Chapter 26 Taking Chances
Taking Chances
It was the last day of June. He was having a bowl of granola for dinner when a knock punctured the quiet of his apartment.
“It’s Moira,” spoke the voice on the other side of the door. “I came to say hi.”
“One second,” Harold replied. He dropped his bowl in the sink, scrambled to get dressed, and made a quick effort to clean up, then returned to let her in.
She wore a black top over white pants. The hat she often wore was rolled up and poking out of her purse. Her glasses rested on her nose at a slight angle. A sweet smile lifted her lips. “Sandy said things didn’t go well with Alice; I thought I’d check on you.”
Harold put a hand against the doorframe. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t text you back. I’ve been pretty upset.”
“I can imagine.” She held up a bottle of Lambrusco. “Want to bury your sorrows in bubbles?”
It wasn’t so bad of an idea.
They sat on the balcony and drank a glass as he told her what had happened.
As July approached, each day was hotter than the last, but the evening still cooled into something wonderful.
Had he the bandwidth, he might have enjoyed the tangerine sun dropping in the west, its rays sneaking around the buildings and painting a hazy glow over Via Giulia.
They talked about the bookstore for a while but eventually got back to Alice. “Still,” Moira said, “even if it didn’t work, I think it’s wonderful. You gave it everything. You’re a rock star, Harold.”
“Yeah, I wish that were true. You’re right, though. The wine does help.” He took another sip, feeling the burn of the bubbles. Aroldo was the kind of man who might have studied wine and food, understood the origins, but Harold had no clue. Still, it tasted good going down.
“So what now? Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I need to book my flight. The landlord won’t give me any money back, so I have another week here before the lease runs out.”
“You should stay longer.”
“I wish I could.” He wished a lot of things.
But he was broke and in debt. His mother would kill him if she knew he’d maxed out his credit cards.
He’d made sure that he was receiving paperless statements so she wouldn’t get that surprise in the mail.
As far as wishing he could stay, he wasn’t sure.
Being heartbroken here probably wasn’t any better than it’d be in Denver.
“At least you have another week; you better start cramming it all in.”
“I’ve barely left the apartment since . . . since all that happened.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah.”
A long silence came over them, and Harold found himself slipping back to the same thoughts he’d had for more than a week.
What was next? Was there any point? Not even Bianca Briggs could help him now.
Peggy Meh had nothing on him. He’d royally botched his one chance to save himself, and now he’d have to go right back to a life that was barely a life at all.
“You wanna see something neat?” Moira asked, twisting to him.
“What’s that?”
“Come with me.” She stood and grabbed her glass and the rest of the bottle.
“You mean, outside?”
“Yes, outside. You can’t keep hiding, Harold.” She took his hand and pulled him back through the house. He put on his tennis shoes, and they were out the door. Downstairs, she guided him through the scaffolding to the bookstore.
“We’re going to your work?”
“Just wait.”
She lifted up the corrugated metal door that secured the entrance at night, then stuck the key in the doorknob and twisted.
He followed her inside as she switched on a few lights, the sconces coming alive and giving the air a golden coat.
Though he didn’t say it, there was something dazzling being in a bookstore after hours.
Especially this one. He’d never seen one so stunning.
“Did Sandy tell you what happened? That I hit her with my watch?”
Moira shook her head. “Why’d you do a thing like that?”
“Because I’m at war with Duolingo and the step counter on my watch, and I lost my cool,” he elaborated as they entered the main room, where a series of accent lights brought the cathedral ceilings and its frescoes to life.
Her echoing laugh made him feel like he wanted to laugh too.
“It does sound dumb. And you should have seen me trying to fake steps, sitting on the couch, flapping my arms in the air.” He mimicked himself, flip-flopping his wrist, and she laughed so hard she had to bend over and gasp for air.
It was absurd, wasn’t it? He finally fell into giggles, too, and it was a relief, because even an hour ago, he thought he might never feel anything that resembled joy ever again.
When she finally got a hold of herself, she said, “Seriously, Harold, you shouldn’t have to try that hard. Come on.”
The problem was that he hadn’t tried hard enough. Too much Harold had snuck into his Aroldo.
Going through a door that read Employees Only, they came into a musty storage room filled with boxes of books and other supplies. In the back, she cracked open another door that led outside into a lush patio hidden by tall stone walls covered in ivy. A table and two chairs rested on uneven bricks.
