Chapter 16
Nonna is standing at the big old work table, chopping herbs. Alex is nowhere to be seen. Her backpack is gone too. Upstairs, the bedroom door where she is staying, right across the hall from mine, was closed when I walked by, so I figure she’s retreated to her room.
With a flutter of nerves, I present myself to Nonna, curious to know if she has a plan. I sure hope so. I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts. I’m so nervous I feel a little nauseated.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Nonna glances up at me. “Good. I am sending you to the market.”
“The market?” I raise my eyebrows. It’s Tuesday.
There’s an outdoor market in Bardolino that’s popular with tourists, but that’s on Thursdays, which means she’s probably sending us to the smaller, less well-known market in Garda Town.
It’s been running since long before I can remember.
I love that market. My dad loved it too.
“You’re going to take Alex with you,” Nonna adds, chopping a large bunch of basil. “She needs to get out, see something. And eat something. She’s too thin, like a little twig. I can see all her bones.” She tuts in concern. Being too thin is a major concern for nonnas.
“Okay.” I hesitate, wondering what Alex will think of the market and Garda Town. She seems unimpressed by just about everything so far with the exception of Nicolo. I feel a little reluctant to go back for the first time to the market with her. I have so many memories there.
“I sent her upstairs to get ready,” Nonna says. “It will be good for you to spend time together.”
“I don’t think Alex really wants to spend time with me,” I tell Nonna honestly.
I don’t add that I pretty much feel the same way, but Nonna is no fool.
She knows what I’m not saying. She pauses and fixes me with a stern look.
“That sad, lonely child is your sister,” she states firmly.
“And you don’t even know each other. Everyone with eyes can see that both of you are lost. Why don’t you try to find each other? ”
I bite my lip. “I don’t think Alex and I have much in common,” I say finally. “I don’t think she even likes me.”
Nonna shoots me a withering look. “What does that matter? You’re blood. That ties you together whether you like it or not. You should try harder with your sister.” She goes back to chopping vigorously.
I heave a sigh. I know she’s probably right, but if I’m honest, I’m tired of trying.
Alex has never warmed to me, even when I was living with them finishing high school.
She was a clingy baby and toddler who was suspicious of strangers, and I seemed to always be in the stranger category, even though I lived in that house for two years.
I got the sense that she saw me as an interloper, and frankly I felt the same about her.
She was a painful, constant reminder that somehow I was not enough for my mother, that Lisa had left me behind.
She had not wanted me in her new life. It still stings, all these years later.
I hear a sound behind me and turn to see Alex standing in the doorway leading to the hallway. Did she hear us talking about her?
I glance at her face; her expression is guarded and a touch defiant. So basically exactly like it always is. I have no idea if she heard us or not.
“Ready to go?” I ask lightly.
She nods, gripping the black backpack she carries everywhere with her.
She’s changed from her sleep outfit of sweatpants and a hoodie and is now wearing a plaid miniskirt and a black mesh top and her chunky black Doc Marten combat boots.
She’s lined her huge gray eyes with thick black liner, and they stand out from her pale face, luminous and so serious.
She looks so young—wary, stubborn, and a little vulnerable. I blink, struck by how alone she seems.
It dawns on me once more, looking at her, that I’m in charge of her welfare.
When I agreed to accompany her for the summer, I saw the assignment as a ticket to get me to Italy.
I honestly didn’t think much about how it would go once we got here, how we would navigate an entire summer together.
But it’s becoming clear to me that I’m going to have to embrace her presence in my life, make more of an effort.
She’s my responsibility. I want her to be happy here, or at least content.
Otherwise this is going to be a long, tough two months.
“Are you excited for your first Italian market?” I ask, adopting a cheerful tone.
Alex shrugs indifferently. “I guess.”
Nonna waves her knife at us. “Lorenzo will drive you. Alessandra, I need you to choose something sweet for tomorrow’s breakfast and also some fruit.
Juliana, I want you to get whatever you need to make our merenda for today, a little snack you will like.
Whatever you want to make, but something you loved as a child, something you remember eating from your summers here with us.
And while you are there, please enjoy a little something for lunch.
We will have a big dinner later tonight.
” She pulls some euros out of the pocket of her polyester skirt and counts off twenty.
I try to protest, but she waves away my concern.
“You are my family and my guests,” she says. “Let me feed you. I am old now, and I have few joys in life. Don’t rob me of this one.”
Resigned, I take the money, determining to pay her back later from the plump stipend Lisa and Ted are forking over to me.
I’m guessing twenty euros might be better used for something else around here rather than feeding us lunch and buying snacks.
The more I poke around, the more I see how shabby things are getting.
Everywhere I look are signs of decay, age, and wear.
The sheets I slept in last night were threadbare and mended several times with Nonna’s neat, even stitches.
And I noticed this morning that some of the tiles in the bathroom are cracked along the base of the wall.
The water pressure isn’t great either, and the water comes out of the tap a bit rusty colored.
The farm seems tired and a little sad. It concerns me.
Alex and I pile into the Fiat Panda, Lorenzo at the wheel, and head toward Garda Town along the winding road that hugs the curves of the lake.
The drive is beautiful with the lake on one side and the mountains sloping up on the other.
Villas, olive groves, and picturesque vistas dot the landscape everywhere you look.
The sun pours down like liquid gold over everything, making a drowsy, dreamy panorama.
Lorenzo drops us off in Garda with a promise to return in an hour. I glance around. Everything is exactly as I remember it.
“Come on. Let’s look around.” I gesture for Alex to follow.
The market is comprised of a few dozen stalls lining the street for a handful of blocks around the harbor, their white awnings fluttering in the warm breeze.
I look around, drinking it all in. I’ve missed this market.
Dad used to bring me here every week in the summer to try various local delicacies.
He loved a good market. He would purchase bottles of limoncello at a stall here to take back as gifts for friends in the US.
The limoncello was delicious, made with lemons grown on the shores of Lake Garda.
I love limoncello. Nicolo and I used to sneak shots from the bottle on Nonna’s seldom-used liquor shelf, We’d replace what we’d consumed with vodka, diluting the strong lemon flavor little by little until it tasted more like lemonade mixed with rubbing alcohol.
I pull my mind firmly from Nicolo and concentrate on the task at hand.
I have one hour to introduce Alex to an authentic Italian market, complete our shopping, and find a little lunch. There is no time to waste.