Chapter 22 Running from Yourself
Running from Yourself
It was midmorning, three days after Bianca had run out on Corrado for a second time, and she was just returning from one of Carol’s exhausting Vinyasa Flow classes.
During an extended pigeon pose, while Carol had read a passage from The Untethered Soul, an idea—a wild and crazy idea—had settled into her, and she was about to present it to her father.
Things had really come to a head in her .
. . well . . . in her head. She hated being wishy-washy with Corrado.
But she was still pretty damn sure that a relationship with him was a bad idea.
Then her father. George; George. George.
She hadn’t done much for him, and he was about to return home.
Bologna hadn’t done much for him, either, except dump heartache on top of his depression.
The two of them were having fun—albeit a mild fun—but he’d been there so long it felt like they were simply cohabitating now.
Not like what it should be: a father visiting his daughter in one of the greatest places on earth.
It didn’t help that all he wanted to do was execute tasks.
Then there was Bianca and her own . . . whatever it was, an aggro-reset? A supercharged leap abroad? She’d brought her megawatted baggage all the way from Austin, and it was time to take a big freaking step back and truly recapture life’s alchemy.
Marching into her apartment, she found George standing at the counter in the kitchen fidgeting with something. No doubt the next task on the list!
He turned and held up a new mousetrap. “Hey, kiddo. I found that other hardware store. Thought I’d try something different.”
She resisted the urge to smack her forehead, and instead, leaned into the possibility that her birdbrained idea might just be the perfect solution to throw them both off their hamster wheels.
“I have an idea,” she said, only now realizing that there was no way in the world he’d go for it.
“Yeah? Talk to me.” He tore open the package and clicked his glasses together to read the instructions.
“Forget going home for now. Let’s go on a trip.”
Pure focus and determination, he barely stopped reading to say, “I am on a trip.”
“No, I mean, let’s pack a bag and go see more of Italy. A father-daughter thing.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“No, I mean now.”
He set down the trap and pulled apart his readers. “Now? As in right this second?”
“Or maybe in an hour, after a shower. I want you to see Italy the way I did when I first visited. No agenda; a backpack and a taxi to the train station. We’ll decide from there.”
He laughed as though she’d told a bad joke.
“Not joking.”
“Maybe in a couple of days. I’d like to get Sir Parm out of the house before his babies start showing—”
“Dad, I’m not asking. I need this. I need to go see Italy, hit the road. And I think it’ll be good for you too.” This was also how she would face the issues she was having with her father. Head-on. They either came back whole or broken, one way or the other.
He rejected the idea a few more times, but Bianca did what her mother always did when he rejected a good idea. Ignored him.
An hour later, she set her backpack and bag down by the door, then went to find her father. He was standing at his bed, scratching his head, and looking down at his bag.
“I don’t even know what to bring. Where are we going?”
“Not sure yet. You don’t need a jacket or sweater, though. Bring a bathing suit. A nice pair of pants.”
“How many days?”
“I have no idea. That’s the point.”
“Oh, c’mon, I need some kind of reference.”
It slightly pleased her that he was going mad with the idea of a trip sans itinerary. No, she adored the way he was squirming. It was already so clear how good this would be for him.
“Well,” she said, “I have to be back for the next book club. That’s in about two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“I don’t know.” She held up her hands and repeated herself. “I don’t know. We can wash our underwear in the sink or the sea. Maybe find a laundromat.”
“Oh, dear God, honey. Are you trying to torture me? What about Sir Parm? That new trap might get him. He’ll stink the place up.”
Bianca wasn’t having it. “Then disengage the trap. I’m sure he’ll be waiting when we get back.”
He shook his head, the idea preposterous. “He’ll be waiting here with a mouse army. I’m telling you, B. I’ve seen it before. They multiply and will take over a place.”
“I’m willing to take the chance.”
He shook his head slowly, in the way she knew too well, the way of a man constantly forced to do things he didn’t want to under the command of two strong-willed women.
“You know what, though,” she said. “This means everything to me. That you’d trust me, that you’d risk leaving your comfort zone. That you’re willing to take a leap of faith. Thank you.”
That brought a smile out of him, and then his eyes began to glow with determination. “Let’s do this.”
She couldn’t have loved him much more than she did right then.
With summer travelers winding around them, Bianca and George studied the departure board at Bologna Centrale.