He walked into a quiet that Harold hadn’t known since he’d landed in Bologna, a total escape from the city.
She flipped a switch, and a strand of lights came alive, revealing rows of well-cared-for potted plants and flowers. Several weathered statues of women looked back at them, as if protecting the place.
He lifted his gaze, counting up to the fourth floor and seeing his bedroom window. And beyond the building, the brightest of the stars had started to show in the graying sky as the last of the sun fell away.
“It’s beautiful out here.”
“It’s a favorite spot of mine.”
“I can see why.”
They both sat, and Moira refilled their glasses.
“What’s next?” she asked. “Once you get back to Denver.”
“I don’t know.” He squirmed as the memory of life before Alice came to him. “I didn’t leave much behind.” He shook his head. He had no answers.
“Honestly,” he finally said, becoming less filtered due to the second glass of wine, “I’m not who she thinks I am. I’m not who anyone here thinks I am.”
She cracked a grin. “I bet I have you beat.”
“No offense, but you don’t, trust me.” He thought of how one lie builds onto the next, and then you get to the point where you don’t even know the truth.
“Okay, suit yourself.” She lifted her glass and stared at the bubbles in the light.
“Fine, please. Tell me how you have me beat.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She set her glass back down, sat back, and crossed her legs. “I shouldn’t have teased you. Besides, you wouldn’t even believe me if I did tell you.”
“Now you have to.”
“No way.”
Something had always seemed off when she’d talked about her past. That time she said legal reasons kept her quiet, and the whole P. J. Harvey thing when she’d stumbled over saying she was from Dorset. “C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging.”
“Not a chance,” she said, a pretty smile filling her face. “Believe me, I’d love to share, but I can’t.”
“At least tell me what you did for a living. Did you work in a bookstore in Bristol or Dorset?”
“Let’s just say I was indeed in the book world.”
“In Dorset?”
“Somewhere on planet Earth.”
“Dear God, you’re an enigma.” His curiosity was starting to bother him. “What if I told you my secret, then would you share?”
“I doubt it. Sorry. Can’t we be okay with having our secrets?”
“That’s a good question. Can friends be friends if there are secrets between them?”
“Are we friends?” she asked.
He thought about it. “I think so.”
“And what if we were more than friends?”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to, and who cares? You’re leaving anyway. I was always jealous of Alice.”
“Jealous of Alice?” The idea was beyond preposterous. The tone of his voice said so.
“Yeah, the way you love her, Harold. No one has ever loved me like that. And maybe it was more than that. Maybe because it’s you.”
“What do you mean?” His foggy brain was spinning. Was she making a move?
Her eyebrows squinched together as she seemed to lose herself in thought. Then she removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Returning them to her face, she set her green eyes on him. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”
“To kiss me?”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing. Yes, Harold. To kiss you. You know, you go on worrying about Alice, and you don’t even see something that’s right in front of you. I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we met, and yes, I wonder what it would be like to kiss you. So fucking sue me.”
Harold reached for an itch at the back of his neck. “Um, I don’t . . . I didn’t—”
“Of course you didn’t. I’m no Alice.”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“Oh, screw it.” She sprang up from her chair and swooped down and grabbed his head and kissed him, holding her lips against his long enough for him to realize what was happening.
He hadn’t seen any of this coming.
“Hold on,” he finally said into her lips.
“What?” she said, stopping.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I didn’t know what this was.”
She stood tall over him, the stars coming to life over her head. “What this was.”
Not that it wasn’t nice to kiss her, to be wanted. “I’m so sorry, I’m still in love with Alice. I didn’t mean to . . . I think you’re amazing and—”
She backed away like he’d hit her. “Don’t even go there.”
“Look, don’t be offended.” He held up a hand. “You’re so awesome; it’s . . . you know . . .”
“I get it, all right.” She swept up the bottle and stemware. “Let’s go. I need to lock up.”
“Moira, please.”
“Get up, Harold. I need to go home.”
He looked at her, puzzled. How could she think that he had room in his heart for anyone other than Alice?
George and Bianca had been back in Bologna a few days.
It was now the first of July. He had fittingly locked in an early flight on Independence Day and had mixed feelings about it.
Of course, it was time to get out of her hair and figure out what life might look like back home, but he wished they were parting on better terms.