt will come back to you if you’re sitting around moping. You understand?”
A timid nod.
“How’s your dancing?” she asked.
“My dancing?”
“Yes, Harold. Do you dance?”
Harold looked over at Moira, then back. “Not much of a dancer.”
“I have my tango lesson tomorrow. Meet me down here at six forty-five.”
“Really? I’m terrible, I can’t even hold a—”
“Even you can learn to dance. You’ve remedied your style issue. Let’s focus on your body, how you move.”
After he’d left, Sandy caught up with Moira for a few minutes, then climbed the steps to her office.
She switched on the small lamp and sat in her chair, then dialed a number.
When Jack’s voicemail message ended, she said, “It’s me again.
Calling from the bookstore that’s going out of business.
Unless maybe summer saves us. What’s new in your world? Oh, wait, you can’t tell me.”
She found the coral in her purse and held it as she continued.
“Who me? I’m just trying to live my life amid a sea of helpless people.
There’s a guy, Harold, who lives above the store.
He’s a mess; you’ve never seen a mess like him.
And he had this pretty girl who dumped him, and so I’m trying to help him clean himself up.
I somehow feel like his mother. Then there’s a guy named George who’s after me.
I keep deflecting him, but he’s nice and kind of needs me too.
You know, for a gal who tries to keep to herself, people keep coming at me.
And Moira, don’t even get me started. Anyway, that’s it for now. ”
She set the phone down and stared out the small window, seeing rain clouds approaching.