An abundance of languages leaped from foreign tongues. Baristas pulled espressos with caffeinated intensity. Muffled announcements crackled out of the overhead speakers. A frantic bodybuilder dragging a bag burst through the crowd in a desperate race to make his train on time.
According to the board, trains left soon for Milan, Florence, Rome, and Venice.
Chills ran up Bianca’s spine; this was wonderful.
Not only because it made her father squirm, but because she felt young again.
Truly, for the first time since setting foot back in Italy, she felt like she was accomplishing what she’d set out to do: find that twenty-two-year-old badass who’d had it all figured out.
Enough worrying about her next move. Enough beating herself up over the book. Time to let Italy wrap her silks around her.
“South or north, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, his white tennis shoes so bright that they almost gave off a glow.
“We can stop anywhere. Pick one.”
“What if we can’t find a place to stay?”
“There’s always a place. Have you ever been to Venice?”
He shook his head, a shy little boy all over again.
“How about it?”
He shrugged.
“Done. Leaves in nineteen.” Before he could disagree, she went to buy tickets.
They approached the departure board, waiting for the gate announcement. A family next to them dug into a bag of fast food. The smell of french fries spread into the air.
George pulled close the carry-on rolling bag she’d lent him. “How come the gate isn’t listed? The train leaves in a few minutes.”
The exhilaration of the unknown filled every cell of Bianca’s being. “This is how it always works. They let you know about ten minutes out.”
He let out a sigh of disgust. “Back in the States, you’d know the gate yesterday.”
“Dad, how many trains have you ridden in the States?”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “Yeah, exactly. Don’t worry, we’ll catch it.”
For the next five minutes, he watched the departure board like a hungry dog staring at his owner. When the gate was finally announced, George shot in that direction. It was hard not to get edgy around him, but she kept reminding herself to stay patient.
Once they found their seats, Bianca watched George as he studied the others getting on board. What was going on in this man’s head?
An older woman in a hijab came racing onto the train at the last minute. She lugged a giant red bag and was trying to figure out where to put it. George was there in an instant, helping her lift it up and cram it into a small open spot in the luggage hold.
“They don’t give you enough bag space,” he said when he returned.
“That was nice of you.”
He shrugged, then looked at his watch.
They were crossing over a bridge to Venice, both of them staring out the window at the passing boats filled with scantily clad Venetians.
The train had a nice glide to it, barely a bump, a calming rattle.
The excited energy of every traveler filled the car, because Venice demanded a certain reverence and elation when it drew near.
“You ever think that he’s hungry?” Bianca asked.
“Who?” George asked, sitting across from her.
“Sir Parm. And Mr. Nutz for that matter. Or what if they’re trying to feed their families?”
George wagged a finger at her. “No, don’t do that. He’s invaded your sanctuary.”
That made Bianca smile. “Invaded my sanctuary? He’s sneaking into the cabinet for a bite.”
George counted on his finger. “Breaking and entering, for one. Leaving diseases, spawning more rats.”
“He’s not a rat. He’s an adorable mouse who’s probably a father just like you, simply trying to put food on the table.”
He crossed his arms. “We’ll agree to disagree here. Soon as we get back, before I head out, I will take him down.”
“What are you, some sort of mouse hunter?”
“That’s what dads do, honey. We take care of the ugly things behind the scenes.”
“The Navy Seal of the family.”
“That’s right.”
Even he couldn’t keep from smiling at that one.
“Look at you,” Bianca said. “George Briggs is having fun. And we haven’t even arrived yet. On top of that, I have yet to see your legal pad. Maybe you didn’t even bring it.”
He patted the backpack between his legs. “Oh, I brought one.”
Bianca sighed dramatically.
“Now, look,” he said. “I’ve agreed to your madcap trip, which by the way is making me incredibly uncomfortable, if you haven’t noticed, but you’re not taking my legal pad.”
“Fair enough.” She made a mental note to get rid of it later. “By the way, watch for pickpockets. They’ll be worse in Venice.”
“Seriously? What have you gotten me into?”
She waved it off. “It’s fine, just be vigilant. Maybe we’ll get you a murse, you know, a man bag. It’ll make things easier.”
“A man bag?” He said it like it was a curse word.
“That’s right. Don’t worry, we’ll find something manly. Maybe a Chuck Norris logo on it.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
For the next five hours, as they strolled through Venice, she watched him repeatedly pat his front pocket to make sure he still had his wallet.